“You either release your grip on your source while you’re there, or you bring elixir of turyn with you and use it to keep from dying. That’s not too bad on its own, but it also means you have to avoid using magic, which if you’ve gotten in the habit of relying on it, can be difficult,” explained the ring. After a short pause, it added, “As much as I hate to admit this, being a sorcerer is something of an advantage there, especially if you have a fire elemental. Not only do they have an additional source of turyn, but trolls are very afraid of fire.”
Will thought about it for a minute, then summed everything up. “So, you want me to go to Muskeglun, refrain from using magic while I’m there, and somehow fight a troll using nothing but my normal fighting prowess? The more you say, the less this sounds like a possible solution and the more it sounds like an unpleasant way to commit suicide.”
The ring replied, “First, you should probably remove the word ‘prowess’ from your dictionary as I doubt it will ever apply to you in any context, much less in fighting. Second, even though Arrogan was a badass in every sense of the word, even he wouldn’t think about taking on a troll in single combat unless it was absolutely necessary. Trolls are fast, strong, somewhat intelligent, and they can recover from nearly any injury. Did I mention claws? Yeah, they have claws too. In fact, the only reason there are still humans is that trolls seem to be utterly incapable of using magic, otherwise we’d have gone extinct.”
Will frowned. “Are you saying there are trolls in our world, or that there used to be?”
“Someone decided to bring a few over a long time ago. It didn’t work out well. They multiply quickly and they’ll eat almost anything. Trendham almost wound up being named Trollheim instead.”
“Was Arrogan around back then?”
“No, this was long before his time. The trolls ate everyone they came across. Armies failed against them. It was a bad time to be human. The only reason we’re still here today is that the wizards of the time got over their differences and made a concerted effort to burn them all to ashes. In fact, they’d have gotten rid of trolls entirely, but for the fact that going to Muskeglun and repeating that effort was simply impossible, due to the problems I mentioned a minute ago.”
“You realize that everything you’ve said just reinforces the fact that I shouldn’t go looking for trolls,” Will pointed out.
“Rest easy my young fool, for I will share with you the secrets to a successful holiday in the gloomy, disease-infested swamps of Muskeglun. You already have everything you need: desperation, a notable lack of common sense, and me, your trusty guide.” The ring continued, explaining a plan of action that sounded almost reasonable.
Chapter 22
By Tuesday, Will was ready to meet his new customer. The meeting place was at an upscale tavern named the Lazy Pony, and Will left after Composition since that gave him three hours until he had to be back for Math class.
He was still largely unfamiliar with the streets of Cerria, so having a little extra time to find the tavern was a good thing, but despite his worry about getting lost, he found the place easily. The district the tavern was in was only a half-mile from the market where he had sold his peppercorns and the sign was visible from more than a block away. The sign pictured a sleeping horse, which made it fairly distinctive.
Given the speed of his trip, Will figured that the midday bells wouldn’t ring for at least a half an hour, so he was early for his meeting. The street outside the tavern had a number of people in it, most of whom seemed to be heading one way or another, though a few were loitering near the tavern. For the most part everything seemed normal, although Will took notice of one man who stood a short way down, staring at the tavern itself.
Or is it me he’s looking at? Will wondered. The fellow didn’t seem dangerous. He was older and hunched over, as though his back could no longer quite manage a fully erect posture. Will watched the man for a few seconds, until the stranger looked away and began walking in the opposite direction.
Will headed inside and looked around. The interior was clean and well maintained, with woodwork that was neat and well made. The tables and furniture were all similar, and most notably, they all matched. While he didn’t have much experience with common houses and pubs, Will had never been in one where the furniture wasn’t a hodgepodge of different styles.
The place wasn’t empty, but neither was it crowded, as it likely would be later in the day. Unsure where to sit, Will went to the bar and found a stool. As there was only one other customer at the bar, it was only a minute before the bartender came over to wait on him.
“You seem a little young,” said the man.
Will grinned. “I’m here to meet someone.”
The bartender nodded. “That’s your business. Can I get you something?”
“Small beer,” answered Will. The barkeep stepped away and returned a few moments later with a metal cup.
“Two pennies,” said the man. After Will had slid the coins across the bar, the bartender added, “I’m Max if you need anything else.”
Will nodded.
“Who are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know what he looks like,” said Will. “But his name is Roger Barlow. He’ll probably ask for me when he comes in. My name is William Cartwright.”
“He’ll probably spot you right away,” said Max. “The crowd is small, you’re young, and he’ll check the bar first.”
Will had been worried about that, but the bartender’s observation was probably correct. He relaxed a little and nursed his cup, watching the door. He didn’t have to wait long.
The man who entered spotted him almost immediately, meeting his eyes and heading straight for him. The newcomer was dressed in a rich doublet with fur trim. The man’s face was freshly shaved, except for a neat, square-cut goatee. “Are you William?” he asked as soon as he came near.
“William Cartwright,” he answered with a nod.
“Roger Barlow,” said the man, extending his hand. Will’s buyer spent a few minutes with the bartender, ordering a glass of wine. Once it had arrived, he turned back to Will. “Do you have the universal antidote potions?”
“I do,” said Will. He untied a small bag from his belt and started to open it. “If you’d like to examine—”
“No need,” said Roger, waving a hand at Will dismissively. “I trust Karlovic’s judgment, and honestly, I wouldn’t know how to tell if they were real or not.” He pulled a small pouch from the side of his doublet and passed it over. “Feel free to count it.”
The weight was enough to suggest the pouch contained gold, but Will opened the top and caught a glimpse of yellow metal before closing it again. He didn’t particularly want to count so much money in a public place. He decided to offer his buyer the same courtesy. “I guess I’ll trust you as well. Are there any other potions you might be interested in?”
Roger shook his head. “These aren’t for me. I’m buying them on behalf of a friend.”
Curious, Will asked, “Might I ask who your friend is?”
“No,” said Roger flatly.
“I understand.” Will finished his beer and stood up. “I’ll get going then. Just let Professor Karlovic know if you need anything else.”
The man nodded, and Will headed for the door. The entire exchange had felt strange to him. Was this how smugglers and spies felt? It hadn’t exactly been a shady deal, but the anonymity of the buyer made him feel sneaky. As Will stepped into the street, he played along with the cloak-and-dagger feeling and surreptitiously checked his surroundings.
Then he saw something that snapped him out of his boyish mood. The old man he had seen before entering was back, but now he was standing on the other end of the street, away from the direction he had headed in previously. Why did he come back? Is he really watching the tavern, or me?
Will glanced around one more time, trying to note the faces of those nearby, then he set off toward the old man. It wasn’t the direction that would take him back to Wurthaven, but he felt
a need to get a closer look at his potential stalker. The old man noted his approach and turned around, suddenly interested in something on the ground and coincidentally hiding his face. That’s definitely suspicious, thought Will, but it could just be paranoia on my part.
He took a right at the next intersection of roads and walked casually, fighting the urge to speed up. Will wanted to look back, but if someone was following him that would be a giveaway, so he kept his face forward.
But his efforts to appear unaware backfired on him. He spent too much time thinking about his outward appearance and too little keeping track of his turns as he meandered along. Ten minutes and a multitude of cross-sections later, Will realized he was thoroughly lost. Worse, he had left the nicer part of the city he had been in and had wandered into a slum. The buildings around him were dirty and in disrepair. There were fewer people on the road as well.
He heard a whistle from somewhere ahead. Is that a signal? Unable to help himself, he looked back. The old man was there, almost a full block behind, but there were two younger men much closer, within thirty feet. Their eyes were cold and unfriendly.
Will stopped, turning to face them. Going forward will only take me into whoever they have waiting ahead. The street was almost empty now, and he noticed that the other random townsfolk who remained were all moving indoors. They knew something was about to happen.
Will summoned the limnthal and stored the bag of gold in it as he began walking toward the two men. He doubted they noticed the action, since they probably couldn’t see turyn. He didn’t dismiss the limnthal, since he might have to summon something else from it. The two bravos smiled as they saw him heading their way. They knew the game was almost over and they seemed anxious to start the fun.
The distance closed quickly, and at fifteen feet one of the two pulled a long, curved knife from his coat, while the other produced a wicked baton with iron nails driven through the business end. Will’s heart was pounding in his ears, but he kept his cool and started to summon his saber. There was a sound behind him, a boot sole against stone, and he was driven forward as something slammed into his back with enough force to make him stumble. It felt like someone had punched him in the kidney.
The man with the club leapt forward, swinging at his head, and Will barely managed to dodge the blow, falling into the man with the knife instead. A second blow struck his belly, as the man’s companion stabbed him.
Will caught the knife-wielder’s arm. The fellow seemed surprised as he lost his grip on the knife after its unexpected encounter with his brigandine, and Will slammed his right elbow into the assassin’s face.
The unseen man that had attacked him from behind exclaimed, “He’s wearing some sort of armor!”
Will jumped back from the man with the club and then ran, heading straight for the old man, who was holding back in the distance. The old man’s eyes widened and then he started fleeing, while the two ambushers who were still on their feet began to give chase.
Focusing his turyn, Will outpaced his pursuers and rapidly caught up to the old man, then passed him. “I’ll be back for you,” he threatened as he raced by.
One of the men behind him whistled. Another signal, thought Will. That meant there were probably more of them ahead of him. How many could there be? Rather than go straight, he ducked around the corner of the next building, then stopped and summoned his saber while pressing himself close to the wall.
The first pursuer that rounded the corner ran straight into a horizontal slash that opened his shirt and spilled his intestines onto the ground. The man screamed and staggered sideways, trying to hold his guts in, while the second pulled up short. Will didn’t give the second man time to recover, though. Lunging forward, he rammed the point of his sword into the man’s belly, driving it hard enough that the tip emerged from the man’s back.
At the same time, he felt a terrible pain in his left shoulder—the club had found his flesh there. Will struggled to pull his sword free while the dying man swung at him again. The blade wouldn’t move, though, and he was forced to release the hilt as he leapt back.
Then the third man arrived, knife in hand.
Will dodged around the man with the sword through him, who was only now beginning to sink to the ground, crying, “He’s killed me, Davy!”
The third killer advanced cautiously, aware that he was facing an unarmed opponent. Will caught him with the source-link spell and injected a portion of his turyn. The man’s face took on a look of distress, and a second later he began to vomit.
Stepping back, Will kicked the man with his sword still stuck in his chest. The assassin fell sideways to the ground and flailed helplessly at him as Will stepped on the man’s chest and jerked the saber free.
Two more were closing in, coming from the direction Will had been running toward. He still had a few seconds before they arrived, so Will used them to slash the vomiting bandit across the back and legs as he drunkenly staggered about, trying to avoid the blows while emptying his stomach.
All three of his original assailants were down now, though two of them were still crying out in pain. The one who’d had his belly opened was particularly loud, while the other was too busy retching to say much. The two new criminals stopped a few feet away, sizing up their prey.
“You made a big mistake, kid,” said one of them. Both of them held formidable clubs.
“How? Are you going to kill me twice now that I’ve hurt your friends? Why don’t you think before you make threats that don’t make sense.” He talked to buy time, as his source-link spell connected with both of his opponents.
“Smart ass. You’ll find out. It could have been quick and easy, but I’ll make sure you suffer. We’ll take our time with you.” The thug whirled his club as he spoke, demonstrating his prowess.
Will backed away, taking a second to make sure the street was still clear behind him. He couldn’t afford any more surprises. His left shoulder was throbbing, and he could feel blood dripping from his fingertips. He was steadily pulling turyn from the two men as he stayed out of their range. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
His two enemies separated, moving to the sides so he couldn’t escape. “Same as always. Someone wants you dead.” The man’s words slurred as they came out, and his movements grew sluggish.
The other one lunged forward, swinging, but he stumbled and fell to the ground as his strength faded. A few seconds later they were both on the ground, unconscious.
Will stared at them. The adrenaline surging through his veins made him want to do something terrible. The terror and violence were clouding his thoughts. His first instinct was to kill both of them. It would be easy enough. Two quick thrusts and he could leave both of them to bleed to death. Clenching his jaw, he looked around. No one was watching, and there didn’t seem to be any more assassins coming.
With an effort of self-control, he dismissed his sword. Then he picked up a knife one of the earlier men had dropped and used it to hamstring both of them. It was a bloody and vicious act. If they recovered, they’d be lucky to walk again, and if they did it would be with a permanent limp. He felt an ugly sense of satisfaction. I didn’t kill them, he thought, trying to convince himself he’d done the right thing, but was maiming them any better?
Will tried to clear his thoughts. What was the best thing to do next? Run? Wait for the city patrol? There was still no one visible in either direction. He summoned his cloak from the limnthal and put it on, using the hood to cover his head, then he began rifling through the ruffians’ purses.
The dead man and the two unconscious ones were simple enough. The one who was moaning and holding his stomach together cursed him the entire time. Will used the man’s own knife to cut his purse free and stored the entire thing in his limnthal. “Who paid you to do this?” he asked.
“I’m dying. Leave me alone,” moaned the assassin.
Will examined the man’s open belly with expert eyes. There wasn’t much blood, which meant the fellow wasn’t li
kely to bleed to death. “It might take you several days to die,” he said. “If someone wraps you up tightly you might last until the fever takes you.”
“I’ll tell them it was you,” spat the thug. “When the guards get here. I’ll tell them you did this.”
“Are you asking me to finish you off?” Will threatened.
Despite his mortal wound, the man tried to scoot away. “I take it back. I won’t. I don’t even know your name!”
“Someone knows me, otherwise you wouldn’t have ambushed me,” said Will. “Who?”
“Remi,” answered the dying man. “It was Remi that gave us the job.”
“Who’s that?”
“The greybeard, you were chasing him.”
“The old man?”
The thug nodded.
“How do I find him?” asked Will.
“I don’t know,” said the man fearfully. “Honest, I don’t. He found us.”
“Where did he find you then?”
“At the Mangy Dog, near the south gate,” said the man.
“Mangy Dog?”
“It’s a tavern. It’s supposed to be the Green Dog, but that’s what everyone calls it. Remi and a few like him come there when they want to hire men for a job.”
Will stared into the man’s eyes. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Please, I don’t want to die. I’ve got a family,” begged the thug.
Will winced. I really didn’t want to know that. How many people would go hungry because of what he had done? Did the men he had crippled have families too? His anger had faded, and now it was slowly being replaced by remorse. Damn it.
Despite his better sense, he produced a blood-cleanse potion from his limnthal. “If someone stitches you up properly, you might live. Wait until the fever starts and take this. It will stop the sickness from killing you.”
“Really?” A faint hope was dawning on the disemboweled man’s face.
Maybe, thought Will, but he kept his doubt to himself. He stood up and looked around. “Where are the city patrollers?”
Secrets and Spellcraft Page 19
