by Jenner, M
Soon he was in front of The Bull, and he leaned against the front of the inn trying to think. His head pounded with pain from shoulder and leg; he felt faint and his eyesight wavered in and out of focus. Ty knew if he entered like this – in the shape he was in – he would attract too much unwanted attention, so he stayed invisible and waited until someone approached and opened the door. He quickly followed them in and slipped up the stairs to his room. He closed the door behind him then took off the ring, carefully placing it in his hidden pocket. He felt he had aged decades in the past few hours, as though his life force had been drained. He strapped his wounds up as best he could and fell back on the bed, exhausted. Within seconds his world was in darkness.
Bok and Joli walked along the busy street just before sundown. “What do you think he found?” Joli asked excitedly.
“Hopefully something worth a fortune,” Bok answered as they reached The Quarterstaff. The doorbell rang out as they entered the shop and closed the door behind them. “Xioven!” Bok shouted out. “Tell us some good news!”
There was no answer.
“Hello?” Joli said, looking through the beads, just as the mage came out from the back room, holding a towel to the back of his head.
“What the hell happened to you?” Bok asked.
Xioven pulled the towel from his head with a grimace, showing the pair the blood-stained cloth, then placed it back on his injured head.
“It seems that your chests are of more interest than you thought,” Xioven said, sitting down in a chair behind the counter.
“What do you mean?” Bok asked, folding his arms and frowning.
“After you left here, a halfling came in asking to buy an invisibility ring, then followed me when I left to go see Donovan. He attacked me and robbed me of your precious chests – and my invisibility ring,” Xioven explained, throwing the dart onto the counter.
“What’s that?” Joli asked.
“That, my friend, is the dart he used to drop me. Find the owner and you will find your chests,” Xioven said, wincing as he rubbed his head.
“Damn it!!” Bok said, turning angrily to look out the window.
“If you want to settle our debt, find him and torture the little whore!” Xioven growled.
“What did he look like?” Joli asked.
“Just like any other halfling, short, cloaked, and skinny,” Xioven replied.
Bok walked over to the counter and picked up the dart. “I don’t know if I am angrier at you for losing my chests or getting you a bump on the head,” Bok said, examining the dart.
“Ask around the market place, they always sell these sorts of things.” Xioven turned and walked through to the back of the shop, signalling an end to the conversation.
The door closed behind them and the bell rang out. Bok and Joli hurried to the marketplace, but it was half-empty, some vendors just closing up shop and others loading carts to take their goods away. Bok stopped an old trader pushing a wheelbarrow full of silks. “Where could I find blow darts?” he asked the old man.
“Go right at the end; there is a stall for those. Be quick though, he’s shutting up shop,” the trader replied.
Quickly Bok and Joli walked through the marketplace and eventually found the stall; a dirty, skinny human was packing his items away. “Excuse me,” Bok said, tapping on the stall counter.
The man turned to the pair and then went back to what he was doing. “I’m closed, come back tomorrow,” he replied.
“Is this one of your darts?” Bok said, holding up the dart.
The man turned to face them and took the dart from Bok. “Yes, I sold it this morning,” he replied.
“May I ask to whom?” Joli inquired.
“Hmmm… I just can’t quite remember,” the human said, exaggeratedly scratching his chin.
Bok tossed two silver pieces onto the table. “Has that jogged your memory?” he said with a small grin.
“I think it is beginning to come back to me now,” the trader said, picking up the coins.
Exchanging glances, Bok and Joli placed their hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to draw.
“You better answer me wisely now,” Bok said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to ask once more, and if you ‘can’t remember’ I will cut you from ear to ear.”
The trader knew he wasn’t going to get a better offer, and decided to tell all. “Yes, I remember – he came this morning, short fellow,” he said hurriedly.
“We know that already. What did he look like, this short fellow?” Bok said, leaning forward.
“A halfling, small, hooded. He said his name was, uh, Kay Fat or something.”
Bok drew his sword a few inches. “This is your last chance.”
“I’m telling the truth! He said something like, uh… ‘Try the Cat,’ I think it was,” the trader blurted out, beginning to sweat.
“Let me kill him,” Joli said, drawing his sword and advancing.
“No! Wait! I swear he said something like if those darts could penetrate a dragon’s scale then his name wasn’t Cry the Cat, or something like that,” the trader said, holding up trembling hands.
“Wait,” Bok said, placing one hand across Joli’s chest, holding him back from the trader. “He didn’t by any chance say ‘Ty the Rat’?”
“Yes! Yes, Ty the Rat! That’s him, short halfling,” the trader said, stuttering with relief.
“I don’t believe it! That damn thief has our chests!” Bok said, giving the side sheet of the trader’s stall a blow with the flat of his sword.
“How… how can he be…?” Joli faltered, more confused than ever.
“I don’t know, but he’s up to something! He doesn’t rob mages in alleyways just for a hobby. He knew Xioven had those chests, and he took them,” Bok explained.
“Then it was his cloak on the guy we got the chests from! Damn, this pig-whore is really getting to me now,” Joli said, walking away from the stall.
“Getting to you? He’s making my blood boil,” Bok said, raging.
“Let’s go tell Xioven who robbed him,” Joli suggested.
They headed back to the shop and explain to Xioven that it was Ty who took the chests. The mage told them of the two lightning bolts he had fired, and described the damage they would have inflicted. “He must still be in town; the wounds will need treating,” Xioven stated. “If not, he will be dead within hours.”
“We will check the healers and Cleric houses,” Bok told Xioven.
“Yes, do that. I will spread the news – someone will rat out the Rat!” Xioven said.
“Add a good price; he meant to kill you, too,” Bok told the mage.
“How do you know that?”
“Those darts he purchased, he was told they would stop a dragon,” Bok explained.
“That may be so. My resistance to poison is high, very high,” the mage said, turning round and walking away.
Chapter Fourteen: Backdoor Exit
Kern was sitting at the bar in The Bull, enjoying an early-evening ale, when the front door opened and Galandrik walked in.
“Have you seen Ty?” the dwarf asked worriedly.
“No, why?” Kern replied, looking surprised at Galandrik’s concern.
“It’s all over town. Ty ‘The Rat’ wanted for mugging a shopkeeper down an alley,” Galandrik explained.
“What? I know Ty and he’s no mugger! He’s a lot of things, but a mugger? Definitely not,” Kern answered.
“Mugger or not, he’s wanted for it!” Galandrik said, looking out into the street. The door to the bar opened and two town guards approached the innkeeper. After a brief chat they left. The innkeeper walked over to Kern and Galandrik.
“They are after your mate. I told them he left this morning after breakfast and hasn’t been back,” he said in a low voice. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, but you’re not welcome anymore. Just get your things and go quietly, please. I didn’t say anything this time because you are friends of Lord Jarrow, but I can’t
risk my livelihood.” The innkeeper took Kern’s empty jug and walked off.
“Looks like Ty’s gotten in some sort of trouble again,” Kern sighed. “Let’s get our stuff and go find him.”
“Aye, we’d better go before the innkeeper changes his mind,” Galandrik agreed. They walked past the bar towards the stairs.
“Thanks,” Kern said to the innkeeper as they walked past. “We will get our gear and be on our way.” The innkeeper nodded back with relief.
They walked through the back door and up the stairs to their room. When they entered, the first thing they saw was Ty, laid out on the bed and covered in blood.
“What in hell!” Kern shouted, running over to the bed. He immediately felt Ty’s neck for a pulse.
“Is he… alive?” Galandrik asked, looking down at the battered body in shock.
“Yes, but only just,” Kern answered. “His pulse is so faint I can barely feel it.”
Galandrik lifted the bandage from Ty’s leg and looked underneath. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a healer; that wound is deep,” the dwarf said, re-dressing the leg wound as best he could.
“We can’t – you said he’s wanted everywhere,” Kern replied, examining the wound on the thief’s shoulder.
“If we don’t, he’s going to die,” Galandrik said. “And die soon he will,” he added, glancing at the torn skin on Ty’s shoulder.
“I got it! Jarrow!” Kern said. “We’ll take him to Jarrow. He still owes us a favour, and maybe we can hide there, out of the way,” he continued as he passed Ty’s backpack to Galandrik. “You pack up our things as quickly as you can; I’ll go saddle the horses.”
Galandrik gathered their scattered belongings, pausing every few minutes to check on the unconscious thief. He was securing their packs when Kern returned. “Horses are ready,” he said tersely, his face tense with concern. He moved to the bed, looking down at Ty uncertainly.
“Help lift him onto my shoulder,” Galandrik instructed, and together they hoisted the motionless thief. Kern gathered their packs and led the way down the back stairs to the stable, where he quickly mounted up.
“Pass him up.” They laid Ty in front of Kern.
When Galandrik had collected their packs and mounted his own horse, they headed off following the directions Jarrow had given. To avoid any confrontations with the townsfolk or militia, they kept to back roads and alleyways. Before long they hit the far side of the town. The houses thinned out here; although they were still inside the town walls, the homes looked like farmhouses, each one surrounded by ample land for grazing and small fields. Eventually they found what they were looking for: A farmhouse with an enormous old oak tree in front of it.
Jarrow was right, Galandrik thought, that tree does look like an old man with outstretched arms. Uncomfortably, he recalled his childhood listening to stories told by the elder dwarves, about trees that had walked the earth many moons ago.
Jumping down from his horse, Kern let Ty fall into his arms. The halfling groaned slightly and Kern could feel the sticky warmth of Ty’s blood soaking into his shirt from the leg wound. Galandrik rapped on the door with his knuckles.
Upon opening the door, Jarrow beckoned them in without hesitation. “What on earth has happened to him?” he asked.
“I wish I knew!” Kern replied, carrying Ty into the safety of the house.
“Take him through the back and up the stairs,” Jarrow said, pointing Kern in the right direction and calling for servants to assist. Kern didn’t hesitate; he climbed the stairs as quickly as he dared, not wanting to jostle Ty’s wounds any more than necessary. He laid Ty down onto the bed, then stood staring helplessly at the halfling’s limp form. Galandrik and Jarrow entered the room followed by servants with clean towels and bowls of steaming water.
Jarrow studied Ty’s wounds, then dressed them the best he could, causing the halfling to groan and thrash weakly. “His skin has been shredded, but luckily the heat from whatever caused the injuries has also sealed the wounds somewhat,” Jarrow explained. “Otherwise I think he’d be dead by now. Even so, he’s going to need medical help.”
“We don’t… Can you…” Kern hesitated.
“Yes. Look after him while I fetch a friend who’s a healer. You must keep talking to him and keep a cool, wet towel on his forehead. That may help a bit,” Jarrow ordered. “Try to rouse him; if fever sets in, he may go for good.”
Kern and Galandrik took turns talking to Ty, intent on his every twitch. “Come on, buddy, don’t let a little wound stop you,” Kern said, dabbing Ty’s forehead. Ty’s eyes rolled, but he made no reply.
Galandrik leaned over, saying with forced cheer, “Remember the arrow I took from that stinking orc? Didn’t stop me, and this won’t you!”
“You can’t leave us before telling us this little yarn.”
“Must’ve been six of them, hey lad?”
They carried on like this for what seemed ages, changing tactics and topics several times before Jarrow returned with a white-robed man, who virtually shoved Kern out of the way to get to Ty.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” the cleric said as he barged past.
“I think we should leave Prolumus to his work,” Jarrow said, holding the door open.
“Is he going to be all right?” Galandrik asked Prolumus.
“Go!” Prolumus muttered. He dropped his bag onto the bed and began rummaging through it,
Downstairs, Jarrow led them through a kitchen where a woman in a white apron was bustling about preparing the evening meal. Her long grey hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she smiled as Jarrow led them into the main room and invited them to sit down.
The woman entered a few minutes later, carrying a tray of cups and a massive jug of red wine to the table. “Please, allow me,” Jarrow said, filling three cups.
“Thank you,” Kern answered taking a cup.
Jarrow sipped the wine and smiled. “This is the finest wine in the land. It’s Verona, from Loft in western Bodisha. There’s a monastery there and the monks have a vineyard, apparently have been making this wine for hundreds of years.”
“It certainly is a fine drop of wine.” Kern agreed. Galandrik also nodded in appreciation.
After a few more sips, Jarrow said quietly, “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Kern said wearily. “We all split up this morning to go get supplies. We thought Ty went to the bath house. We had planned to meet back at The Bull and decide where we were going to head next.”
“Then the next thing we know, they’re saying Ty’s wanted for a mugging, and the innkeeper told us we were no longer welcome at the inn,” Galandrik chimed in. “When we went to our room to collect our things, Ty was sprawled out on the bed bleeding to death.”
“I guess we’ll need to wait for Ty to regain consciousness so he can explain,” Jarrow said.
“I guess we will,” Kern agreed.
“So did you decide where you’re heading next?” Jarrow asked, taking another sip of Verona wine.
“Nope, we didn’t get that far. We probably would’ve headed back up north, but I think that’s changed now,” Kern said. “Wherever we decide to go, we will have to do it very quietly.”
“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Jarrow reassured them. “Guards won’t come here.”
An hour or so had gone by, along with more than a few cups of Verona wine, when Prolumus walked into the room, drying his hands on a towel.
“Saved me any of your fine Verona?” he asked Jarrow abruptly.
“Of course I have, my good friend! How’s our patient?” Jarrow asked, pouring the cleric a cup of wine.
“He will live, but he’s very weak. It’s not just the blood loss, either; there’s something else. Has he been affected by anything magical lately?” the cleric asked after taking a deep draught of the Verona.
“Not that I can think of,” Kern replied, turning to Galandrik. “How
about you?”
“I can’t think of anything either, apart from our friend, who fried a few skeletons with a ward undead,” Galandrik answered. “Why?”
“It may be nothing, but… There is a certain strain of magic which causes those affected by it to lose the colour in their irises, and their skin develops a grey tinge, as if all the blood has been drained from the body.” Prolumus scratched his beard, then admitted, “It could just be down to his blood loss.”
“Who knows what he got up to?” Galandrik said, draining his third cup of Jarrow’s wine.
“Whatever it was, he is not to be moved for at least twenty-four hours,” Prolumus said, filling a second cup of wine.
“And he’s getting done for mugging? He should get the other guy done!” Galandrik laughed.
The woman came in and set another bottle on the table, then spoke quietly to Jarrow. “Yes, Molly, bring another case up,” he answered.
“It does seem strange that Ty came out worse. He gets up to a lot of things, but mugging people isn’t one of them. Something is definitely strange here,” Kern said, standing up and stretching his legs. At that moment there was a knock at the door. Jarrow got up to answer it, then walked back into the room with a young elven man.
“This is Ltyh, a good friend of mine who also serves as my aide,” Jarrow announced, pouring Ltyh a cup of wine.
“Hello,” Ltyh said, joining the others at the table.
“What exactly did you find out?” Jarrow asked.
“Well, it seems that your friend upstairs robbed a shopkeeper of his goods down an alley. He first knocked the man out with a blowdart, then clubbed him – with the shopkeeper’s own staff,” the aide told them.
“Ty never uses a blowpipe,” Kern said emphatically.
“What exactly did he steal?” Galandrik asked.
“Two chests, apparently. The shopkeeper values them highly, and has put a mithril-piece reward on Ty’s head, as long as the chests are returned. Furthermore, the poison on the dart was top strength. It should have killed the shopkeeper – he’s very lucky to be alive, apparently. He isn’t taking this lightly. He wants back the items Ty stole, and wants to lay robbery and attempted murder charges against him as well,” Ltyh added, taking a sip of wine. “There was also a report of the mugger vanishing.”
