by Max Anthony
Jera had never been to a magic shop before and was intrigued at what might lie within such a place. There were purveyors of magical items in Gargus, of course, but one generally needed money in order to buy their wares, something which Jera had always lacked. Soon, she found herself at the front of the magic shop which served the village. Rasmus impatiently banged on the door, having seen more than his fair share of such premises.
“I’ll bet the lazy bastard doesn’t open till gone ten,” muttered the wizard, hammering on the door once more.
Above them, a window scraped open and a head poked out. “Calm your knocking will you? Can a man not have two minutes to eat his breakfast without someone trying to break his door down?” The window closed again.
“Probably taking his time and reading his newspaper,” said an unrepentant Rasmus.
“Rasmus!” admonished Jera, aware that the wizard could be cynical when the fancy took him.
There was a shuffling noise behind the locked door. With a judder, it was pulled back and a wizened old man looked out, his face set in what looked like a permanent scowl. “You’d better buy something after all that racket,” he said. “And if I catch any of you thieving, I’ll have your guts for garters.” He looked pointedly at Viddo when he said that, which the thief pretended not to notice.
Rasmus was closest to the door, yet he didn’t immediately enter. The old fellow within looked at them pointedly. “You can come in if you want,” he said.
“Cranky Wadslow?” asked Rasmus. “What are you doing out here in the arse end of nowhere?”
The man stared back from his position a few feet inside the doorway. His face changed and Jera realised with horror that he was trying to smile.
“Cranky Wadslow?” the fellow said. “I’ve not heard that name in years. Wait, don’t tell me. Rasmus? Is it really you?”
“It is me,” Rasmus acknowledged. “It’s been much too long,” he said, extending a hand towards the now-excited Cranky Wadslow.
Rasmus and Wadslow walked into the depths of the shop, talking in a most animated fashion about their old days at the university, leaving Viddo and Jera forgotten on the doorstep.
“I suppose we’d better have a browse,” said Viddo. “Even with friend’s rates this is going to be a costly visit.”
Inside, the shop was magically illuminated by several glowing glass balls, mounted upon sticks. There were shelves along each of the fifteen-feet length of the walls, upon which were items of all descriptions. There were swords, axes, daggers and shields. There were scrolls and potions, rings and necklaces. In one corner there was a wooden cross, against which a suit of plate armour had been propped.
“I’m watching you!” came a voice, drifting from the back room into which Wadslow had taken Rasmus.
“He’s a dodgy character that Viddo Furtive,” said the voice of Rasmus, raised just loud enough that the subject of the words could not fail to hear them.
“Bloody wizards,” muttered Viddo to himself.
Jera and Viddo spent some time peering at the available goods, which become boring very quickly. From the back room, the sound of two wizards in conversation came to them, sometimes excitable, other times low and murmuring. Jera was at first afraid to touch any of the wares, but when she saw Viddo pick up a few items and return them to their shelves, she did likewise.
“Is any of this stuff any good?” she asked.
“Not really,” said Viddo, examining a leather-handled dagger. “Most of it is throwaway rubbish.”
“I heard that!” shouted Wadslow.
“He must have some kind of listening spell set up in here,” said Viddo, by way of explanation.
“Yes I have, so don’t think you can steal anything!” shouted Wadslow again.
Jera looked at the suit of plate armour. It was beautifully polished and gleamed even in the average light of the shop’s interior. “What about this?” she asked.
“It’s only got a minor enchantment,” Viddo replied. “Still, the magic would make it lighter than the chain mail you’re wearing, whilst also providing a greater degree of protection. There’s no price tag on it, of course.”
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it!” called the proprietor.
“It’s always the same in little shops like this,” said Viddo, pretending he hadn’t heard. “There’ll be a few minor bits and pieces, all of which are vastly overpriced. They might occasionally stock an item with a moderately strong enchantment that you could pick up for half the price in a larger city.”
“My prices are perfectly fair!”
“Do we have the money to pay his prices?” asked Jera. “I could really do with a new breastplate and some plate leggings,” she said. This wasn’t greed on her part – as a warrior, she was expected to stand and take the blows. She was wearing a few pieces of magical armour that gave some additional protection, but in a few areas she was sorely lacking the necessary equipment.
Viddo drew out the pouch of gems they’d recently acquired in their last underground adventure. “Let’s see what he’s asking, shall we?”
They didn’t have to wait for much longer. Rasmus and Wadslow emerged from the room in which they’d been hiding, both of them looking as pleased as punch.
“This fine gentleman has allowed me to view his under-the-counter supply of spell scrolls, through which I have been rifling whilst you and Jera loitered,” said Rasmus. “And I have managed to top up my spell reserves somewhat, though we still have to pay for that which I have memorised.” Spell scrolls were single-use affairs. A wizard could cast the spell directly from the scroll, or memorise it for later use. Whichever way they chose, the scroll would vanish immediately.
“Fine, fine,” muttered Viddo. “We have coins and we have gems to pay for them. How much for this shoddy breastplate and these knackered leggings?” he asked Wadslow.
“Shoddy? Knackered?” screeched the wizard. “These items are of almost legendary quality, and worn by Lady Splendour herself when she slew a thousand of the Iron King’s elite bodyguard!”
“They are clearly past their best,” replied Viddo calmly. “See here, there’re signs of staining and weakening through the metal. The breastplate might well crumble beneath the first blow that lands upon it, and the leggings are far weightier than they should be.”
“Nonsense,” Wadslow told him, pretending to look. “I’ve had these checked over by the finest smiths and their provenance is beyond doubt. I couldn’t possibly part with them for fewer than eight thousand gold coins.”
“Two hundred and fifty gold coins is twice the worth of these goods and I would never pay more than one hundred.”
“Six thousand is an excellent price for the protection offered to a lady as fair as your companion! How could you let such a lady face the dangers of the world without the protection she needs? Even the finest of warriors has fallen for want of a good suit of plate armour.”
As thief and proprietor haggled, Rasmus ushered Jera out of the shop. “This may take some time,” he told her. “We’d best go and see if Thomas has finished readying our provisions.”
They returned to the Grumpy Wizard, only to find that the owner hadn’t quite finished cooking the last of the sausages, owing to the fact that he only had four frying pans, which up till now had proven to be more than adequate to fulfil the food orders from the droves of famished labourers who descended upon his establishment every evening. As they waited, Jera and Rasmus sat at a table.
“Do you really think there’s evil in that castle?” asked Jera. “Or are we mostly interested in the treasure?”
Rasmus was serious. “It’s almost certain that there’s something wrong,” he told her. “I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before. There’ll be a curse or similar over the place. The appearance of that werewolf is the first sign of what I’m sure will be many. The castle is a few miles away from us – there may be other villages which are closer that have seen more deaths from other sources. The treasure is certainly
of interest, though neither myself nor Viddo would turn down the opportunity to investigate what is happening. With or without loot.”
Jera believed him. Her companions were certainly interested in getting their hands on new, shiny toys, yet it never seemed to stand in their way of getting things done.
“This is how one becomes a better adventurer, is it?” she asked.
“Exactly right! The training ground only shows you so much. You can get better and better with training, but until you put it all into practise, you’re vulnerable to the unexpected. The more you deal with the unexpected, the less catastrophic are the results of it. You can never eliminate it, but through experience you can turn a certain death situation into one which you escape by the skin of your teeth.”
Jera considered the words. In her short time with Rasmus and Viddo, they had encountered many dangers and had indeed escaped from several life-threatening attacks when it looked like they might not. She had been trained by a renowned warrior known as Goosty the Placid and this was similar to the lessons her esteemed trainer had always drummed into her. Still, there was a vast gulf between being told something and seeing it in action.
Thomas arrived, carrying three large parcels. “Here’s your food,” he grunted, setting the packages onto the table with a meaty thump. A delicious odour greeted their nostrils, insidiously suggesting that it was time to eat, even though they’d only finished their breakfasts a couple of hours ago. Jera watched as Rasmus reached out a hand, thumb and forefinger in a pincer shape as if ready to take hold of a sausage or rasher of bacon. She gave the hand a gentle smack.
“Rasmus!” she admonished him. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty.
“I suppose we’d best go and see how Viddo is getting on,” he said with a wistful sigh.
Outside the magic shop, a thief waited, picking at his spotless fingernails with his dagger. Against the wall adjacent was a breastplate and a set of plate leggings.
“How’d you get on?” asked Rasmus.
“Not bad,” Viddo replied, perking up a little. “For all of his scowling, he actually let you have your spells for a really good price. Therefore, I paid him a realistic sum for this average-quality magical plate armour that we see here.”
“We’re not totally destitute, then?” Rasmus enquired.
“We have enough to get by,” the thief confirmed.
They waited patiently as Jera donned the new additions to her armour. Magical armour was generally much easier to put on than its mundane equivalent and had the added benefits of expanding or shrinking to fit its wearer. Against the strongest of foes, even the best human warrior could not expect to prevail, so magical armour was a necessity rather than a luxury. It was lighter, stronger, and assisted with dodging and deflecting. The fighter who shunned its protection on the grounds of pride was almost always a dead fighter.
“There!” she said, beaming. “This feels so much better than my old chain mail. I can’t believe the difference!”
“I can’t believe we didn’t buy you any in Gargus, now that I think about it,” said Viddo. Jera had earned it.
“Shall we be on our way?” Rasmus asked. “Time is passing us by and it’s several miles until we reach our destination.”
They all looked at the castle. It seemed further away this morning for some reason, yet its presence still projected an air of gloom upon the village. They’d not really noticed it until now and once they sensed it, it was difficult to ignore.
“How well stocked are you?” asked Viddo.
“Not too bad,” said Rasmus. “I don’t have enough spells for an extended campaign. If I use what I have judiciously, there should be enough.”
The word judicious was not something that Viddo tended to associate with Rasmus’ use of his spells. Some wizards crept about, occasionally casting a spell of minor destructive power, as if each one cost them dearly of their life energy. Not so Rasmus, who could rattle off ten fireballs in under a minute when the fancy took him. He didn’t always like to cast his biggest spells, since some of them could have a detrimental effect on his health if they were overused, but in general, he didn’t hold back.
They left the village, following the same path that led past Jardi Spontle’s shack. The day was warm and overcast without being too muggy. In the daylight, it was difficult to be sure of exactly where they’d encountered the werewolf the previous night. After they’d travelled a couple of miles without sign of the body, Jera began to think that they must have walked much further than she’d remembered. It appeared as if she were the only one interested, since the other two showed little sign that they were looking for a missing body. After another mile, Jera gave up and decided that one of the woodland creatures must have dragged the corpse away for consumption.
“How far away was the castle, do you think?” Jera asked.
“Five miles, perhaps,” offered Viddo. “It’s not always easy to be sure. Sometimes one can walk for days whilst the destination grows no larger in the distance. Other times, a distant place can almost jump towards the unsuspecting traveller. Admittedly it’s usually only in deserts that the effect is most felt.”
For a time, they lost all sight of the castle. The trees overhead formed a thick canopy and the path wended along a valley floor between the hills, preventing them from getting a sight of it on the occasions the trees thinned out. After another two miles, the path left the comfort of the trees and they found themselves in a large area that was mostly grass. The hills remained, treeless and criss-crossed with stone walls. It looked as if this area had once been farmed, though there was no sign of crops and no sign of human life. A handful of crows circled overhead, silently watching.
“A village,” whispered Jera, dropping her voice low for a reason she couldn’t fathom.
It lay before them, less than half a mile away – a ramshackle collection of houses, perhaps a hundred in total. There was a broad stream near to the village, though it wasn’t clear if this was the same stream as the one upon which the previous village had been built.
“It looks empty,” said Rasmus.
From here, they could see how run-down it looked. There were no obvious signs of decay, but the place exuded that unmistakeable feeling of neglect that only came from an absence of life.
The castle was close now – perched on a high hill on the opposite side of the village. The hill was steep and rocky in many places, since it was customary to build one’s castle in such a way as to make it difficult for attacking armies to reach the walls with siege machinery. There were a few trees and many wiry bushes that looked suspiciously like they might have long thorns. A road was visible, leading up to the castle gates from the village.
“Solid, grey walls, battlements, towers and turrets,” said Viddo, squinting upwards. “It’s far too big to be here.”
“Why is that?” asked Jera.
“The bigger they are, the more money they cost to build,” said Viddo with a shrug. “There’s nothing in this region that would draw an attacking army of any great size. There’re no big towns or cities that I’m aware of that need the defence.”
“The castle could be hundreds of years old,” said Rasmus. “It’s not unheard of for such buildings to endure long after the reason for their construction has become an irrelevance.”
“No doubt it made sense at the time they were hauling thousands of stone blocks up the hillside,” said the thief. “And now there’s nothing left to rule.”
There was something in his words that depressed them – the futility of anything beyond the fleeting moment of time in which one existed. Without making any effort to conceal their approach, the trio set off towards the village.
5
The village was as empty as it had looked from the treeline, though the neglect was more apparent when viewed from the few streets which ran between the houses. The dwellings were built from stone and wood, with layers of moss having taken hold over many. Tall weeds and grass had forced their way up through
the tiniest gaps in what had once been paving. Shutters were left carelessly open, along with front doors. There was no sound bar that which the three adventurers made and the occasional call from birds above.
“It’s like everyone ran away,” said Jera. She peered through an open door that led into one of the houses. There was a table and chairs within. Doorways in two of the interior walls were shrouded in the gloom and her eyes could see no further.
“A castle like the one above us brings wealth to villages such as this one,” said Rasmus. “It may be that when Baron Valps left, there was nothing to keep the people here.”
“Anything worth stealing?” asked Viddo from across the road. He’d just emerged from a different house with his hands empty.
“Doesn’t look like it,” replied Jera. “Though it’s hard to be certain from this doorway.”
“It’s unlikely we’ll find anything of value, even if we perform a thorough search of every one of these homes,” Rasmus offered. “If I were a poor man, I might unearth a few items worth placing into my pack, but I can’t see that it’ll be worth our while to dig around further.”
“I agree,” said Jera. She wasn’t afraid of the village, it was just that she could feel the forgotten lives of its people as they moved invisibly through the past. The thought of searching amongst the possessions they’d left behind didn’t appeal.
“Let’s get on our way to the castle,” said Viddo. He’d already located and searched the single shop that had existed in the village. There’d been nothing worth taking – the place had either been burgled, or the shopkeeper had managed to fit everything onto a cart in order to take it to his or her destination.
There’d been nothing dangerous in the village, but that didn’t mean the trio weren’t happy to leave it behind. The road took them out from the last of the buildings and headed on towards the hill on which the castle perched. The path branched once, a secondary route which circled around the bottom of the slope and vanished out of sight. It suggested that there were other villages somewhere in that direction, though the adventurers had no immediate plans to explore further afield.
