“I tried to get Buster back, but the dag-blasted giant wouldn't do it. Called it spoils of battle or somethin’ like that. Anyway, I've been tryin' to think of a way to get Buster back ever since.”
“Uncle won't make a weapon with any other hammer,” Nhed said.
“Wouldn't be worth it. Wouldn't have the right feel,” Lenny grumbled.
“Anyway, while Uncle Lenui was gone, the duke's men got the word out that no one was to buy anything from our shop. Normally the duke's men would just arrest and kill anyone that crossed them. But if they tried that with my uncle, every dwarf in Dremald would rise up and take them out. So instead, they play it low and anyone who buys from us gets their house ransacked or whatever and the King's guards won't do anything about it.” The dwarf sighed. “We haven’t had a customer in weeks.”
“I see,” Zambon said. “Then let me be the first. I have been wanting a new sword for a long time, but until now I have not found one that would be a suitable replacement.” He drew his sword. “This sword has served me well through many battles, but even though it’s strong and well balanced, it’s just a plain sword. I have a feeling that I'm going to need to fight many a battle in the road ahead and I need a worthy sword to do it with.”
“Good!” said Nhed, a twinkle in his eye at the thought of a sale. “That trinket you've been using isn't up to the task I'm sure. How much do you want to spend?”
Nhed walked Zambon around the shop and showed him swords that looked to be the right weight and balance for him. Lenny leaned on the counter and watched the academy graduate, stroking his handlebar mustache thoughtfully.
Just as Nhed and Zambon began to haggle over one sword that Zambon particularly wanted, Lenny interrupted.
“Nhed, sometimes I think you're dumber than kiln dust! He don't want that cheap thing!”
Nhed raised one eyebrow. “But he's picked one of the best swords in the place.”
“Nah, there's one I think’ll fit him better.” Lenny grabbed Zambon's arm and led him through the door in the back of the shop. “You need a weapon that sings.”
The room that housed the weapon shop was only the front of the building. Lenny and Nhed lived in smaller rooms in the back, but the largest area was right behind the shop. This was Lenny's forge and workroom.
Other than a vent hole in the ceiling, the only source of light in the room emanated from the forge, which glowed bright and hot. At the opposite end of the room was a long thick table and workbench. Many tools of different sorts lay on top of the table, most of them stained with soot from the heat of the forge.
Lenny led Zambon past the table to a spot in the wall where he pulled out a loose brick. From within the contained space, he withdrew a long wrapped bundle. “Now this, my boy, is a weapon that sings!”
He let the wrapping fall to the floor.
Zambon gasped. This weapon was indeed superior to the other swords he had seen in the shop. The pommel shone as the purest silver and the hilt was covered in fiery gold runes. When Lenny let him slide the blade from the finely made, but practical, sheath, Zambon saw that set in the base of the blade by the hilt was a white gem surrounded by a burst of golden runes.
The moment that he touched the pommel, Zambon felt good. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt more . . . alive. The weapon had perfect balance and a keen edge and its polished surface glowed in the light from the forge.
“You know, I was actually glad when that captain wasn’t willin’ to pay fer this sword. He weren’t worthy of it. See, this sword won’t nick or rust and there ain’t much in this world that could break it. But what makes it real powerful is that it’s a healin’ sword. You'll heal way faster’n normal whenever yer holdin’ the sword.”
Zambon gulped. “How much are you asking? I suppose that it doesn't matter, because no matter how much I have, it could not be enough to pay for this thing of beauty.”
Lenny grinned his gap-toothed grin. “How much you got?”
“Thirty gold and twenty silver.”
Lenny whistled through his missing tooth. “That’s a lot fer a soldier.”
Zambon couldn’t take his eyes off of the sword. “Like I said, academy graduates are the best paid soldiers. Besides, I don’t spend money unless I think it’s worth it.”
“Well, I’ll think on the askin’ price, son. Just you hold on to that sword while we get our gear together.” Lenny moved to the back of the room and opened what appeared to be a storage space. “I always keep supplies just in case I need to leave at short notice. Let’s see now. The rogue horse can take care of herself, so that means three of us includin’ the elf. Let’s say a week of food with water along the way and a couple bottles of pepperbean wine . . . That should do it.”
He emerged with two full packs and tossed one to Zambon. “Now all we need’s a quiver of arrows fer the elf and a couple replacement swords fer the boy.”
They picked out two swords of similar length and weight to Justan's old ones and Nhed brought some bread and cheese for them to eat before they left. Zambon ate very little, excited about his new sword and eager to get on the road. Finally Lenny called out.
“Alright, we got half an hour 'til sundown. It’s about time we’d left. Zambon, I’ve been thinkin’ on the price of that there sword. The duke's men were gonna pay me fifty gold and the fair price would be closer to a hundred.” The guard’s face fell, and Lenny smiled. “But in yer case I’ll settle fer fifteen. I’m givin’ you a five gold discount fer payin’ my tab with Arlene.”
Zambon eagerly handed the coins over and Lenny turned back to Nhed. “Listen, Nhed. I’ve decided it’s time fer a move. See, if me and Zambon are successful in savin’ the boy, chances are that the duke’s men will make life here even harder fer us.”
Nhed smiled. “Thanks, Uncle! I’ve been sayin' we should leave this place fer a long time! But where are we going?”
“I got me a plan.” The dwarf handed Nhed the money that Zambon had given him. “Gather up six or seven strong dwarves that are good with a weapon, like maybe Pall or Rahbbie and some others. Hire them to guard you on the move. Try to pay them with price-three weapons if you can.”
“But Uncle, don’t you think six or seven dwarves is a little much?”
“From what Zambon’s told me, there’s dag-gum bandit’s all along the road to Sampo. We need the men to get through. Then when you get to Sampo, sell everythin’ you can. They’re starvin’ fer weapons down there. Then hightail it to Wobble and take the money you made to build us a shop as far away from yer Uncle Chugk’s as possible. Got it?”
Nhed nodded.
“Good, now go get me Bertha.”
“Bertha? Why?”
“Since Buster’s gone, I need somethin’ to bash some heads with.”
Reluctantly, Nhed went over to the forge and grasped a long handled hammer with a forge-blackened head.
“Does Bertha sing?” Zambon asked.
“She hums a line or two.” Lenny grunted as he took the hammer from his nephew and wrapped the head in fine leather.
Moments later Lenny and Zambon made their way through the crowded streets once again and headed for the city gates. As they headed out of the city with the sun setting behind them, Lenny stopped.
“Dag-blast it!”
“What is it?”
“Zambon, I’m sure glad you bought that healin’ sword from me.”
“Why?”
“'Cause I’m ‘bout to meet that rogue horse again and since the boy ain’t there to protect me . . . I might need to hold on to the pommel fer a while.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Justan regained consciousness to find himself being dragged through unfamiliar streets. It took him a moment to remember what had happened. How much time had passed? Three, four hours? From the placement of the sun it had to be late afternoon.
“He’s awake,” one of them said.
His mind processed the situation. His hands were bound behind his back and two men had him by
the arms, pulling him, his heels dragging on the cobblestone street. The man who had spoken was walking behind them, most likely to make sure he couldn’t get away. He looked to either side and saw two more men keeping pace, one of them the whiny-voiced man Charles.
Justan was in a bad place indeed. He had nowhere to turn for help. These men had some clout in Dremald it seemed and his friends would have no way of knowing what had happened to him.
Gwyrtha’s thoughts pressed in on him. She was frantic with worry. If he told her everything that had happened, she wouldn’t be able to communicate it to Qyxal or Zambon. She might just rush in to the city by herself looking for him and that would be a very bad idea.
Besides, to communicate everything with her in a way she would understand, he would have to concentrate on her fully and he couldn’t afford to do that yet. He had to remember the route that they took him and plan a way to escape. He sent her a quick message.
Gwyrtha, stay with Qyxal. I can’t speak with you more right now. I will have to talk with you later. She resisted forcefully and he had to push her thoughts away. She pushed right back. This wasn’t going to work, she was too insistent. He had to compromise.
Look, sweetheart, I’ll try something new. I’m going to let you see what I see, but you have to promise not to come after me. Just stay and do whatever Qyxal says. She grudgingly agreed.
He left their communication open but tried to link to her in such a way that she could only see what he saw and not hear what he was thinking. The link was tenuous at best, but it worked and he was still able to concentrate on his surroundings. He tried to memorize the roads they took and keep note of the major landmarks, but he soon realized that without a point of reference, it was probably worthless. The city was too big. He had to think of something else.
“Hey Charles,” he said. “Where are we going?”
“Shut up, you!” said one of the men holding his arms.
Charles answered anyway, a sneer on his face, “You are going to Duke Vriil’s camp. He’ll want to meet you after what you did to Huck.”
“Me? Meet the duke? Wonderful, that’s why I am here in Dremald anyway. I have a gift for him you see, from . . . Wizard Valtrek at the MageSchool. He sent me here to deliver it.”
Charles looked skeptical.
“Then why did you attack us, eh?” He pulled at his filthy tunic with the duke’s insignia. “You shoulda seen we were the duke’s men.”
“You mean those dirty things?” Justan scoffed. “I expected his men to be well dressed as well as well mannered. I mean, look at yourselves. If I had known that you were really Duke Vriil’s men, I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
The two men dragging him slowed down a bit as if uncertain. The men did not look pleased at that last statement, but if Justan was pretending to be a messenger, he knew he needed to play the part.
“I wouldn’t have killed that ‘Huck’ creature either,” he added.
“Gah!” one of the others said. “He’s lying!”
“Yeah, what is this ‘gift’ of yours then?”
“I can’t tell you. You know that! Besides, even I don’t know what it is. It’s just a package. What do you think the duke would do to me if it was opened?” Justan shuddered convincingly. He hoped that they feared the Duke Vriil as much as they let on.
“I don’t know,” said Charles. “What if he’s telling the truth?”
“We’ll let the duke sort that out,” another said. There was a grumble of agreement.
“But you can’t bring me to the duke without his gift! You searched me yourselves. You know I don’t have it on me. The duke would be furious if we made him wait while I went all the way back in to town.” It seemed to be working. They looked at each other as if unsure how to react. Justan pressed on, “Surely it wouldn’t be too out of the way for you to take me to my friend’s place where I left it? You could stay with me and make sure I wouldn’t try to get away.”
“Where is this ‘friend’ of yours, then?” Charles asked.
“Well, I am new to the city. I was lost when I ran into you earlier. But maybe you know how to get there from here. His place is in the Blacksmith District. His name is Lenny Firegobbler.”
The men looked at each other again and burst into laughter. “Right? The dwarf?”
“What? What’s the problem?” Justan asked. His plan seemed to have gone awry.
Charles didn’t seem to think it was funny. “Shut the bastard up! I don’t want to hear him speak again.”
Justan thought furiously, trying to think of a way to turn this around, but when he opened his mouth one of the men stuffed a dirty handkerchief in it. They held it in place with a piece of rope they tied around his head. Charles punched him in the stomach once for good measure and they began dragging him again.
They soon came to the outskirts of the city where the Duke’s camp was set up. It was an extremely disorderly camp. The tents weren’t staked properly, men lay about haphazardly and fires were left unattended.
Justan shook his head. The teachers at the Training School would have had the lot of them digging trenches for a week for keeping such a mess. The men bound his feet and threw him into an empty tent.
“Have a nice rest before the duke shows up. I’m looking forward to hearing your screams,” Charles snarled before giving him a parting kick to the head.
Justan slipped back into unconsciousness.
When Justan awoke again, his head felt as if it would burst. It was almost dark now. The tent didn't have a source of light and he could see very little except for shadows playing along the walls of the tent from the fires outside.
There were two guards outside the tent flap throwing dice and he could hear men laughing drunkenly in the camp. His hands were still bound tightly behind his back and he had to continually work his fingers around and make fists so that they wouldn’t go numb. The parting kick Charles had given him had loosened the gag though, and Justan was able to work it with his tongue enough to spit it out. He spat again trying to get rid of the taste.
Justan knew that he had to escape before the duke arrived. He fiddled with his bonds, but they were tied securely. The man who had tied them must have known his knots because Justan couldn’t reach them with his fingers.
“Of all the things for them to be efficient at,” he sighed.
His immediate hope of escape was from his friends, but from what Justan had seen, the duke’s men numbered at least two hundred, way too many for his friends to fight through. Besides, they couldn’t possibly know what had happened to him.
Zambon probably thought that he was lost. How long would he wait for him by the gate before checking back with Qyxal? Or would he stay in the city and search for him?
The only way that Justan could let his friends know what had happened was through Gwyrtha, but how could she explain the situation? Qyxal understood her somewhat, but he could only catch bits of what she was trying to say, like how a parent understands a toddler. Even if he could somehow get the elf a message, Justan didn't see how it would help. Qyxal was a mage and had some great spells, but Justan doubted that he was powerful enough to subdue all two hundred men.
Still, they were Justan’s only hope. He tentatively reached for Gwyrtha’s mind again since Charles’ blow had disrupted the link he had established with her earlier. But he pulled back before speaking to her.
He had to be careful what he told her. Her tendency would be to charge after him no matter what his pleas were to the contrary. He could imagine her bursting through the camp, heedless of the armed men that surrounded him. She would probably reach him too. But even if he was somehow able to break his bonds and climb onto her back, they would most likely be mobbed or riddled with arrows before they could ever get back out.
What would he say? When the men captured him, they had promised torture and death at the duke’s castle. This meant that they were going to have to transport him there. Justan didn’t know how far away this castle was, but perhaps if they
left the city to bring him to the duke’s castle, they would only bring a small number of men along. Even if it were fifteen or twenty, his friends might be able to ambush them along the road for a rescue attempt. Zambon could scout ahead of the men and find the right spot along the road. Qyxal could lay down cover fire or put the men to sleep and Gwyrtha could bust in and grab him. Perhaps it would work.
It was dark outside now and Justan hoped that he would be able to get his message across.
He reached for Gwyrtha again.
She was extremely anxious and Justan could see through her thoughts that it was taking all that Qyxal had to keep her from running off after him. Justan immediately sent soothing emotions through to her. She was skeptical that everything would be okay, but he promised her that as long as she stayed with his friends everything would work out all right. He reached further into her mind until he could see what she saw and hear what she heard. He stopped there, afraid of passing over the line to taking control. He had promised never to stray that far again.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 32
