Protector Of The Grove (Book 2)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  When they reached the elaborate door to Aloysius’ study, Molly gave a short knock and waited. After a moment, there was a short knock in response. This was the signal that the Scholar was currently seeing someone else and they should wait. Molly sighed and leaned back against the wall.

  “You don’t have to stay, you know,” Arcon said.

  “Preparing to eavesdrop are we?” Mellinda said, breaking her silence. There was vague interest in her voice. It sounded like she was still pouting about their earlier conversation.

  Molly frowned. “It’s protocol.”

  “You know that I’m not the usual student,” Arcon replied. “Protocol doesn’t mean as much with me.”

  Arcon’s status as a steward in training was simply a way for Aloysius to give him access to areas regular servants are not allowed to go. He still followed the basic guidelines for students, but his very age and the fact that he had been given his own laboratory would tell anyone looking closely that his status was a farce.

  Molly narrowed her eyes at him but finally nodded. “I didn’t want to wait around here anyway.”

  She strode back down the hall and as soon as she turned the corner, Arcon slid closer to the door. No sound penetrated it from within. His mage sight showed him that the door was warded. If he placed his ear against the wood, Aloysius’s stewards on the other side would know. The entire room was protected against eavesdropping, but Arcon knew quite a few tricks from his time skulking around the Mage School.

  He sent a faint thread of air magic down to the thin crack at the base of the door. He was careful to keep the magic so subtle that no alarms were set off. His thread of air probed the crack, making sure that there was room to slip by.

  Fortunately, there was the tiniest of gaps and Arcon’s thin thread was able to slip through undetected. He smiled at his success. As much difficulty as he had with the magic of the rings, Arcon excelled at this kind of work. The moment his magic slid through to the far side of the door, Arcon heard the conversation within.

  “ . . . locals are nervous around my people. Some of them worship us, but many are only there because they fear our wrath,” said a high, regal sounding voice.

  “Fear is an efficient way to rule savages, don’t you think?” said Scholar Aloysius in response. The gnome’s voice was deep and clear.

  “In the beginning, yes,” replied the stranger. “But now their fear leads them to hide things from us. Bad news in particular we often find out on our own after it’s too late, long after we could have done something about it.”

  “And is there a lot of this, ‘bad news’?” Aloysius asked lightly. Arcon knew from experience that the scholar’s nonchalant tone was a sign that he was displeased. Evidently the stranger did too.

  “Bah. No plan goes off exactly as imagined,” the voice said as if it were nothing. “There have been some instances where a certain number of our Roo-Dan forces have disappeared, but not enough to be greatly concerned. We still outnumber the grove’s defenders two-to-one. But the savages claim they don’t know where their people have gone.”

  “They’re speaking of Malaroo,” Mellinda said, perking up. Malaroo was the place of her birth, though much had changed in the thousand years since then. “A gathering of the Roo-Dan against the Roo-Tan? I wonder what Aloysius has going on down there?”

  Arcon’s knowledge of the people of Malaroo was limited. He did know that the Roo-Dan were a disorganized people, mainly living in independent villages along the coastline. The Roo-Tan were the real power in the country; fierce warriors that desired solitude and turned travelers away, always afraid that people would attack their precious trees.

  “These disappearances do not concern you?” Aloysius asked, his voice rising. “What if they are defectors? What if they have told the Roo-Tan of your plans?”

  “Not possible,” the stranger replied. “Our spies within the Roo-Tan say that they have heard rumors of large groups of Roo-Dan gathering, but nothing is known of their intentions or of my people’s involvement.”

  “Yes, well see that it stays that way,” Aloysius said. “I will send the supplies you requested. My contacts have gathered weapons that cannot be traced back to Alberri. They shall meet you in the usual location.”

  “Thank you, Scholar. And thank you for not making me wait so long this time. The sun here does terrible things to my skin.”

  “Of course, Elder Qelvyn. I do like to make my allies as comfortable as possible,” Aloysius replied.

  Arcon bit his lip. Elder Qelvyn. Why does that name sound familiar?

  “He’s that fat elf,” said Mellinda, her tone thoughtful.

  Arcon remembered the elf she spoke of. He’d seen him waiting for the scholar on at least three separate occasions since coming to stay in the homeland. So that’s why he keeps coming to visit. I wonder what their plans are?

  Arcon heard footsteps approaching the door. He removed his magic and stepped back just as the door opened. Steward Evan opened the door and Arcon noted that he was wearing his red sash openly. The steward gave the fat elf a short nod of respect as he exited the room.

  The elf looked as Arcon remembered; rotund, his belly straining at the fabric of the fine silk robes he wore. The lacy pink parasol he usually carried had been collapsed and tucked under his arm. His sweating was more profuse than ever, soaking sections of his robes clear through.

  He glanced at Arcon with beady eyes and Arcon was quick to bow. The elf grunted and walked by, his movements far too graceful for someone of his girth. As he passed, one wet fold of his robes caught Arcon across the face and he was engulfed by the elf’s smell. To Arcon’s disgust and surprise, what he smelled was not a regular body odor, but the strong scent of the ocean.

  “Aha!” said Mellinda, her voice giddy. “This makes so much sense. He isn’t a fat elf at all.”

  Really? Arcon watched as a green-stashed steward met Elder Qelvyn at the end of the hall and led him around the corner. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe. Looks fat to me.

  “That’s not fat. It’s water weight,” she said. “Don’t you see? He’s a merman.”

  Arcon raised his eyebrows. I didn’t know they looked like that. He’d never seen a merman, though he’d heard of them before. They were one of the demon races and their purpose was to oppose elves. Other than that he only knew that they lived near water.

  “They normally don’t look that large,” she said. “They look a lot like elves, but don’t do well away from water for long periods of time. When they do leave their territories, they survive by absorbing extra water and keeping it under their skin. The only reason I didn’t think of it before was his sheer size, but seeing how far away we are from a good water source, that makes sense.”

  A gnome scholar consorting with demons, Arcon thought.

  “And building an army in Malaroo. Oh this Aloysius is full of surprises. I was so smart to lead you to him.”

  “Hey, are you coming in, student?” said Steward Evan with a look of irritation. He’d been holding the door open.

  Arcon smiled. “I was merely waiting for your invitation.”

  “Come on, then,” Evan said. None of the stewards liked Arcon being around, but the red-sashes at least tolerated his presence since they knew the full story of Arcon’s involvement with the scholar.

  Arcon walked into the room to see Scholar Aloysius staring off to the side of the room, rubbing his chin pensively. He was tall and narrow with a full head of black hair that managed to make his large nose and ears look distinguished. He didn’t stand hunched over like most gnome scholars, but kept his seven foot frame upright and moved with an uncommon agility. Arcon knew that if he switched to mage sight he would see the long slender form of a sword under the gnome’s robes.

  Arcon fell to one knee and placed his knuckles against the floor, giving the gnome a knightly bow. “Scholar Aloysius, I have come as requested.”

  The scholar didn’t look at him, but continued his stare. “So, Student Arco
n, did you find my conversation with Elder Qelvyn illuminating?”

  “Ooh, and I thought you were being so subtle,” Mellinda said.

  Arcon suppressed a wince. He knew better than to deny it. “I did not catch it all, Scholar. Just the ending. I must say I was quite surprised to discover the elder was a merman, but I suppose I should stop being surprised when it comes to you.”

  The scholar gave a brief chuckle and looked down at him. “How predictably bold of you. That attitude of yours is, I think, why I choose to keep you around. It certainly isn’t because of your resume of successes.”

  “I am your loyal servant, Scholar. Unorthodox though my methods may be,” Arcon replied. Every time he met with the gnome, there was a game to be played. Aloysius pondered just how useful he was while Arcon walked a thin line between being too brash and being just brash enough to be interesting. “As for my lack of success in regards to creating a rogue horse, I must admit there is a bit of trial and error. I have most of the information I need minus a few small pieces Mellinda and I should be able to figure out. I just need time to develop my skills with the rings.”

  “Hmm. You may stand now, Student Arcon,” Aloysius said. “I did not call you here to berate you for your ‘learning’ process. Though I do expect to see some progress soon, I see your assignment as more of a long term prospect.”

  Arcon rose to his feet feeling more uncertain than before. It was good news that the gnome was giving him time, but why would Aloysius bring him in to tell him that? Mellinda had similar thoughts.

  “Why tell us he’s being patient? He’s not calling us in here to calm us down.”

  “If I may ask, then, Scholar, why is it that you wished to see me?” Arcon asked.

  Aloysius gave him a slight smile. “This is about a journey I am undertaking. I wish you to accompany me.”

  “A journey, Scholar?” Arcon asked.

  “Yes. There is about to be a rather unfortunate ‘to do’ here in the capitol. The dark wizards have been too careless of late. I’m afraid they have gone and assassinated a scholar. One of the Homeland Council. Scholar Genevieve to be specific. ”

  Arcon frowned. Scholar Genevieve’s focus had been development of gnome warriors. She had headed their training efforts for over six hundred years. Her death would be a heavy blow.

  “The fools!” Mellinda said. “They’ve disrupted the balance.”

  Alberri had long been known as a hotbed for those doing evil magic. The reason it remained so despite everyone’s awareness of them was that uprooting the dark organizations would be costly and destructive to the peace of the country. Long ago a taciturn agreement had been struck between the government of Alberri and those heading the wizards. The government overlooked the dark wizard’s dealings as long as they did not try to seize power and left the Gnome Homeland alone.

  “Then there are retaliations planned?” Arcon asked.

  “I am afraid so,” said Aloysius. “There was a special meeting of the homeland council this morning. I have learned that a full third of the homeland’s gnome warriors are being mobilized.”

  Arcon swallowed. The wizards wouldn’t accept being slaughtered. This could escalate quickly. “I see, and you don’t wish to be around for this?”

  “I have alliances on both sides. Let’s just say that my presence here would require me to make some . . . position defining decisions,” the gnome said. He waived his hand to signal that he was done talking about his own motivations. “The result is that I have decided to travel to the Razbeck border. There I will meet my servant with his captured rogue horse and create my artifact of power.”

  “Then this is my chance to study a living rogue horse,” Arcon said, forcing his voice to sound eager even though he was feeling sick. He wasn’t ready for this yet.

  “This could be big for us,” Mellinda said, but unlike him, her eagerness was genuine.

  “Indeed,” the scholar said. “Though you should be aware that your time with the animal will be brief. There will be little time for delay once it arrives as I have already heard rumblings that people plan to stop us.”

  “Someone knows already, Scholar?” Arcon asked.

  “Uh oh,” said Mellinda

  Aloysius smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile at all. It was the kind of smile that triggered Arcon’s instinct to run. “My enemies take many forms, Student. But that is not your concern. Go. Prepare yourself. We leave at midnight.”

  “Yes, Scholar.” Arcon bowed again, one knee to the floor. Then he straightened and headed for the door, aware of the frowns of the red-sashes. They did not like the scholar’s announcement any more than he did. It would be harder to protect Aloysius while traveling in the open. Arcon didn’t think it would be an issue. He had a feeling the scholar was more than capable of protecting himself.

  “Don’t worry. I will help you. As much as you’ll let me, that is,” said Mellinda, assuming that his dour expression was due to the oncoming appointment with the rogue horse. She was wrong. He had plenty of time to worry about his performance later, but now there was a more pressing issue on his mind.

  There was so much to do and it was already nearing dinner time. He would be cutting things close. Arcon left the residence through the back door, deciding not to return to the laboratory just yet. He trotted quickly towards the rear gate of Aloysius’ property. There would be just the one guard there and, though he knew Arcon by sight, there was a way around that.

  He slipped into the stables, making sure that no one saw his entrance. Quickly, he hid in an empty stall and began a complex spell.

  As always while in the Capitol City of Mallad or the Gnome Homeland, he had to be careful using magic in an unauthorized area. His laboratory was okay because of the complex wards upon it, but the king employed a host of wizards whose job was to monitor magic in the city. Any unexpected spells were immediately noted and if he wasn’t careful he’d find himself surrounded by suspicious guards.

  Fortunately, Arcon’s mastery of subtle magic came in handy. Using quiet threads of air, he began to alter his appearance. He turned his blond hair auburn and changed the features of his face, aging his skin and giving himself fuller lips and darker eyes. Next he changed the visible shape of his figure, using subtle cushions of air to increase the bust area and hips. His white robes didn’t need a change, but his sash went from the green stripes of a student to the solid green of a full steward.

  “It always amuses me when you do this, but I will be very angry with you if we’re ever caught,” Mellinda remarked.

  When he walked out of the stables, he was the spitting image of Steward Molly. He was quite proud of it, though a close inspection or attempt at a conversation would ruin the illusion. Any but the most basic animation to the face would require more magic than he could use without detection. So he kept the face fixed in the kind of scowl that let people know he was not in the mood to talk.

  His gambit worked as it had the previous two times he had used it. The guard saw him coming and swallowed at the look on Molly’s face. With a smile and a mumbled good evening, the guard bowed as Arcon passed by.

  He walked into the crowded streets of the homeland, pleased with the way the passers-by deferred to him, but he didn’t dare keep the disguise up for long. After two blocks he let the illusion fade bit by bit. If word ever got back to Molly that she’d been seen out and about, she would immediately suspect him.

  He dropped the womanly attributes first, then gradually let go of the facial features, but he left his hair and sash colors as they were. The change in hair color was probably enough to keep him from being recognized. Besides, keeping up the appearance of being a full steward was too much of an advantage to let go of.

  He traversed the streets of the Gnome Homeland, moving from the residences of the more powerful houses to those of the middle houses. The difference in wealth between them was obvious in this section of the homeland. Though the streets remained clean and there was a lack of the beggars and prostitutes th
at were in Mallad, the styles of the residences changed drastically.

  The first time he’d been there Mellinda had commented that it was like going back in time. The residences of the powerful houses looked more like palatial estates, while the older residences were relics of a past age, most of them set high off of the ground on pillars to avoid the floods that used to pass through during every monsoon season. Now Scholar Abernathy’s barrier kept the floods away from the homeland and all it had cost was the soul of a rogue horse.

  When he reached his destination, Arcon changed his appearance one last time, darkening his skin and hair and turning the color of his sash to black, identifying him as a steward that catered to the gnome’s monetary and scholarly needs. The residence was of the oldest style of scholar home and required he climb a staircase fifteen-feet-high before knocking on the front door.

  A pimply-faced teenager answered the door. He sighed when he saw Arcon. “Oh, it’s you, Steward Gray.”

  “Good evening, Steward Reggie,” said Arcon with a smile. The youth was a green-sash in his first year of duty. “I’m here to see Scholar Tobias. There was an error in last month’s royalty report and I need to go over the figures with him again.”

  “Yeah,” Reggie said, letting him in, a bored look on his face.

  Were this any other city, Tobias’ residence would have been seen as lavish, with as many as four guest rooms, two libraries, and laden bookshelves lining all the walls. But now that Arcon understood the way gnomish society worked, he could see the differences. The rugs and bookshelves were of lesser quality and the books had all seen heavy use unlike the pristine collections Aloysius had, where he could afford to have a worn book rebound every few decades or perhaps even discard them for newer copies.

  All in all, it was an inconspicuous place. Perfect for the leader of the scholars resisting Aloysius. Too bad Tobias was so open about it.

  “Ugh. I hate this place,” Mellinda groaned.

  “Has the Scholar eaten his evening meal?” Arcon asked in a courteous tone. Green-sashed stewards, being in charge of the gnome’s physical needs, were also in charge of who saw their scholars. Meal times were always respected. It was hard enough to get a gnome to eat without someone distracting them.