by Jenner, M
Kern stood up and turned to Ltyh. “Oh, he’s good at that! Disappearing is his specialty. Let me check something – I’ll be right back.”
Kern left them, soon he walked back into the room with Ty’s backpack. He sat back down and untied the drawstrings. Reaching into the pack, he pulled out two cloth bundles and placed them carefully on the table, then folded back the cloth to reveal two small chests richly encrusted in gems.
“I think we found the chests,” Kern said, examining one of them.
“Didn’t Ty mention two chests?” Galandrik reminded him. “The ones Solomon told him were the King’s Gold?”
“Yeah,” Kern replied, “but Solomon would be nearly back at Raith by now. There’s no way they would have ended up here.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Jarrow put in.
“Coincidence?” Galandrik said, raising an eyebrow and picking up the other chest.
“Yes, I agree,” Kern said. “It is weird, but I can’t possibly see how these could be the same chests.”
“How the hell do you open it?” Galandrik said, rattling the chest at his ear.
“Let me have a look,” Jarrow said. Galandrik offered it to him, but after a few minutes Jarrow handed it back. “Magically locked, I guess,” he concluded.
“It certainly looks that way. Maybe we could smash them open?” Kern said with a smile.
“I think we should ask Ty what’s going on first, before we start smashing things up,” Jarrow smiled.
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Kern sighed.
“I shall get Molly to make up a couple of beds for you,” Jarrow said, standing up.
Conn sat in his study when the paper bird landed on his windowsill. It jumped over to his desk and perched on his hand. With a smile he raised it to his ear. The smile didn’t stay long; the good news he had anticipated was not the message the magical beast carried.
The bird told him of Solomon’s body, dead on the side of the road for some three days, next to the blood-stained cloak of the halfling who had travelled with him. It told of the King’s Gold, vanished into the world; and of Solomon’s corpse, stripped of everything, including clothes and dignity. As the colour fled Conn’s face and tears filled his old eyes, the bird told, mindless and heartless, of the feast the wild animals had made of Solomon’s decaying corpse. No hands or feet left, it chirped or whispered in its secret tongue, face and eyes eaten all up, all up. Unable to bear the bird’s message, Conn sat back in his chair; opening his hand, he sprinkled paperdust onto his desk. A tear ran slowly down his cheek.
Wiping the moisture away after several long, silent moments, he remembered his sister as a child playing in the garden, her curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes full of joy. Her rosy-red cheeks, her favourite red shoes that she wore even when their mother had forbidden it, saying they were for feast days only. Another tear fell onto his desk as he pictured her face when she had announced that she was having a baby, the joy that her first child was on its way.
He didn’t bother to wipe the tears away as he remembered the day he’d gotten the message – her pains had begun and the midwife was alarmed; he hadn’t asked why, could barely think at all during the panicked run to her home. The stricken look on the old herb-woman’s face, the blood on her apron; the wailing of the serving-girl, the whiteness of the sheet pulled up over his sister’s face. He seemed unable to form any thought besides Too late, too late. I didn’t get here in time. Even the fifty lashes he’d given the messenger with his own hand, for being too slow with the message, didn’t take away the grief and guilt he felt.
“If only I’d been there, I could have saved her,” he murmured into the silence of his study. He remembered holding Solomon for the first time, wrapped in a soft blanket, so tiny and helpless. Kissing the child’s head and making that promise to his sister and the gods – that he would take care of the boy, look after him and never let any harm come to him.
He had failed; he had let his sister down and he knew it. “I should never have let Solomon go out with those thieving fucking bastards.”
Conn stood up and wiped his face again. He let out a sigh and paced the room trying to clear his thoughts. “Damn you, Ty the Rat… You are a dead man.”
He stared sightlessly out the window, then strode with purpose to the cupboard across the room. He selected a bone map-case and, pulling out the map, unrolled it onto his desk.
“Guards!” he shouted.
The massive double doors to his study opened to admit Svorn, the captain of Conn’s guard.
“Yes, my Lord,” he said, bowing his head.
“Assemble twenty of your best men, and make ready to travel,” Conn ordered, his voice harsh with anger.
“Where are we headed, Lord?”
“You will be going south, towards Blame, maybe as far as Forkvain,” Conn said, standing up.
Svorn had never seen his ruler’s face so distorted by anger; he quickly lowered his gaze. “Our mission is?” Svorn asked.
“To kill Kern Ocarn, Ty ‘The Rat’ Quickpick, and Galandrik Sabrehargen, and retrieve the King’s Gold!” Conn shouted, placing two hands on the windowsill.
“Yes, my Lord. I shall leave immediately. Will that be all?” Svorn said, bowing.
“No. Release Draygore and Hellthorn,” Conn said through gritted teeth, turning to face Svorn.
“Are you sure, my Lord? The wyverns may not be necessary. I’m sure my men and I can handle it,” Svorn argued.
“Do as I say, man!” Conn stepped towards Svorn. “Question my orders again and I’ll rip your heart out!”
“Yes Lord Conn,” Svorn said, snapping to attention and looking up, trying to miss Conn’s stare.
“Get the clothes they wore, their scent will be on them. Let the wyverns smell them, then release the beasts,” Conn thundered.
“It shall be done, Lord. I will rally the men.” Svorn asked, walking back to the door.
“One last thing, Svorn. If you get to them before the wyverns do… I want Ty brought back alive,” Conn said menacingly
“Yes, my Lord.” The double doors slammed shut behind the soldier, and Conn closed the window.
“Your death shall not be in vain, Solomon. I promise.”
Svorn walked into the barn. In the middle was a metal cage that stood fifty feet high and just as wide in diameter. In the centre of the cage stood four massive wooden stakes; each the size of a beer barrel, they rose from the floor like huge fingers reaching up from under the ground. Two black wyverns sat inside the cage, their huge black wings curled up behind them, razor sharp claws and teeth, and dead black eyes. Bones and carcasses lay scattered all around the floor of the cage. Around the wyverns’ necks were huge metal collars attached to chains that were anchored to the stakes.
Inside the barn were some twenty guards, who scurried about after Svorn’s entrance and sharp commands. Just outside the cage door sat Merk, the wyvern trainer. Svorn stood by the table and waited. Merk was utterly absorbed in his writing, but finally looked up; seeing Svorn there, he quickly stood up, brushing off his chest and straightening his helm.
“Captain Svorn! What brings you here?” Merk asked, still brushing down his uniform.
Svorn dropped the bag of clothes onto the table.
“In that bag are the clothes of three thieves who Conn wants dead. You are to give Draygore and Hellthorn the scent as soon as possible, then release them,” Svorn ordered. His eyes were fixed on the wyverns as he spoke.
“Yes sir, it will be done,” Merk answered, then called over two men in long black robes. He gave them their instructions, and the two men walked away and unlocked the cage.
“What are they doing?” Svorn asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“They will cast a provocation-control spell on the wyverns and then tell them what’s to be done; then the wyverns will leave, find and kill their targets,” Merk explained.
“I’ve always wondered - are wyverns not just a hybrid dragon?”
Svorn questioned. “They certainly look like them.”
“Definitely from the same family but no, they are not dragons,” Merk answered with a smile.
“Then what’s the difference?” Svorn said, feeling slightly stupid.
“Well, wyverns kill by biting and ripping their prey apart with tooth and claw. Dragons will burn you to a crisp,” Merk said with a smile, “but they hardly ever eat human flesh.”
“So dragons are the stronger?”
“Two fully grown wyverns against a young adult dragon would probably win, but yes, dragons have more fight. They say you can speak to a dragon, and they are just as intelligent as we are. Wyverns are slightly more animalistic, but both species can understand human, elf and many more languages,” Merk explained.
Svorn glanced up at the beasts, as if to see if they were listening, then carried on with his questioning. “I guess that’s why there are more wyverns then; nobody hunts them like they do the dragons.”
“Wyverns are still hunted, but dragons have been hunted nearly out of existence. I think the tales of treasure never did them any favours,” Merk said. “And now I hear we are apparently adding dragons to our army?”
“Are we really? It’s the first I have heard of it,” Svorn replied.
“That’s what I was told,” Merk said
“Really. And where did this reliable information come from, may I ask?”
“Svorn, you know how the troops gossip. It was just mentioned in a conversation over a jug of mead.” Merk turned to one of the guards and ordered the roof to be opened, in what Svorn suspected was a deliberate attempt to change the subject.
Ten men on each side of the cage started pulling down on ropes connected to a complicated-looking pulley system. The ceiling slowly started to open and sunlight penetrated to the barn floor,
The bars of the cage were built flush to the roof, to prevent the beasts from acting on any thought they might have of grabbing a guard before flying. When the roof was completely open and the two robed men had calmed the beasts, they unlocked the wyverns’ neck braces and held the bundles of discarded clothing up to the wyverns’ snouts, whispering incantations as they did.
“What are they whispering?” Svorn asked.
“It’s a sort of hypnotic spell. It keeps them under our control and brings them back here,” Merk explained. “If we didn’t do that, who knows where they would end up; they’d probably terrorize local villages until someone killed them.”
The two men left the cage and locked the door behind them. “Are you ready, Sir?” one of the men asked Merk.
“Here we go, then,” Merk answered, after receiving a nod of approval from Svorn.
One of the robed men pointed at the cage and shouted something. A red mist sprayed forth from his hand and covered the wyverns, the beasts screamed as they flew upwards, their great wings flapping and twisting with surprising gracefulness. The wind stirred by their flapping wings sent hay and dust swirling into the air as Draygore and Hellthorn disappeared through the roof and into the morning sky.
Once the wyverns were out of sight, Merk ordered some of the guards to clear the cage of carcasses, and he and Svorn left the barn together.
“I have always thought highly of dragons; beautiful creatures,” Svorn said.
“Yes, they are,” Merk agreed, nodding. “Unfortunately there are not many left.”
“Not many that fly about waiting to be killed.”
“What do you mean?” Merk asked.
“If you were a dragon, and as intelligent as you say they are, would you come out of hiding?”
“Maybe not. Never thought of it that way. I hope there are some more about.”
“So do I. Thanks for the help,” Svorn said brusquely.
“Always a pleasure to help the captain of the guard.”
Bok and Joli walked into the Bucket of Blood Inn and spotted Xioven sitting at a corner table. They crossed the crowded room just as Prolumus was calling over the maid.
“Two more please.” As they sat down, he asked, “What have you found out?”
“Nothing really, apart from the fact that one of the horses was left tied up at the inn’s stable. We questioned the innkeeper and he told us that they’d all just left and the room was a bloodbath and left,” Bok explained
“I knew I did him some damage. I’ll be surprised if he actually survived; that alleyway was tiny, and I caught him twice,” Xioven said, taking a celebratory swig of ale.
“Maybe you did kill him, and that’s why they left the horse,” Joli said, smiling.
“I hope not,” Bok answered. “If he’s dead we will never find those damn chests.”
“He’ll turn up again like a bad-smelling rat, just like he normally does,” Joli said, draining his goblet.
“Well, if he is alive, he is still close by and someone is hiding him,” Xioven said, taking a mouthful of ale. The barmaid placed their jugs of ale in front of them, then started clearing the table next to them.
“After the reward you offered for the chests, any rogue who knew of his hiding place would have told you by now,” Bok stated.
“For a mithril coin they would rat out their own mothers,” Joli agreed with a snigger.
“I guess we just wait and see if he reappears at some point,” Xioven said, calling the maid over once more.
The maid – who had been listening intently to their conversation; gossip was as good as coin in the town’s taverns – stopped cleaning the table and glanced over her shoulder. Making sure the innkeeper’s attention was focused elsewhere and whispered, “My friend works over at the Bull Inn, and she said that the thief who robbed you came into town with a local man.”
“I see, and who was this local man?” Bok whispered, leaning onto the table.
“I don’t really know him, but his name is Jarrow. He lives at the far end of town somewhere; a big tree sits right outside his house,” the maid informed the men as she pretended to wipe the table.
“Well done, my pretty, and here is some coin for the information,” Xioven said with a smile, dropping some silver onto the table.
“Why, thank you, sir!” The maid giggled and headed back to the bar, and Joli shouted, “Bring us some bread!”
“That’s a start,” Xioven said. “You two head off and see what this Jarrow guy is all about. If you learn anything useful, let me know right away.”
Bok and Joli finished their morning meal and headed off to find Jarrow’s house. After an hour, they found what they were looking for.
“Looks like someone beat us to it, Joli.” Twelve town guards were approaching the house.
“I guess the Rat is going to be forced out of his hole,” Joli laughed.
“We’d better hide over here and wait,” Bok ordered and they walked across the grass and sat under a small cluster of trees.
“I have an idea,” Joli said, smiling. Bok raised an eyebrow in reply. “If they are in there, their horses would be in the stable.”
Bok placed his hand on Joli’s shoulder. “Good thinking. Let’s go around the back and have a look, while the guards are busy elsewhere.”
Chapter Fifteen: Eggs for Breakfast
Kern, Galandrik, Jarrow sat eating breakfast. “So, how long before Ty’s good to be moved, do you think?” Galandrik asked Jarrow.
“Prolumus said twenty-four hours, and he’s usually right,” Jarrow answered.
“We can’t go anywhere until nightfall anyway; everybody in the town is looking for him,” Kern pointed out.
“Good point. Why don’t we hand him in and take the mithril?” Galandrik said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Nah,” Kern laughed, “it would be too boring without him around.”
“True. Well, have we got everything ready to travel tonight, or do we still need supplies?”
“I think we are sorted. Jarrow has kindly offered us a horse for Ty,” Kern answered with an appreciative smile in Jarrow’s direction. “I very much doubt it will still be at
The Bull where we left it. Other than that, we’re ready,” he finished.
“So if these are the chests that Ty told you about, are you taking them to their rightful owner?” Jarrow asked.
“God knows we’re not welcome back the way we came,” Kern replied. “I don’t have a better plan – do you, Galandrik?”
“Nope,” the dwarf said as he finished off the last of his breakfast. “We’re running out of options. Why don’t we head to Marsh Town and sail across to Lave?” Galandrik suggested. “Apparently there is a lot of work to be had there.”
The dining room door suddenly opened and there stood Ty, one arm in a sling and Ltyh hovering just behind him. “Anybody for bone dice?” he said, forcing a smile.
“I’ll give you bone dice!” Kern exclaimed. “You are supposed to be resting!”
Looking distressed, Ltyh helped steady Ty along. Ty moved somewhat gingerly, and was using a walking stick to keep the weight off of his injured leg. “I told him to stay in his room and rest, but he insisted on coming down,” Ltyh spluttered, red-faced.
Kern and Jarrow stood up and helped Ty to the table. He sat with poorly-disguised relief, and looked around at the others. His face was a ghostly grey, and to Kern’s eyes he looked surprisingly thin.
“Good to have you back, friend,” Kern said, folding his arms and gazing sternly at Ty.
“Yes, indeed,” the dwarf agreed. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve died and come back to life,” Ty winced, stretching out his injured arm. “So, when do we leave?” he added, with a wry smile.
“We are not going anywhere, my friend. First, you need to rest and heal, and second, you need to tell us just what the hell happened,” Kern insisted, leaning back in his chair.
Ty laughed. “You are not going to believe what happened.”
“Try us,” Galandrik and Kern said simultaneously.
“Well, remember the two rogues from the Orc’s Armpit, Bok and Joli? Where that bully knocked me around in the toilets, then proceeded to get himself locked up for stealing the farmer’s purse?” Ty began.
