The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper

by Mel Odom

Nightmares had plagued Wick’s last two nights when he’d contemplated being kicked out into the middle of Torgarlk Town.

  He’d never once considered staying behind when Craugh went off alone. I should be relieved, he thought. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. He looked at the bedroll he’d assembled for himself. And what if Craugh gets captured or killed? Will I ever know the end of the story if that happens? He knew he wouldn’t. If a wizard (especially one of Craugh’s caliber!) couldn’t walk into Torgarlk Town and take what he came for, then no one aboard One-Eyed Peggie had a chance.

  So he wouldn’t know. Could he live with that?

  As he mulled over the question, watching Craugh stride purposefully between the cargo handlers, passengers, and merchants scattered over the dock, Wick knew that living with the question wasn’t the only problem.

  Despite his faults and his mean-spirited nature, Wick had a friendship with Craugh. None of the acquaintainceships he had back at the Vault of All Known Knowledge or in Greydawn Moors even came close to what he shared with Craugh. Nor did his friendships with the captain and crew of One-Eyed Peggie or with Brandt and Cobner and the others.

  Craugh was all Wick had left of Grandmagister Ludaan. Despite the fact that there would be no living with Grandmagister Frollo upon Wick’s return to the Vault of All Known Knowledge, Wick didn’t want anything to happen to the wizard.

  Wick looked up at Cap’n Farok.

  The old sea captain smiled at him, nodded, then raised his hand in farewell. “May the Old Ones keep watch over both of you.”

  “Thank you,” Wick said, and bolted for his gear. He had it in his hands and was bounding down the gangplank. From the corner of his eye, he saw Quarrel and Bulokk start to follow.

  “No,” Cap’n Farok said sternly. “The last thing Craugh needs is the two of ye flounderin’ around out there an’ givin’ away there’s strangers hangin’ about. Ye’ll stay aboard Peggie an’ wait—like the rest of us.”

  Wick knew Quarrel and Bulokk wouldn’t take the order kindly, but they’d meet Cap’n Farok’s demands. He didn’t break his stride, didn’t glance over his shoulder. At the bottom of the gangplank, he stepped into the crowd and started making his way through them.

  People didn’t give way to a dweller the same way they did for Craugh. Thankfully, with the peaked slouch hat atop his tall frame, the wizard was simple to follow.

  Wick trotted through the street and kept Craugh in sight. He wasn’t sure if the wizard knew he was there or not, but Wick didn’t believe it was that easy to follow him without him knowing.

  They ascended the cut steps along the ledges. Most of the structures there were two-storied combinations with shops on the bottom and personal dwellings on the second floor.

  Wick tried to follow close enough to Craugh that anyone looking at him would believe he was the wizard’s personal servant, but not so close that Craugh could hear him. If the wizard didn’t already know he was there. He also made sure that he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. On the mainland, those who lived in rough towns weren’t used to having dwellers look them in the eye. It was simple subterfuge, but an effective one.

  However, it didn’t always work.

  “Halfer,” a fat man with a broadsword on his hip called out. He was as impressively tall as he was fat, and had a hard look about his piggy eyes.

  Wick tried to ignore the man and keep going. That worked for about two steps, which was when the fat man inserted himself directly into Wick’s path.

  “Halfer,” the man said in a vexed tone, “I’m talking to you.”

  Having no choice with the fat man blocking the way, Wick stopped. He stared at his toes. To distract himself, he wiggled them in the dirt, making sure he wouldn’t glance up.

  “What are you doing here?” the fat man growled.

  “Following my master,” Wick answered.

  The fat man looked at Craugh. “I don’t see any masters here. At least, I don’t see your master.”

  Wick didn’t say anything, hoping the big man would just let him pass.

  Moving with speed and grace, the big man grabbed the front of Wick’s shirt and yanked him from his feet. “I didn’t say you could go, now did I?”

  “Please.” Wick continued staring at his feet. “I have to keep up with my master.”

  “The old man with the pointy hat? Hah! He appears to barely have the wherewithal to be master of himself.” The fat man started laughing, bending down close to Wick so that all the little Librarian could see was his corpulent mass. Then there was the sound of an impact and the fat man’s face screwed up tight in pain.

  Wick saw the staff up between the man’s legs where it had struck. Realizing the man was falling forward, Wick quickly stepped back. The human fell like a massive oak out in the forest, taking his time with it. He dropped to his knees first and tried to catch hold of Wick with his hands. Then he fell forward on his face and got sick.

  The nearby pedestrians spread out from Wick and the fat man, who moaned in pain but still reached for his sword. Craugh stepped up and rammed the bottom of his staff into the fat man’s chins.

  “Don’t,” Craugh said softly, but his voice was like silk-covered steel. “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings to leave your body here for whatever carrion-feeder comes along that isn’t particularly finicky about what it eats.”

  The fat man’s hand dropped away from the sword.

  “That,” Craugh said, “was for being disrespectful in talking about me. I’ve got keen ears, and not much mercy left in me these days.” He flicked his eyes to Wick. “Come.”

  Wick shouldered his bedroll again and skirted the fat man to stand at Craugh’s side.

  “Don’t let me catch sight of you again.” Craugh gave the staff a final shove that started a coughing fit. Then he turned and strode along the cobblestoned street.

  Wick followed. He kept waiting for Craugh to yell at him, but the wizard ignored him and headed for the nearest tavern. Three horses, all of them road weary and covered in dust, stood tethered at the railing. A carved statue of a bear on its hind legs stood beside the door.

  Craugh entered the tavern and stood for a moment. The wizard stopped so suddenly that Wick almost ran into him. The little Librarian slid back a step or two and peered around Craugh’s russet-colored robes.

  “Welcome to The Big Ol’ Bear’s Tavern,” an old man behind the scarred bar greeted.

  Craugh nodded. “A table, if you please.”

  The tavernkeeper guided them to a table in the back and drew two ales at Craugh’s direction, then departed quickly after the wizard paid him. Craugh reached into his pipe pouch, took out his pipe and filled it, then smoked a wreath around his head. He never once looked at Wick.

  Wick sat across from him at the table. The chair wasn’t made for a dweller. As a result, his legs dangled off the floor several inches and made him feel like a child. I should have stayed on One-Eyed Peggie, he told himself morosely. Better still, I should have stayed at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Only that would have been no good as well. With Grandmagister Frollo only lately turned back from toad to human, things wouldn’t have gone well there, either.

  “Why?” Craugh asked finally.

  Wick blinked at him. Why was such an open question. He’d learned to hate it while teaching Novices about the cataloguing of books. The answer to their whys most of the time was simply because that was the way the Grandmagisters wanted things done.

  “Why what?” Wick asked.

  Craugh frowned at him. “Why did you choose to accompany me when you could have remained on the ship?”

  “I made a mistake,” Wick said, thinking that was what the wizard wanted to hear.

  “Then you can correct that mistake. Go back to Peggie.”

  For a moment, Wick considered getting up from the table and doing exactly that. Then he thought about the weapons they were searching for and the opposition they could be up against. He remembered most clearly Sokadir’s rage at his appearance in his th
oughts.

  “I can’t,” Wick said.

  “You can,” Craugh said crossly. He waved his pipe toward the door. “I just gave you permission to take your leave.”

  Wick steeled his spine (though it still felt awfully brittle) and sat up a little straighter. “That isn’t what I wish to do.”

  “What is it you wish, Librarian Lamplighter?”

  Wick thought about that, sensing that he had to choose his words carefully. Craugh was not an easy man to know, though Grandmagister Ludaan had seemed to know him well.

  “I wish to see the end of this,” Wick said finally. “Bulokk stepped away from everything he’s ever known in an effort to rectify his ancestor’s honor—”

  “And his own, to a degree,” Craugh pointed out.

  “Yes. Quarrel and Alysta have given their lives so far—Alysta even sacrificed her body—trying to get their ancestor’s sword back.”

  “They also want to continue a legacy,” Craugh said.

  “I know.”

  “They have personal motivations to risk their lives. What is it that brings you to the brink of death?”

  Wick blinked.

  “For I can assure you that’s what we’re talking about here.”

  Taking a deep breath, Wick tried to calm the fear that clamored inside him. One thing he knew for certain when many other things seemed confused was that he wanted to live. He still hadn’t finished that Taurak Bleiyz romance. “You talked about how important it was to find out what happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep. Do you truly believe that, or were those just pretty words you dropped in front of me to make me more amenable to what you wanted me to do?”

  Craugh said nothing.

  “Cap’n Farok believes in what you said,” Wick went on, unable to bear the silence. “So does Hallekk. The crew of One-Eyed Peggie has laid their lives on the line to find out the truth.” He paused and took another breath. “Even if you were just lying for your own ends, what you said was true. The goblinkin are rising in numbers and intent. One day they may try to rise up in the south again and pour north along the Shattered Coast. If they do, the land will once more run red with blood. I don’t want to see that happen.”

  “You can’t stop the coming war. The goblinkin have seen they can have more than they’ve ever had before. They won’t be satisfied with what they have now.”

  Wick was acutely conscious of the fact that a number of goblinkin sat around other tables in the tavern. A few of them even appeared to be giving them undue attention.

  “What those three weapons can do,” Wick said, “what the truth can do, is help the humans, elves, and dwarves once more join forces. Knowing what happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep can remove a lot of hostile feelings.”

  “But the defenders in that place were betrayed,” Craugh said.

  “If Lord Kharrion was after the weapons, if he knew they were hammered from the vidrenium, maybe he did something to betray them.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s also the fact that the bow reinforcements were stolen from Master Oskarr’s forge,” Craugh reminded.

  “Yes.”

  “Also, Sokadir also didn’t like knowing you were spying on him.”

  “An honest reaction,” Wick said. “Anyone, especially an elf who values his privacy, would feel the same way.”

  “Would they?” Craugh puffed on his pipe and the smoke formed an owl with wide, sweeping wings that flew around his pointed hat. “His reaction seemed a little … extreme.”

  “He’s an elf.”

  “An elf with a guilty conscience, I wonder?” Craugh mused.

  Wick shook his head. “His two sons, Qardak and Palagan, died there in that canyon, Craugh. What manner of person would sacrifice his sons to further his own ends?”

  “A truly evil one.” Craugh’s green eyes held sparks that eddied within their depths. “A man with no conscience.”

  He talks like he knows what he’s talking about, Wick realized. How much does he know that I don’t?

  “Have you ever known such a man, Librarian Lamplighter?” Craugh asked.

  “I’ve seen them.”

  Craugh smiled, but the effort held no warmth and no gentleness. “You’ve seen them in your travels, and you’ve read about them in your books, but you haven’t really known them.” He took another puff and the owl figure was overtaken and slashed to pieces by a smoke dragon. “They’re out there, and doubtless we’re going to be up against one.”

  We’re. Wick took heart in that. We didn’t mean a wizard and an ungainly toad. So he didn’t have to worry about that. However, we also meant that any danger that came Craugh’s way would doubtless come Wick’s as well. The choice between the two fates wasn’t pleasant.

  “You still have a chance to get clear of this thing,” Craugh said.

  Do you want me to leave? Wick wanted to ask. But he couldn’t. He feared the answer. Craugh might tell him to leave, then they would both be stuck with what the wizard claimed were his wishes. If you wanted me to leave, you would have sent me back to the ship.

  But even then, Wick had to wonder if he was being manipulated. Craugh was that good, he knew. Good enough to make him convince himself that what he was doing was totally of his own volition.

  I should go, Wick told himself, and he thought he was going to say exactly that when he heard himself saying, “No. I’m going to stay.”

  Craugh appeared to be both relaxed and perturbed at the same time. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

  Thinking that Craugh might suddenly usurp control over his presence there, Wick said, “I’m a member of One-Eyed Peggie’s crew.”

  “So?”

  “So Cap’n Farok can keep watch over us through the monster’s eye,” Wick said. “If we get into trouble, he can send Hallekk and the crew to help.”

  Craugh puffed on his pipe for a moment. “If we get into trouble, Second Level Librarian Lamplighter, it may well be beyond the scope of One-Eyed Peggie and her crew’s ability to help us. That I can promise you.”

  Wick felt the anger seething beneath Craugh, but he didn’t know if the wizard was angry at him or something else.

  At that moment, a group of goblinkin who’d been talking among themselves and sometimes looking in Craugh and Wick’s direction scooted back their chairs and approached.

  This, Wick told himself, can’t be good.

  9

  Trouble at the Big Ol’ Bear’s Tavern

  “Hey, graybeard,” the biggest goblin said, placing his fists on his belt. “We notice ye have a halfer there.”

  Craugh smiled, and there seemed to be a flicker of interest and honest amusement there. “I do.”

  “Thought maybe we’d take him off yer hands,” the goblinkin said.

  “And why would you want to do that?” Craugh asked.

  The goblinkin grinned as if the answer to that were the easiest thing in the world. “Why, to fill me stewpot, that’s why.”

  The other four goblinkin with him laughed and elbowed each other in the ribs at their friend’s joke.

  “Fascinating,” Craugh said.

  Wick felt sick at his stomach. Though he hadn’t wanted to leave Craugh on his own, staying aboard One-Eyed Peggie was looking better all the time.

  “We’d be willin’ to pay ye,” the goblinkin said. “A fair price, of course.”

  Green embers circled Craugh’s staff and occasionally issued from his eyes. “Of course. I’m sure that you would.”

  Cautiously, afraid he knew what was coming, Wick stretched his legs down and put his toes on the hardwood floor. He gripped the edge of the table, prepared to throw himself under it.

  “Unfortunately,” Craugh went on, “this particular halfer isn’t for sale. I’m not done with him yet.”

  The goblinkin frowned. He reeled a little unsteadily, mute testimony to how much ale and spirits he’d consumed. “We come over here to get us a halfer. Come to take him to supper,
we did.”

  The other goblinkin cracked up at the old joke.

  “We ain’t leavin’ without what we come fer,” the goblinkin said harshly. “Won’t be any problem to fold ye up into that stewpot as well, graybeard.”

  Craugh laughed, and it was a full-throated roar that Wick had seldom heard. Generally that reaction only came from two different sources: either something had truly tickled the wizard’s funny bone, or else he was about to wreak a vicious smiting on some hapless enemy.

  Wick knew which it was to be this time.

  “Mayhap you’d like to try to take him,” Craugh invited in a soft voice.

  The lead goblinkin drew his sword, followed quickly by the others unlimbering their weapons.

  “You amuse me,” Craugh said. “Truly you do. But it’s an amusement that will grow old quickly.” He lifted his staff and slammed it down against the floor.

  Green lightning speared from the staff and wrapped around the goblinkin swords and battle-axes. Immediately, the goblinkin started dancing, juttering and screaming as they bounced to and fro. Whenever they banged into each other, great showers of sparks erupted and lit up the whole interior of the Big Ol’ Bear’s Tavern.

  Craugh continued laughing in great delight, but Wick sank beneath the table.

  “Stupid goblinkin,” a dwarf at a nearby table muttered to his mates. “Ought to know better than to pick a fight with a wizard.”

  Banging his staff against the hardwood floor again, Craugh stopped the lightning. The goblinkin spilled to the floor, unconscious or dead.

  Peering under the table, Craugh said, “You can come out now.”

  With as much dignity as he could muster, Wick clambered from beneath the table. All eyes were on Craugh, who was bending down and going through the goblinkin’s clothing. He stopped when he found a coin. “As I suspected.”

  Wick tried to peer at the coin in the wizard’s hand, but Craugh closed his fingers over it too quickly.

  Finished with his search, Craugh straightened and looked at the tavernkeeper. “I don’t hold you accountable for this.”

  “Good,” the old man declared, “for I had nothin’ to do with it.”