by Reaves, Troy
The rogue could not help smirking as he answered. "Oh yes, I am well thought of among my peers within those walls. It will be good to meet with some of my old acquaintances there. I have had a brush with the local... guild... and remaining in Nactium is not in my plans."
"Yes, well, it does appear that fate does favor the foolish and the blessed in equal measure." Father Oregeth smiled for the first time Boremac could recall. "You will find your mount is tireless in service and will bear you to the city within a relatively short time." The Father turned to Master Firebeard, "Take him to the stable and make sure he makes the gates without pause. The stable master has the horse ready and adequate foodstuffs and supplies have been packed in anticipation of your arrival. You can bring Master Boremac up to date on the way but do not tarry. There is no time to waste." Father Oregeth made rapid hand gestures blessing the pair as they left the Temple.
"Come on, Boremac. The priests and I have labored through the night during your stay in the jail. We should hurry to be sure our labors were not in vain. There is much Master Silverwing needs to know." Firebeard took long strides as he hurried out into the city streets and Boremac marveled at the huge man's speed, jogging along beside him as the master smith related the discoveries of the priests and the results of his night's work.
When they reached the stable, Boremac bent forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Master Firebeard stood in front of him with a boot tapping as the smith impatiently waited. Boremac regained his composure and frowned at the blacksmith as he began to speak. "Good Smith, I am glad to have the knowledge of the demon in question to share with Master Silverwing. I'm equally certain that said knight would be more than pleased with the additions for his quiver you have produced. There is one bit of crucial information that seems to have been missed by all of you in your efforts to prepare. I know who was responsible for the appearance of the demon that was so intent on Master Gregor’s undoing. It was the staffs the errant priests possessed that gave name to their affiliation, Master Firebeard, though I would not have expected you or the others to recognize them. The order of the Crimson Night is somehow involved in the recent events, though even I cannot imagine why. Only the highest-ranking members of the order possess such staffs.
Firebeard stared at the thief in disbelief. "How would you know that and why would priests committed to protecting the lands from demonic forces have reason to bring one against brothers and sisters of the Temple of Light?"
"That would be the riddle, wouldn't it?” Boremac paused before continuing, measuring his words. "I know who bear the staves because there is a man with only one hand on my list of acquaintances who had both before he tried to acquire one. Where my information comes from doesn't matter. It is more important what is done with it. Father Oregeth needs some priests and guards to hit the place where the students of the order gather now. It is probably too late, but go and make Father Oregeth aware so some guardsmen can be rounded up." Boremac pulled the long narrow wooden case from Master Firebeard's hands and turned to secure the package to the horse's saddle. He jumped up onto the horse with the practiced grace of a man used to mounting walls quickly and smiled as he watched the smith’s large form disappear around the corner. "That might have bought me time for a few drinks. What do you think, boy?"
The horse shook his head by way of reply and cantered rapidly toward the city gates nearby. It appeared this steed knew where he was going and Boremac would have a dry throat until they got there. "Water it is then, I suppose." He dropped his hand to the water skin hanging at his leg and held the horse's reins with the other as the pair raced down the road to Zanthfar.
***
Gregor made a home among the books in the secured area of the library Father Havet had shown him. There was less than a week until he would be keeping Vigil in the main temple, awaiting the touch of his God. Gregor absorbed as much as he could from the most complete manuscripts. Father Tur’morival’s personal works were as educational as they were obscure, filled with a great deal of theories and assumptions that seemed to be contradictory to most of the other assembled works. Father Havet lent his assistance when Gregor needed help translating some of the dark passages found in Father Tur’morival’s personal journal, although the priest was loathe to do so. Gregor could not imagine what could possess any man, let alone a servant of the God of Light, to perform the rituals detailed throughout the priest’s personal text. The certainty Gregor felt when he first saw the tapestry only deepened. Father Tur’morival was the figure that had wanted the broken blade despite Father Havet’s insistence the priest had died long ago. What possible use he had for it, Gregor could not imagine. The holy warrior refused to think of the apparition as a man, though he was at a loss to define the creature that had stood before him in his dream.
9
Drunkards and Fools
Boremac's trip to Zanthfar had been uneventful, which was a pleasant turn of events for a change. The roads were thick with the cities’ militia along his route. The rogue took a measure of comfort in this, despite his usual feelings for peacekeepers. He was happy to stable the horse and carry the heavy wooden case for Master Silverwing to the nearest inn. He felt his relief diminish only slightly as he entered the tavern proper. The ranger was waiting at one of the tables in the tavern, and Boremac could not even secure much-needed refreshment before Master Silverwing motioned to him. "So, Silverwing, you will be buying the rounds this evening? Your kindness is noted and appreciated."
"All you need should be well provided for with the winnings from Gregor's challenge." Silverwing's furrowed brow told the thief all he needed to know about the ranger's feelings concerning those events. "You can tell me exactly what happened later. Right now we will relax and share a cup."
Boremac waved over one of the barmaids, placing an order for the strongest brew they had and instructing her to keep his mug full. He dropped a few coins in her outstretched hand, turning his attention back to Silverwing. "No need to get upset. You knew who I was soon after we met, and I did save the boy a bit of trouble in the process of protecting my own interests. I would think a bit of betting would be the least of your concerns."
"Yes, your talent is put to good use even though I must wonder at your intent. Still, Father Oregeth sees something in you that I cannot. His faith in you is the only reason you're here now. You would be wise not to forget that." Master Silverwing's words stung the thief, but Boremac could not deny the truth of them. "He chose to release you from the jailers in Nactium for his own reasons. Reasons that disagree with what I know of you, although it appears you gave the church at least a nodding respect while you were there. Father Oregeth said you spent a great deal of time at the main altar communing while you were maintaining a vow of silence. Your prayers never fall on deaf ears, so I hope you were not too flagrant in your language." Master Silverwing smiled.
Boremac returned the smile with a grin of his own. "My prayers are between me and the God whose service I have been pressed into. I am sure you can respect that. You should open the package. Truth of it is, I've been wanting to know what was so important to worry my butt for so long on that horse."
"You know the blades I wield from the encounter in the wood where you discovered Gregor and me. Is there more here than that?"
"Yes, the fine blades will bite all the deeper for the care of Master Firebeard. He sent along something more to win your favor, as if his name were not enough. Come on now and open it."
"Master Firebeard; there is a man I've not seen in too many years to count. Did you have time and chance to visit his great forge? The skilled hands of that smith forge many of the lands' greatest weapons and armor. It is a sin to see Nactium and not see that giant of a man at work." Master Silverwing rested his hands on the case as he spoke, taking pleasure in Boremac's discomfort. "The stories that man could tell. Many heroes known throughout this land would have fallen without the labors of that smith. No other smithy served the Knights of the Golden Dragon within the
walls of Nactium as well, or as long. I wonder what possible gift he would have sent. You know, the last time I was in his humble establishment, he offered a shining suit of plate armor befitting a king. Perhaps we should drink his honor before opening the case." Boremac felt as though he were watching from the shadows as brave adventurers fought against terrible creatures, waiting for the great treasures that would be his should they fall. Silverwing’s fingers drummed lightly on the wooden box before him as the ranger lost himself in thought.
Boremac's reaction was immediate and abrupt. "Drink, wench! Get over here and bring my friend a mug! What kind of place is this where man has to lose himself in thought, instead of drink? Come on and be quick lest old sorrows take his tongue before we can drown them!"
The barmaid bringing the ranger’s drink took her time going to get a mug of stout ale. Something appeared to be in the works as the first server passed a mug intended for Silverwing to one of the other barmaids. A decidedly unpleasant smirk appeared on the new server’s full lips as her eyes met those of the rogue, and Boremac could not help but think he should remember her. The mug sloshed as she slammed it on the table near Boremac's hand, a bit too near, he thought." Been right nice to be serving your friend. You, we could do without. Don't go making trouble for yourself. You'll find you and that mouth of yours out the door before you can wiggle that tongue." Her finger was wagging in time as she spoke, a sneer bending her lips. "Do not go thinking I don't remember the last time you was here, Boremac. You best tip better this time, you rotten scoundrel, and be glad me sister isn't working."
Boremac was caught off guard by her words, but not for long. He had thought there was something familiar about her face. "Aye, I see the resemblance now. She was a fair one, to be sure, with quick hands." The rogue smiled, lost in memories of his previous visit. The barmaid returned his grin with an innocent upturn of her own mouth. Her hand swept tightly in a practiced motion, raising a warm welt on his cheek.
"Red suits you, Boremac." She tapped his bald head as she spoke, admiring her hand-print where she had slapped him. "It wasn't my sister that you gave that pitiful purse, it was me. All she got was the pleasure of your company." The barmaid turned on her heel with a quick, "begging your pardon, sir," to Master Silverwing as she moved to see the other patrons. A low rumble of laughter coursed through the tavern, with a number of patrons rubbing their cheeks in sympathy, as she sauntered away.
Boremac's features reddened deeply as she moved away from their table, as if to disguise the new mark on his cheek. "A man meets all sorts of lasses when he gets in his cups. Seems I made quite an impression on two of the ladies of this house last time I passed through."
Silverwing cocked an amused eyebrow at the thief. "Well, it would appear age has not affected your abilities in this area, at least. Pity the drink clouded your mind or you would have remembered her sooner. You might have saved your pride a wound, at least."
The rogue rubbed the marked side of his face gently. He was grinning as the thief realized Silverwing's mistake. "I think you read too much in the lady’s words. She came upon her sister and me while we were sharing some time." Boremac dragged his hand over his face as if trying to clear the memory of some unpleasantness. "The tumble she gave me was not of the same kind as her sister, if you follow. She caught me unaware with a clubbing and when I came to consciousness, half my gear and all my coins were gone! I later learned that the lady who had shared my bed was supposed to be wed soon to a noble of some wealth. Well, needless to say, rumors of her involvement with myself and some other patrons were not well-received by her suitor, despite his desire for her hand."
"Sounds like she is still serving tavern patrons. You probably saved the man trouble down the road."
"That's the rub, Ranger! I tried to explain that to the men he sent around to collect me, but they were hearing none of it. That sot was really taken with her. Can't say I blame him. She was definitely not hard on the eyes." Boremac rubbed his shoulder as if tending to an old wound just remembered. "Took me a time to heal up after that trouble. Good to know he left her to tend her own bed, so to speak, for all the suffering I had on her account."
"It is a shame you haven't learned anything from borrowing others' troubles, though I should be glad of that to some extent." Silverwing lowered his eyes to the case in front of him. "Let us tip our mug to Master Firebeard, the greatest smith in all the lands, and take a look at what his latest labors have wrought."
The two men clinked their mugs in honor and at last Master Silverwing revealed the contents of the long wooden case. The twin swords, masterfully crafted works of the descendant of the original smith who served the Knights of the Golden Dragon so skillfully, were no surprise. Their keen edges and glimmering hilts had been restored to the condition they had possessed when these weapons first left the forge. The additional space within the case was nearly full with other gifts as well. There was a fine leather quiver nearly filled with arrows that at first glance seemed unremarkable, though the nocks were formed of some metal unknown to Boremac. The rogue noted the fletching as Master Silverwing drew his fingers lightly across each bit of feather. The Ranger drew forth one of the arrows and admired the workmanship of the shaft and point. "Magnificent work! He once again combines form and function as art in order to maximize potential."
Boremac looked at the arrow, wondering what was so special about it. "Forgive me, Ranger, but it's an arrow."
"Yes, a wasp and a bee are both insects with wings and stingers, but the wasp brings the anger of its sting many times while the bee may strike but once. These fine arrows are wasps, my friend, and are a most damaging kind to the demons that roam these lands." Silverwing handed one of the arrows across the table to the rogue. "See the twisted head? The Smith has grooved them slightly so they bite deep. These are no ordinary metal tips. They are silver and steel alloy, not unlike the blade of my sword."
"Seems to be a waste of precious metal to me." Boremac could admire the penetration potential of the points but saw little use of the softer silver alloy.
“Yes, I can see that it would be to one unfamiliar with battling demons. Silver weapons are the most potent against the inhabitants of the Abyss. Mere contact with unblessed silver boils the blood in their earthly forms. Metal that has felt the infusion of the light carries a much greater threat, as you witnessed in the arena where Gregor faced the Raukohaun. No such creature can stand before the power of the God of Light, or weapons suffused with said power."
“So it was the blessing of the blade Gregor carried that destroyed the creature?" Boremac puzzled over the memory briefly. "That would explain why the beast took no care in its attacks, even as Gregor carved away its head."
"The demonic creatures that managed to infest this land fear nothing within it, even the weapons that can destroy the shells they possess here. The only thing they really fear is failure to cause appropriate amounts of chaos while they are here. Lower demons answer to greater powers in the Abyss. My guess would be that the Raukohaun that faced Gregor and failed to destroy him has had his form reduced in the Abyss to that of an imp. The lords of the Abyss are not nearly as forgiving as the God of Light and the Goddess of the Land." Master Silverwing's features darkened. Memories of death flooded his mind. The Golden Dragon’s history was tainted by failures of this kind, though they were rare. "I have seen brave knights torn asunder by evil that you could not imagine, Boremac. Skill at arms is no measure against demon kind where faith lacks. I hope the greatest evils you face are those of mortal men."
Boremac returned Silverwing's stark look with deep concentration painting his own features. "The evil of mankind is trouble enough for me. I have encountered it often in my line of work. It is the nature of the business, you might say. I can't help but think my luck in the past brought me to this present." Boremac stared intently into the depths of the ranger's eyes, the rogue’s hands clasped as if in prayer before him. "You believe what you like, Silverwing, but the time among the priests taught m
e a bit about myself. Can't say I am proud of my past. I look to a different future now."
"It is not my place, nor my intention, to judge you. I will not bind you to any path. You may go as you please with the blessing of the God of Light for your service, if you choose." Silverwing’s eyes dropped to the contents of the case, hidden from the rogue by the broad wooden lid. "Master Firebeard seems to think there is work for you in service of the God of Light, judging from the other items he sent."
Boremac cocked an eyebrow at the ranger's words. "Master Firebeard must have been very productive to take my needs into account. We hardly spoke and he made no mention of anything in the case for me when I took possession of it."
"Well, a man of your questionable nature would have been hard-pressed to deliver the case without opening it if you knew its contents. Certainly you can understand his desire to speed delivery without any unnecessary complications." The ranger grinned at his own words, softening the affront to the thief. "He does not know you nearly as well as I do, though the items he forged show he is not against you, at least."
Boremac looked hungrily at the case’s open lid, making no attempt to disguise his interest. "I think you need to let me know what you're asking of me before I go taking gifts from strangers. No doubt the price of the items within will be paid in full for the trouble bearing them brings me. Since we met, I have not had the chance to suffer from boredom in pursuit of your labors."
