by Levi Samuel
“I’d advise you to choose your words wisely while in the open. This city has ears in the most unlikely places.” The gravelly voice echoed from the shadow behind them.
They jumped. Spinning around they found a man wrapped in a dark green cloak. The oversized hood hid his facial features.
“I thank you for the words of advice. Though I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced.” Ravion gave a respectful bow, keeping his sword hand ready if the stranger attacked.
The man lowered his hood revealing a freshly shaven, middle aged face and a head covered in short, graying-brown hair. His skin tone lacked all pigment, showing he hadn’t spent much time in the sun. Though with the constant cloud cover it was a wonder any of these people looked different. “Forgive me, seems I’ve forgotten my manners. They call me Krizere. And by they I mean that's my name.”
“I’m Ravion. These are my brothers; Gareth, Demetrix, and Krenin. Would you mind showing us to the inn? Perhaps we could buy you a drink.”
“Ah, thank you for the offer. Sadly, I must decline. I have other matters to which I must attend. I would however like to offer you a proposition.” Krizere glanced around, ensuring no one was listening.
Ravion leaned a bit closer to hear what he had to say, but kept enough distance in the event the man decided to attack.
“I can tell you’re not from this world. Call it an educated guess, but I’ve seen that look before. Once upon a time it lingered on my face. I know a place here in town that has exactly what you need to find your way back home.”
Gareth crossed his arms, staring the man down. “Answer me this. If you know all this, why haven’t you retrieved this item for yourself? You’re clearly of able mind and body. What’s the catch?”
“You’re perceptive. That’s good. You’ll need it to get home. You’re not wrong about there being a catch. I’m unable to obtain what’s needed as I’m but one man. As you can imagine, it’s quite difficult to find trustworthy allies in this place. But you four, you know how to work together. That's the key to making things happen.” Krizere paused, quickly searching the market for eavesdroppers. Locking his sight on an orc patrol he turned his attention back to Ravion. “My apologies. I’m out of time. Continue toward the center of town and you’ll come across, The Wounded Stag. Writing isn’t so common around here but you’ll know it by the broken stag horns over the door. Ask for room two. You’ll find everything you need in the foot locker. If you decide to work with me, meet me here, first light, three days’ time.” Without another word he took a step backward and disappeared between the buildings.
“Well, that was insightful.” Demetrix searched the shadows for the man knowing he had to still be there just waiting for a chance to move. He recalled Lythus using the same trick multiple times.
“At least we have a lead on how to get home. I’ve grown tired of this place already.” Gareth turned, gaining his bearings. “The inn is this way.”
“Is that it?” Krenin stared out from under his hood studying the run down wooden structure.
“Do you see any other buildings with broken antlers over the door?” Demetrix asked sarcastically, concealing his smirk.
The out of place half-orc searched the surrounding buildings. “I don’t see any.”
“Never mind. It’s a shame Malakai couldn’t be here with us. I always underestimated his ability to baby sit.”
“That doesn’t seem like good idea. How would baby breathe if you sat on it?”
“Point proven.”
“Quiet down. You’re drawing too much attention.” Gareth casually searched the street, hoping they weren’t discovered.
“Here he comes.” Demetrix gestured toward his brother making his from the pub.
Ravion rushed across the dirt roadway, rejoining the others. Looking around he made sure nobody was listening. “I spoke to the barkeep. I think we may be in over our heads. More so than usual anyway. Not only is room two the entire second floor, but it’s already been paid for along with unlimited pleasantries.”
Gareth kept watch searching for anyone out of place. Refusing to let his guard down, he spoke. “Sounds like the perfect trap to catch a couple of fall guys.”
“What kinds of pleasantries are we talking about? Food, drink, women?” Demetrix couldn’t help but smile at the possibilities.
“And then some as it was explained to me. It sounded a little too good to be true. I fear accepting the room would be no different than signing a death warrant. If not for the last meal and luxuries in a town such as this, but for the simple fact that high profiles aren’t easily hidden. The moment the orcs come for us they’d know right where we are.”
“Maybe they don’t have to.” Demetrix let his scheming come to the surface in the form of a sinister smile.
“What do you mean?” Ravion shot him a quick glance.
“Well, we all want to go home and this guy offered us a way. Whether it’s true or not, we have to check it out. If he's lying, we move on. If he’s telling the truth, it’s our salvation. As far as the room goes, he just said further direction would be found in room two. Not that we have to lodge there. It seems to me if a few of us partake in a couple drinks and just so happen to make some noise, most of the attention would be claimed. That would allow one of us free rein to explore the upper levels. If that someone just so happened to stumble upon room two, I don’t see any harm in observing whatever information may or may not be present. At least then we’d know what we’re dealing with and if the price is too high or not.”
Ravion glanced at Gareth with a slight shrug. “He has a point.”
“Krenin volunteer to drink!”
Gareth shot a stern gaze to the half-orc. “If we were home it wouldn’t be a big deal for you to play the distraction. Unfortunately, we’re not. We can’t risk you being caught if things get out of hand. It’s best you hang back as a lookout in the event we have to make a quick exit. I'd feel more comfortable having you as back up if we need it.”
Krenin lowered his head. “I understand.”
“Who’s going upstairs?” Gareth glanced at Ravion, and back to Demetrix.
“Ravion’s already made contact with the barkeep. It might be in our best interest if the rest of us remain disassociated. I’m usually up for the sneaky breaking and entering kind of thing. But I wouldn’t want to overlook a small, yet important detail and mess up our chance to get home.”
“It makes sense for me to follow through since I’ve already spoken with him. I got a pretty good look at the keys behind the bar. I don’t think I'd be able to pick the lock if I go up during a distraction and if I accept the key from the barkeep they'll know someone's claimed the room.”
“I suppose I could always sneak away before the fun starts and unlock the door. Then later you can come by and check it out. Just try to do it quickly. I’d hate to open the door for someone else to take what we came for.”
“It sounds like we’ve got ourselves a plan. Krenin, how about you go in before we do and take a seat in one of the corners. I’d like you close, but not in the mix.” Gareth handed him a couple silver coins. “Get yourself something to drink.”
Krenin nodded and stuffed the coin into his pouch. Adjusting his hood, he staggered across the street and marched through the door.
The stench of stale booze and pipe smoke was nearly overbearing to his heightened senses. The chatter was loud for the time of day. He stood a few inches taller than the tallest human.
Bending his knees, Krenin adjusted to match as close as possible without drawing attention. Finding an open table near the rear wall he pulled out the heavy wooden chair and took a seat, letting the table hide his true height.
A moment later a middle-aged woman with long, red hair approached. She wore a tan dress with maroon top and had a leather corset pulled tight around her waist, causing her bosom to pop. Peering down at the hooded man she gave a heavy sigh. “Name's Melynda. Somethin’ I can get ya’ to drink, doll?”
>
Krenin swallowed hard. The thought of what he’d say if he made it this far hadn’t occurred to him. Sliding one of the silver coins across the table he quickly hid his green hand and forced his lips around his tusks forcing an impersonation of his best human accent. “I’ll have an ale.”
“Back in a minute.” She snatched the coin and disappeared behind the lingering smoke.
Chapter XV
Tribulations
Demetrix darted up the stairs, confident he hadn’t been seen. Reaching the first landing he paused. The stairs continued upward running the other direction. Glancing down the corridor he noticed a singular oaken door at the far end. He recalled what Ravion had said about the second floor. That had to be it. He cautiously approached the heavy door held solid in its frame. Ornately casted iron splayed from the hinges and sprawled across the thick, polished planks coming to rest in an intertwining pattern around the latch and knob. Kneeling down he stared intently at the keyhole, having never seen one of its design. Truth be told there were many locks he’d never attempted to open, but he'd witnessed more of the dragon's time in his body than he cared to admit. It couldn't be that hard. All locks are basically the same, save for a few minor changes here and there.
Reaching into the hidden pocket of his armor's inner liner Demetrix found the thin leather pouch housing his picks. Lifting the fold he removed a bar and hook. Carefully placing the bar into the hole, he applied a light amount of tension on the tumbler. Applying a bit more vigor, Demetrix buried the hook into the lock and wiggled it back and forth, feeling the pins. He counted four of them. Going to the furthest one, Demetrix carefully pressed it past the shear point, keeping tension on the tumbler. If he let off for the briefest moment the pin was likely to spring back up. Working his way toward him, Demetrix felt the final pin click into place and the tumbler released. A smile came to his face. He'd done it. Pushing against the bar the tumbler rotated and came to a stop, telling him the pins had reset on the other side. Ensuring his success he grabbed the knob and twisted, letting the door crack open. Peeking inside he glanced around, glad the room was vacant. Carefully, he pulled the door to the seal just enough to keep it from latching into the frame. While it was unlocked there was no sense in taking unneeded chances. Spinning around, Demetrix made way for the stairs. Gareth had a head start and he wasn't going to let him win so easily.
The door creaked open revealing a large, abandoned room. It was fully furnished and seemingly free of dust. Ravion stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Despite the glass windows lining each of the side walls the filtered sunlight did little to brighten the large chamber. He glanced around spotting several lanterns resting upon various ledges about the room. Their shields were free of soot, suggesting they hadn't been used since the room was last cleaned. The thought to light one came to mind. But it would do little more than announce its occupancy. He didn't need the light to see in this place. His vision seemed to work just find in low light. It was the total dark that caused him problems. Scanning the room he noticed the chest lying at the foot of the bed. Slowly approaching, Ravion listened to the floorboards creak under his weight. Kneeling, he slowly lifted the heavy, domed lid making sure there were no trip wires or traps attached to it. Confident in their absence he laid the top back, letting it rest against the polished footboard of the perfectly made bed.
Peeking inside, it was empty save for a rolled, tan colored hide, wrapped several times by a much darker strap. Lifting the roll Ravion unwrapped the hide and pulled it open to find a wooden canister inside. Hundreds of runes were carved into the cylinder, covering every inch of it. He looked for a seam or an end cap, but couldn't find any. The secret had to lay in the runes. Focusing on the strange etchings he felt a warmth wash over him. They were foreign. Nothing about their design made any sense to the numerous languages he'd studied. Yet he couldn’t help but feel he should be able to read it. Sighing heavily, Ravion felt it crack in his hands. Inspecting the hollow tube, he noticed several pieces of parchment rolled together and stuffed inside. Removing them, Ravion separated and laid them upon the bed, studying each one for relevance.
A loud crash echoed though the walls, distracting him. Shaking his head he returned his focus to the parchment. “They’ve certainly managed to draw some attention.”
“Indeed they have.”
Ravion jumped. Drawing his sword he spun to find a familiar face at the door.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Krizere?” Ravion paused. “What are you doing here? You said you’d meet us in three days.”
“Again, my apologies.” Krizere raised his hand, gesturing the weapon down. “I had to be certain you were who I’d hoped. My eyes aren't what they once were. I couldn't risk being mistaken. I’m glad to see I wasn’t.” He pointed to the scattered parchment behind the armed man.
Ravion lowered his sword and glanced back. “I've gone over each one and haven’t found anything that’s supposed to help us.”
Krizere folded his cloak over his arm and took a step closer. “That's because the parchment is of no use to you. Simple maps I’ve drawn over the years. Much like literature, maps are a rare commodity. They're next to useless if you don't understand how to read them.”
“Why’d you send us here if these have nothing to do with the way home?”
“The parchment isn't why I sent you here. Their case is. Think of it as a test. The runes scribed into that cylinder are of an ancient dialect from my homeland. I scribed them long ago as a personal keepsake. I knew I was the only one from my land here, so I imbued the very dirt of Ur into the runes. Only one who has walked her fields can open it. As I said, I had to be sure of your validity before I agreed to aid you.”
Ravion sheathed his sword and stacked the parchment. “Now that I’ve passed your test—.” He paused, rolling and pressing them into the tube. Pushing the two halves together the seam disappeared. “What would you have of me?” Ravion choked his annoyance away. It would cloud his mind and that wouldn’t aid him.
“I understand your frustration. But I assure you, you're much closer than you think.” Krizere pulled a chair and took a seat. “Hidden beneath this city is a vast library. One of the last this land has to offer. The book keeper has one in particular that we need if we're going to find the portal. The problem lies in the fact that he won’t give it freely.”
“What’s he want in exchange?”
“Short form, the magistrate’s scepter.”
“How about long form?”
Krizere sighed, resting his elbow against the wooden armrest and pressing his cheek against his knuckles. “Magic here is more of a curse than a blessing. Those who possess it shine like a beacon. Sooner or later someone will alway comes to answer its call. When you’re the sole guardian of not only one of the last, but one of the largest libraries in the land, magical tomes can be difficult to hide.” Sitting up, Krizere continued his tale. “Long ago the keeper had a rod that was capable of shielding magic from the sharliets. A few decades ago a foolish young boy stole the rod. When he tried to leave town the magistrate's guard stopped him. They took the rod as payment for alleged crimes. The keeper has since resorted to less effective means of hiding the library, though it's only a matter of time. Let's just say if the wrong person arrives before we do our way home disappears forever.”
“So you're saying the rod has to be returned to the library. This librarian would be willing to give us the book then?” Ravion took a seat on the bed, listening to the story through the commotion going on below them.
“I believe he'd be more susceptible to negotiations if it were returned. Though I can't guarantee anything.”
“Great. So we're still working with uncertainty.” Ravion sighed. “Where can I find this rod?”
“The magistrate of this fair city has some extracurricular activities she'd prefer didn't become common knowledge. One of these activities is embezzling from the city coffers. The rod, once it was taken from t
he boy, caught her eye. I'm sure it's stashed with the other treasures she had hidden away.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to break into the magistrate's private stash of illegal goods and rummage through to find a magical rod. Which I’m sure is illegal to possess as well since magic in general seems to be frowned upon. Once we have it, we have to find a hidden and illegal library so its guardian might give us a book that might lead us to the portal so we can get home? Am I missing anything?”
“You missed the fact that breaking and entering, the book itself, and the possession of a book are also illegal. And the portal home is probably someplace we shouldn't be either. Which makes it trespassing, which is also illegal.”
“Is that all?” Ravion chuckled. “Well, I suppose I've faced worse odds. I can't seem to think of any right now, but I'm sure I have at some point.”
“You'll do fine. You've made it this far unscathed. When I found the mirror I was unarmed, unprepared, and wearing rags.”
“Perhaps you could tell me how you came to learn so much about this?”
Krizere smiled, adjusting the collar of his tunic. “Well, that boy in my story. He grew up.”
Another crash rang out, shaking the walls. “What in the nine hells are they doing now?” Ravion for the door. Quickly reaching the stairs he froze seeing several orcs at the door dragging a limp Krenin across the floor.
“It seems you’re a man down. Can’t say I’m surprised, sending a half-orc in as a decoy. I’d recommend you go in tonight. When you're done, I've a feeling this city will be crawling with orcs. And if you wait for morning it's unlikely your friend will be able to join you.” Krizere patted him on the shoulder and marched past, disappearing down the steps.
Demetrix glanced from his cards, watching Ravion dart up the stairs. Shifting his gaze around the room, no one else seemed to care. His sight ended on Gareth sitting across from him. He gave a gentle nod, hoping the others at the table wouldn’t notice. He picked three cards from his hand and laid them face down on the table. “I’ll take three.” Sliding them toward Gareth he stole a glance at the eyes around him, taking comfort in their focus on their own hands. Flexing his wrist, he slid one of the cards into his sleeve and pulled another.
