by Steve Barker
Ni’Morstrom raised an eyebrow, but did not address the almost mythical stature the stories had given the alleged survivor.
“The rumour I believe, is that she is the half-breed of a giantish mother and an elvish father. As you may be aware, half-breeds of humans to Elder Folk are not entirely unheard of, but are uncommon. Many explain the rarity of these pairings by the desire of most Elder Folk to keep the bloodlines pure. But nearly all those who give that explanation do not connect the reasoning for wanting the purity of the bloodlines to anything other than a sort of racial family honour.
“What most people overlook, and what is right in front of them, is that all Elder races have naturally occurring magical abilities. The Giantish with their night vision, great strength, and communion with the animals. The Elvish with their long life, speed, and occasionally deeper magical powers. The Dwarvish with their tolerance of the cold, their ability to shape stone. The Gnomish with their lack of the need for much food, and their ability to work metal, and to breathe the thin air high in the mountains.”
The Sorcerer did not mention that he was sure of the girl's magical abilities. He was sure of them because he knew that the only way a person could survive a magical outpouring of the magnitude of the Great Destruction, was that that person must have been the source of it. No magical ward could have withstood the power it took to make such a blast.
Ni’Morstrom paused and stepped to the window in a moment of deep thought. Var Toran took a draft of his wine and tilted his head, listening patiently. The sorcerer continued “When these elder folk breed with humans, the resulting offspring possess none of the abilities of their Elder Folk parent. Any subsequent children, whether they come from the half-breed and a human, or a half-breed and a member of one of the Elder races, are also bereft of these abilities.
“Furthermore, in my lifetime, I have never been able to find an example of a half breed with a human, where the Elder Folk parent was not either Elvish or Dwarvish. I have never so much as heard of a half-breed mix of two races of Elder Folk who has survived beyond infancy.” He decided not to further elaborate on his knowledge of this girl's ancestry. The fact that he knew her parents to be a Giantish woman and a magically active Elvish man, would not likely help in this instance.
“Some, usually the wizards who devote themselves to the study of the natural world and its scientific mysteries, say that this is because such pairings produce offspring that are unable to survive. Others say that it is simply because such pairings are so rare, and that the bearing of mixed race children is forbidden by their clans. I tend to believe the former.”
Truthfully, he knew more than that. He knew that nearly all pregnancies resulting from the joining of the Giantish, to any other of the Elder races, caused terrible miscarriages that most often took the life of the mother. He believed that it was some work of the father's magic that saved the child and the mother, and in the case of this girl, that this magic focused into the mother's womb may have been what caused the child to become as powerful as he believed her to be.
The Sorcerer turned back from the window and stepped over to his work table. “I believe it is most likely that this girl is the exception to the rule, and that she is more powerful than she knows. This is why I wish to meet her. I wish to study her, and understand whether or not she indeed has the power I believe she may. This was my wish ten years ago when I received word that a half breed child, one of two separate Elder races, had survived beyond the age of infancy, when most others that are not stillborn perish.
“Unfortunately, the envoy I sent to request that she and her parents join me here and allow me to examine her, perished in the Great Destruction.” The Sorcerer would never admit to anyone that he had not sent an envoy, but rather a bounty hunter whom he had instructed to kill the parents and bring the child to him.
“How she survived, or what magical ability warded her, is something I must know, and wish to understand. Such knowledge could be put to great use in the service of our kingdom.” The Sorcerer paused again, turning back to the window. His thoughts went momentarily to his work on devising a new ritual to transfer the magical power, from another magically active being, into himself. He was pulled from his thoughts by his guest.
“Tell me. How dangerous is she?” inquired the bounty hunter “You say she is half Elvish. The Elvish have been known to have among their kind wielders of great power. Have your sources given you any reports of her using magical power? Such knowledge would be useful for both our interests.” Trenon Var Toran’s perpetual grin did not leave his face.
Ni’Morstrom studied him for a moment, trying to decide how much more information to provide. The Sorcerer believed that this girl had tremendous power. Power that he wanted for himself. He could not let this bounty hunter know his true plans to take the girl’s power from her. It was a risk to divulge anything about what he truly had in store for her, and it was also too risky to let anyone know just how much power he believed she truly possessed.
“The extent of her power is not known for certain. I have gained little information in that regard. Some of my sources say that she has power and fears to use it, or is unaware of how to use it, while others say she has no power at all. No matter the true extent of her power, I desire to find out for myself. The chance to study a surviving half breed of two Elder Folk, who likely has great power, is something I must pursue. As to your first question, you must consider her as dangerous as you deem her to be.” Because if I told you how powerful I think she is, you would likely pass on the job, and my time is running out.
“She will be about 15 years old and therefore still very much a child, she will have spent her entire life living in squalor, she will not have been trained in the magical arts and should not have control over what power she may possess. More than that, I cannot say, but I would think you are well within your skill set, Mr. Var Toran.” Again, Ni’Morstrom turned, and faced his guest.
“Perhaps it is so,” offered Var Toren as he rose from the chair. “Well, as you have said, time is of the essence, so I will be on my way. There remains only the matter of my payment. As you are aware, I require at least one quarter of any contract up front.” He stood straight and clasped his hands together in front, awaiting a reply.
The Sorcerer stepped to large set of cupboards along the wall behind the work table, motioned with his hand, and a door opened. He reached in and retrieved a small chest. Returning to the centre of the room, he handed the chest to Var Toran.
“Two Thousand crowns. One third your contract. Remember Var Toran, one fortnight, no later.”
With a widening of his ever present grin, Var Toran accepted the chest.
“One more thing,” added the Sorcerer “take this with you also. It may be of use to you.” He handed the bounty hunter a letter and turned back to his work table.
Var Toran opened the letter and raised an eyebrow as he read the contents. “Our good King is generous, yet I doubt I’ll need such assistance”
The Sorcerer turned to look back over his shoulder “Nevertheless.”
Var Toran stepped back, straightened up, bowed, and made his way out of the room.
As he heard his guest make his way down the stairs from his chambers, Ni’Morstrom motioned the door closed with his hand and made his way to the corner of the room. There, he removed a large canvas cloth from a barred cell, in the shape of a large cage one might use to bring chickens to market, to reveal a bound and gagged Elvish girl. He walked over to his work table and picked up the flask he had been working with during the conversation with his guest.
Returning to the cage, he stretched out his hand toward the young girl. She groaned as she was forced upright and pulled forward to the bars of the cage by some working of the Sorcerer’s power. With the flick of his wrist, the gag dropped to her neck, and she attempted to cry out, only to produce a hissing, gurgling sound as the Sorcerer kept his hold on her.
He came close to her, and moved his free hand to her chin, li
fting her head slightly and forcing her mouth open. He began to pour the contents of the flask into her mouth, and then with a motion of his hand, forced her mouth closed and waited for her to swallow.
Once she had unwillingly gulped the vile liquid down, he released his hold on her, and stepped back from the cage. There, he raised the flask to his lips, and drank the remainder of its contents. He grinned savagely, and began to chant. Immediately the elvish girl’s eyes rolled back in her head. She fell to the floor of the cage and began to shake.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
As they rode into another small village, dGerrie felt the same apprehension he had experienced four days ago at the side port to the palace gates. There were several reasons he could cite to explain the feeling, but in truth, he was not entirely sure where to place that blame. He was aware that signing on with the city garrison would mean that he would have been, from time to time, assigned to a squad tasked with moving Elder Folk out of the city. He had seen the garrison performing this new duty, one resulting from a new order signed by the young king, and so far, it had been performed in an orderly manner without any real harm coming to anyone. Occasionally someone would put up a struggle, but for the most part the garrison’s refrain of “move along” accompanied by their usual strength in numbers, was enough to get the job done peacefully.
This work was different. This was bounty hunting. dGerrie had heard the odd rumour about bounty hunters. It was not a common trade, as it was usually the King’s garrisons, or the Royal army that were sent to find outlaws and criminals. But when rewards were posted for finding someone and bringing them in alive, often bounty hunters were the ones to claim the reward. Usually though, they were not like The Dancer.
Most of them showed the signs of being on the road for long periods of time. Most of them displayed a general lack of hygiene and plenty of scars to remind them of the fact that criminals do not usually come quietly. They were not generally the kind of men whose company one enjoyed. But this bounty hunter was different. He had not a single mark on him, dressed like he was on his way to a wedding, had a grin that never left his face –which dGerrie found unnerving at times– and never seemed to stop talking about life and the way the world worked.
So far, they had not managed to pick up the trail of the girl they were looking for. dGerrie, having travelled the road south from Magnaville before, was not surprised that there had been no evidence in the villages they had passed of the person they sought. Most people who wished to avoid the army or the garrison, gave Magnaville a wide berth and travelled via the green river in the south, or one of the hill-to-sea roads that ran east to west, parallel to the Green river. Most of the Elder Folk who left the city as a result of the King’s new decree, stayed off the main roads until they were well away from Magnaville and the King’s garrison. dGerrie assumed that this was also the case with the girl they were after.
Trenon Var Toran, as dGerrie had learned The Dancer was properly named, had given them a reasonable description. She was said to be fifteen years old, extremely tall, had dark brown or red hair, and was half Elvish.
dGerrie had known several half-breed orphans in his time in the Red Lanes; a couple of them were half Elvish, and a few half Dwarvish. He knew it was quite a rare thing to be a half-breed, yet there was a small concentration of them in Magnaville. This was due to the number of children who were orphaned in the Great Destruction. Sadly, that catastrophic event had taken place right at the peak of harvest time, when many workers left their children with neighbours and relatives to go to the Western Farms to find seasonal work helping with the harvest.
dGerrie was one of those orphans himself, though not a half breed. His parents were both killed ten years ago while working a harvest contract on a farm just outside the village at the centre of the blast. He was ten years old at the time, and had been left with his father’s cousin to help with the sheep he kept. dGerrie remembered not liking his father’s cousin, and running away to the city after learning of his parent’s death. So, in a way, dGerrie empathized with this girl.
Var Toran motioned for the men to stop at a one of the first buildings on the road within the village. “Gentlemen, if we do not find what we are looking for here, you two” he pointed to Tom and Hern, “will take the southwest fork out of town, and we shall take the southeast fork. Spend daylight searching for leads, and meet back here tomorrow evening, where we will decide which direction to head next.” dGerrie had noted that it was the bounty hunter’s customary routine to lay out a plan for the whole day, and usually the day following, each morning. dGerrie found it to be an effective practice. He appreciated knowing what was expected of him.
The building appeared to be an inn, though there was no signage on the exterior, and Var Toran wished to go inside to speak to the innkeeper. As they dismounted, he instructed the other two to canvas the villagers who were out and about, to see if they could produce a lead. It was near an hour before sundown, and dGerrie hoped that they would stop here for the night. He could smell something delicious wafting through the open door, and would be glad to spend some of the silver he had been advanced on a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. dGerrie and The Dancer entered the inn.
As he looked around the interior of the building, dGerrie saw a small number of patrons at tables along the wall of the main room. There was a stone fireplace in the middle of the room where a pot hung over a small fire, simmering some sort of wonderful smelling stew. As they stepped toward the fireplace to warm their hands, a woman approached. “Greetings travellers! Are you looking for a room, a meal, a bath? I can happily offer any or all, so long as you got the coin.”
Var Toran donned his ever present grin and turned to address the innkeeper. “I thank you for your generous offer of hospitality, but we must not linger here I’m afraid. You see, we are about an important task. We are searching for a lost girl, in fact. We are in great haste and can not manage to delay, for her caretaker greatly desires her swift and safe return. We have come to your establishment in the hopes that you might be able to provide us with some assistance, which we would greatly appreciate.
“You see, so far we have been unable to find anyone who has seen, or heard any sign of the poor girl whom we are endeavouring to locate. It appears many of the people we pose our inquiries to, are reluctant to give us any information at all, and they all want to swear that they have not seen a single sign of the unique young girl we search for. I hope with all my heart, for her sake, that our luck with you is different. I hope that the people of your lovely and quaint little farming village have sighted her, and might take pity on her by offering us some information as to her whereabouts.”
His mouth bore a smile that showed his clean white teeth, his eyes smiled, he spoke with a pace and melody that made dGerrie think he would break into a song at any moment. Yet there was always a hint of the underlying threat of violence, that if you knew him, or his reputation, you would rightly fear. dGerrie stood unmoving, silently observing. He was now well aware of The Dancer’s disdain for being interrupted.
It was only three days ago, while questioning an innkeeper just outside Magnaville, that he was interrupted by the innkeeper’s helper. When the young whelp had piped up to try to say that no one had seen a girl like that, Var Toran, without breaking his grin had drawn his dagger, turned and stabbed the boy in through one cheek and out the other. Without the slightest hesitation, he had simply stated “Interruptions are sign of very bad manners.”, and continued his questions to the innkeeper as though nothing had happened.
Here though, Var Toran paused for a moment to allow the innkeeper to respond.
“Well, good sir…”
“No, No. I’m not a knight” He interjected. She was caught off guard, as it seemed clear to dGerrie that she was only trying to be polite, and fumbled over her next few words.
“Umm… er… yes me Lord..”
“Not a Lord either my dear.”
His abrupt interjections seemed to make her nervous. “W
ell, er.. Could you tell me who it is that you are looking for? Maybe she may have stopped in here, or someone may have seen her passing through town.”
He moved toward her, took off his gloves, and reached for her hand. She nervously allowed him to take it, and he pulled her close. “Well, as I said, she is quite unique in appearance. Though I have not had the pleasure of seeing her myself, she has been described to me. She is said to have brown or red hair. She is said to be extremely tall, maybe even taller than my companion here. She is about fifteen years old, and half Elvish.” He pulled the woman closer and placed his free hand behind her back, and began to sway slightly.
“Now, my dear, before you give me an answer to whether or not you have seen such a girl, please allow me to lead you in a little dancing. You see, I find dancing to be a terribly relaxing and comforting experience. I find it to be so, for a number of reasons.” As Var Toran began to turn with her slowly, she shot dGerrie a glance. Her eyes were widening and her face was beginning to lose some of its colour.
“You see, dancing takes coordination and cooperation. The two dancers must pay attention to each other. The leader, which would be me in this case, must give his partner subtle cues about his intent. He must give no more than a hint, lest he give away his intent to the onlookers and thus spoil the pleasure they may take from the entertainment. We wouldn’t want anyone else know just what we were going to do as we dance, for it must be a surprise in order to captivate the audience. No, the communication must stay between the dancing partners.” dGerrie turned his head slightly, and watched out of the corner of his eye, as the people who had been sitting at the table filed out of the inn.
“Now, my dear, the other aspect of dancing, which helps very much while having a conversation in which one desires to know the truth, is the need for the follower, that would be you in this case, to pay attention to the cues of the leader, so as not to fall out of step. Furthermore, the need for concentration is two-fold. On one hand, the follower must pay attention to her feet so as not to miss a step. If she does not miss a step, it is more likely that she is paying sufficient attention to the dance cues of her partner. In doing so, she is less likely to be able hide any attempt to misdirect her partner in the conversation they have as they dance. And my dear, in polite society, the conversation one has while dancing is just as important as the dancing itself, for that is the entertainment for the dancers themselves.
