Ask a question that’s a non-question. Typical power play, thought Sam. I may be stuck on a world crawling with predators and mythic monsters, working for subsistence, sleeping in a drafty attic, but I’m done backing down. “Actually,” said Sam, “I have no idea what it means to be an imperial battlemage.” She paused a split second for effect. “The only thing I’ve seen you battle are ill-manners and ill-temper.” She gazed up at Lady Isylnoir, Sam’s pleasant, subtle smile in stark contrast to the statuesque half-elf’s icy glare. “Unsuccessfully, I might add.”
“I… What? Are you trying to make it into my book of enemies?” She gripped the tome tight enough that the knuckles of her long fingers turned white.
“Not specifically. Although to be honest, I’d be surprised if there were any blank pages left in that particular volume.” Sam fought to suppress a smug smile, to maintain a neutral expression. She would show no emotion—neither fear nor intimidation, nor satisfaction. That was the best way to stand up to someone like Lady Isylnoir. She might be incinerated, but it would be worth it.
Lady Isylnoir loosened her grasp on the small tome and set it back on the desk. “You know. I could have you conscripted. I don’t see that you’ve been accepted into the adventurer’s guild yet. You and your friend.”
“He’s an acquaintance, really.” Sam didn’t like where this was going.
“Were I to do so, such insubordination could mean court-martial. Or perhaps assignment on a risky mission.”
So now we shift to threatening friends, thought Sam. “It could. But there are no regular army troops in the entire city. So you would have to command said risky mission yourself. And that would mean getting those fancy shoes dirty.”
Magical energy crackled at the fingertips of Lady Isylnoir’s right hand, finally coalescing into a sphere of arcane energy and flame. “Do you know what a fireball spell does?”
“I’m told they are quite effective against attic window frames,” said Sam.
Chapter 18
Wumm
Lee looked up from his current project, a set of axle brackets for a hand cart. “That sounded like an explosion. From Lady Isylnoir’s manor. Maybe I should go—”
“No,” snapped Gnebnik. “Sam can take care of herself. And she knows not to say anything stupid around Lady Isylnoir. Finish with the hand cart.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
Lee finished the brackets, followed by a replacement frame for a hay lift. His progress was slower than it should have been due to a problem with his head, which kept swiveling in the direction of Lady Isylnoir’s manor. “It’s been a couple hours at least—”
“No.”
“Right.”
The sun had all but disappeared behind the city walls, casting long shadows across the little courtyard in front of the workshop. A slender, cloaked figure slunk into the workshop.
“Sam! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” said Lee. “You’re getting to be as quiet as Shin.”
Sam flipped her hood down, glanced at the workbench, then back at Lee. “Still not finished?”
“No.” He glared at her, hoping for a hint of how the meeting had gone. Her words may have been calm, but something was off. Her voice cracked, her stance unsteady. “So how’d it go? Thought we heard an explosion earlier.”
“As we like to say, it’s a good news/bad news situation.”
Bravado. Typical Sam, thought Lee. “Which you’re going to make me ask twice about.”
Sam smiled. “Only because you take it so well. I spent the afternoon in the town hall with Lady Isylnoir. I adjusted the furnace and managed to convince her to move her study there.”
“Convincing Lady Isylnoir to do anything is quite an impressive feat,” said Shin.
“And makes me curious about the bad news,” said Lee.
“Let’s just say she may dislike me now.”
“Doesn’t she dislike everybody?”
“That’s more of a condescending indifference. She now actively dislikes me.” Sam stumbled.
Lee and Shin leapt to steady her.
Sam trembled, barely able to stand. “Killer snails, giant birds, wild cats, murder monkeys…”
“See,” said Lee. “I told you that was a catchy name.”
“Yes.” She flashed him a weak smile, drew a long, deep breath. “And in the end this is what breaks me? But it doesn’t matter. Lady Isylnoir may dislike me now. Possibly quite a lot. But she will not disregard me again.”
“Sounds like you should call it a day,” said Lee.
“We could all knock off,” said Gnebnik. “Gettin’ too dark.”
Lee set a small hammer on the pegboard and followed Sam and Shin.
“Not you,” said Gnebnik.
Sam shrugged, nodding at Lee. “I’ll see you back at the Dancing Dryad then.”
“What is it?” said Lee.
“Special skills training.” Gnebnik handed him a wooden training sword. “Night combat.”
“Really?”
“Follow me.”
Lee nearly tripped on the bed of the pushcart he had been working on as they walked to the training square. The weapon in his hands was thicker than his usual training weapon, with a pair of gemstones set into the blade. “Glow stones, right?” Lee cupped his hand around the gems to see if the glow was just a trick of the twilight.
“Aye.” Gnebnik stepped over to the humanoid training dummy. “We’ll start with this one. Just like the colored paint on yer usual training sword, the glow stones are fer me. Ta make sure yer holdin’ it the right way.
Gnebnik ran Lee through the first set of exercises, Lee able to parry one in four return strikes.
“The blade is slippin’ in yer grip.”
Lee held it up, twisting it side to side to orient the blade.
Gnebnik smacked him in the bicep with his quarterstaff. “No. Ya need ta do it by feel. An’ even if ya do it wrong, ya have to block. A bad block is better than no block.”
Lee grumbled, ran his thumb along the crossguard to orient his grip, eyes fixed on the gnome’s outline.
“It’s too dark. I can barely see you. Or the dummy. I know you’re there, but all the usual subtle cues are gone. Feels like I’m taking a huge step backwards.”
Gnebnik swung the quarterstaff at him again, this time he blocked the blow.
“Yer stance is off.”
“How can you see my stance? There’s not even any moonlight!”
“Gnomes have better eyesight in the dark than humans.”
“STOP! This is pointless!”
“What’s eatin’ ya?” Gnebnik took a step back and lowered his quarterstaff. Although this was not visible to Lee.
“Why are we working on this? I failed fighting that damn bird. And a kid died. That may be just another day here on Arvia, but it’s not for me. You want me to shake it off and train, fine. But I wanna fix what I fucked-up last time. Next time I need to get it right.”
“Ther’ is no next time,” said the gnome. “Thinkin’ about yer’ tactics is fine, but you’ll never fight the same battle twice. Ya might fight birds again, or wood panthers, or even a lindworm. Tactics are important, an’ I know I’ve told ya ta pick yer battles, but when yer in it, you do the best ya can with what ya have to work with.”
“According to Sam, that’s what I do already, and I’m a fool for it.”
“That is what ya do already, and according ta me it makes you a great party member. Someone you can count on. Someone that’s got your back. Lad, first time I saw ya fight, ya punched out a moerko. An’ that time you did save the kid. All three in fact. Ya can’t win every fight.”
Lee grumbled. “Right. So what now?”
“We practice till you can parry at least half the strikes from the dummy. Ya get supper and a cup of fresh well water. An’ tomorrow we do it again.”
“Just another day.”
Gnebnik nodded.
Except for the little boy from my last quest. There will be no m
ore days for him.
◊ ◊ ◊
Sam pulled the cloak over her head to shield her now half-frozen ears from the wind. Her hair had grown out considerably in her time on Arvia, but the cold still bit through to her ears. She wondered what it must be like for Lady Isylnoir in such a situation: her elongated elven ears poked through even that outlandish mane of blonde hair.
Sam had spent the last four afternoons renovating rooms in the city hall, including a domed greenhouse on the top floor. The elf’s temperament had been significantly more reserved, at least in her dealings with Sam, although she couldn’t help but feel she were being scrutinized, tested.
Sam turned the corner onto a street barely wider than an alley, her gaze fixing on a building thirty paces distant. A light still burned inside. Good.
A gnome woman answered the door. “Evening, Sam.”
“Hello Corene. Do you mind if I use your workbench for a few minutes?”
Corene nodded and motioned her inside. “Shin has been very good to me over the years. Always on the lookout for fine mechanical parts, rarely asking for anything in return.”
“And he asked you to help me?”
“Not in so many words. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to use your bench and tools,” said Sam. “I’m trying to fabricate a folding stock for the crossbow Shin lent me. It’s a bit bulky with a fixed stock.”
“It just so happens I’m working late. I’d welcome the company.”
Sam hung her cloak on a peg, removed her knapsack, and set the crossbow and a burlap bag of parts on the workbench. Corene sat in front of a treadle-powered lathe and resumed work. The gunsmith’s shop was considerably smaller than Gnebnik’s, containing three long benches and numerous cabinets for hand tools. It was lit by an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and a reflector lamp shining onto Corene’s lathe.
“What are you working on?” asked Sam.
“Rebuilding the lock of a salvaged musket. I swear it looked as if it had been dragged through the mud, then used by a lindworm as a chew toy.”
“I can see that. I meant specifically, what are you working on?”
The gnome shot her a smile. “I forgot. I don’t have to dumb things down for you. The Mark II rifled musket was mass produced. I have replacement parts for many of the components, but not the safety slide. It was damaged from all the grit in the mechanism. Only way to fix it is to grind the plate to a larger size and fabricate a new slide to fit it.”
“You said ‘was.’ So they’re no longer produced?”
“Replaced in regular army service by Mark IIIs about a decade ago. But the IIs were reliable and well-liked, and there are a lot in service with militias and city watch.”
“Hmm.”
Sam set to work disassembling the crossbow.
“How long have you lived in Hazelhearth?”
“Most of my adult life.”
“Are there many gnomes living here?”
“A few. Why?”
“Just curious, that’s all.” Sam set the stock in a wooden vice and tightened it. “Back on my world we had emigrants from various lands. Sometimes they would even found cities within cities. Open shops with specialties from their home countries.”
“I make a mean gnomish mushroom pie if you want to come over for supper sometime.”
“Thanks.”
“You miss your home world? Your family?”
“A little.” Sam noted a couple of measurements on a scrap of paper. “Yes. It’s easy to get caught up in things here. Especially in the wilds. But when there’s time to think, I wonder what my family is up to. What they must have thought happened to me. We may not have been close in day-to-day life. But then something important happens…”
“The dimension travelers must have been here a dozen times. It was just bad luck that you came through when you did. I’m sure you’ll find them again.”
“Yeah.”
Corene loosened the chuck and removed a tiny grooved rod from the lathe. She stepped to the bench where the lock was secured in a hardwood vice and slid it into a machined hole. “Perfect fit.”
Sam stood up from her work and stepped to the other bench. “A pity I can’t use one of these. Gnebnik is dead set against them. But there’s something about a gun that feels more… I don’t know, powerful?”
Corene fastened a cover plate and hefted the weapon. She slid the safety from safe to fire several times, and clicked the hammer between half-cocked and cocked. “Firearms are more powerful. This here has a longer range and is harder hitting than your crossbow. But Gnebnik’s right. In the wilderness there’s something to be said for a quiet weapon. With a less cumbersome reload.”
“There has to be some way of keeping a firearm quiet.”
Corene smiled, finally letting a very un-gnome-like giggle escape her lips.
“What?”
“How many gunsmiths have had this conversation around a pint at the pub over the years. And here you are. And it’s all new to you.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Lady Isylnoir talking down to me about magic.”
“That was unkind.”
“Sorry. It gets frustrating. I haven’t felt like this much of a dilettante since I was ten.”
“You’re living on a different world. Doesn’t assuming everything will come easy to you make you the presumptuous one?”
Sam grumbled. “I can accept that magic is a different field, even if I see similarities to electromagnetism. But this—” Sam gestured to the lock in her crossbow, “is mechanics. I studied mechanics.” Sam shot Corene a long glance. “But you’re right. Lady Isylnoir is patronizing. You were jesting. I shouldn’t be so sensitive.”
“And I should take your questions seriously,” said Corene. “I’ve seen your work and you do know mechanics. Yes, it is possible to dampen the sound with a series of baffles around the muzzle. But this adds weight to an already cumbersome weapon, and it adds it in the worst possible location.”
“Hadn’t thought about that.”
“It’s not that it can’t be done, just that every solution brings more problems.”
Sam went back to work on the crossbow. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be able to get it done as quick as I thought. I don’t want to keep you here all night.”
“Don’t worry about me. I still need to fit a replacement stock to this.”
“And then?”
“It’ll go to the city armory. May not be an ideal weapon in the vast forests and jungles, but in defense of the city it’s perfect.”
“Unless the ogres attack.”
Corene sighed. “Yeah. Against an ogre it’s not much more than a pinprick.”
Sam returned to work on her crossbow.
◊ ◊ ◊
Sam pushed open the door to the meeting hall in Hazelhearth’s city hall, finding Lady Isylnoir standing beside what appeared to be a side table stacked atop a low desk, pouring over a tome.
“You requested my presence?” said Sam.
The scratching of fountain pen against the parchment of Lady Isylnoir’s notebook was almost as grating as her delay in answering. “Correct.”
Sam crossed her arms in front of her chest. Waited half a minute. Uncrossed them again.
“Your conversion of this meeting hall has proven acceptable for my studies.”
“It gratifies me to hear my work held in such high regard.”
“As a learning environment, it is far from the level one would receive at the arcane academy, but I appear to be making some progress.” She pressed a blotter against the page in her notebook and shut it. “When I am not obliged to attend to the woeful state of the town’s defenses and preparation for the winter.”
“One wonders how the city survived prior to your leadership.”
Lady Isylnoir shot Sam an icy glare.
“Which brings me to the reason for the summons. This furniture is designed with the human stature in mind, not that of an elf. I find it inefficient for
my studies.”
The furnishings in our loft at the Dancing Dryad consist of broken bar furniture and empty wooden crates, thought Sam. She rolled her eyes.
“Using one’s time efficiently should not be such a foreign concept, even for humans.”
At least Lady Isylnoir isn’t concerned about the color of her parasol, thought Sam. “You are correct. And I do seek to optimize the layout of my own workshop. I shall endeavor to rectify the situation.”
The meeting hall, a good twenty paces long and almost as wide, was spartan. Aside from the desks and small tables Lady Isylnoir was using, there was a dozen long benches unceremoniously stacked in the corner. The hall was lit by a set of windows along the back wall, all still intact. A training dummy against the left wall was rather less intact. And smelled of smoke. Sam sketched her observations in a notebook.
“So, to expedite my refurbishment of the study area, it would be of value if I were provided with a cursory overview of your routine. The basic principles of what you are trying to accomplish.”
“You wish for me to instruct you in the principles of magic?”
“Let me guess, a mere human is not authorized to know such things.”
“Magical aptitude in humans is inferior to that of elves,” replied Lady Isylnoir. “Although, some humans develop a modicum of talent. However, magic requires many years of study to reach even a rudimentary proficiency.”
“I am not trying to reach a rudimentary proficiency. I am trying to redesign your working space.” Preferably without having to return a dozen times because you neglected to inform me of some detail or other that ‘should have been obvious.’
“You are of course, correct.” Lady Isylnoir motioned to the top of a roll top desk with a pair of tomes and a notebook. “I refer to these books on the specific topics I am learning. I have two personal notebooks. One in which I summarize the reference material, the other in which I record the results of any practical attempts.” She stood next to the stack of furniture, placing a hand on the work surface. “As you can see, the desk surface is far too low for the elven stature, while the table atop the desk is fractionally too high.”
Hazelhearth Hires Heroes Page 17
