Harbinger of doom epic.., p.25
Harbinger of Doom ( Epic Fantasy Three Book Bundle), page 25
“The Chancellor wasted no time,” said Harringgold. “I didn’t expect this, especially not here. Not in my own home.”
Theta studied the coins for a time, wrapped them in cloth, being careful not to touch them with his hands, and pocketed them.
“It is still some hours until dawn,” said Theta. “I will need another room.”
“Of course,” said the Duke, seemingly surprised at the request.
“One with a bath, and some bandages, and a few guards at the door that you can trust more than these.”
“You will have it. I don’t know what to say, this should never have happened in my fortress.”
“You are right, it shouldn’t have,” said Theta, giving the Duke an ice-cold stare.
“I will stand the watch myself,” said the guard captain, “with your permission, Duke.”
Harringgold nodded.
Servants led Theta to another room, two floors up. Ob appeared along the way and walked beside Theta.
“You hurt?” said Ob.
“No.”
“Good, but it’s not over, laddie. The scum won’t stop coming. Once The Hand has a contract, they never give up. Not ever. They took five years to track down old Par Tandar in Minoc—he was hiding out as a cobbler—but they got him—hung his head from a lamppost out in front of the Tower of the Arcane. Not one witness. Theta, your only chance is to head for the hills and not stop until you’re back home—wherever it is you hail from.”
“What makes you think they’re only after me, Gnome?”
Ob paled. “I—just figured you had crossed the wrong sort somewheres about, that’s all. You think the Alders set them on you? On us? This fast? Bloody hell; that’s all we need. If you’re right, we’re really in the deep stuff.”
“I will deal with the assassins as need be, but it won’t be by running. Let’s focus our attention on tracking down Korrgonn and Mortach—they are the real threats. Everything else is unimportant.”
“Don’t underestimate the Black Hand, Theta. If you do, you just might get dead.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” said Theta.
V
TO PIPKORN WE WILL GO
The guards that escorted the Eotrus men were helpful guides and kept them from getting lost in Dor Lomion’s halls, which were vast, even cavernous, and made Dor Eotrus—a large fortress by all accounts—feel small and provincial. In the morning, the Eotrus group gathered in one of Dor Lomion’s well-appointed lounges to break their fast and have council. Each man in the group attended the breakfast in casual dress; no armor to be seen, though each girded a sword or axe at their hips.
The round room in which they gathered was at the very top of one of Dor Lomion’s turrets and had a high peaked ceiling of exposed timbers and very tall glass windows that looked down upon the city far below—an incredible view matched by few windows in all the city. The room’s walls were paneled in thick wood and gave it the feel of a rich manor house, not a musty and cold castle. Leather clad chairs, thick wooden tables, a large hearth with a crackling fire, and exotic carpets populated the room, which was accoutered with silver wall sconces and oil lamps, candelabras, bookshelves, maps, and a well-stocked bar, which Ob enjoyed sampling. Not a room offered to casual guests or commoners, was this. The Duke no doubt felt guilty over the previous night’s events.
Meticulously dressed and well-mannered servants laid out a buffet of pastries, fresh breads and butter, local fruit, and drinks, including mulled wine and hot cider, before exiting the room, leaving the group in private.
“Jude and Malcolm are expected to arrive later his morning,” said Claradon. “The Duke has us scheduled to set out immediately thereafter for the Dor. I’m just not sure what to do. Do I follow Harringgold’s orders, go back home and hide under the bed, or do I go after Korrgonn, with you?”
“I’m not much for following orders, as you well know, laddie,” said Ob, “but this time, maybe it’s for the best. Me and Lord Bigshot can take care of Korrgonn.”
“Lord Theta,” said Claradon. “I would ask your council as well.”
A steaming mug of hot cider in his hand, Theta leveled his steely gaze on Claradon. “Your path does not lie on the homeward road.”
“Are you saying that I should come with you? I would be going against the Duke’s orders.”
“Don’t confuse the boy, Theta. He belongs at the reins of the Dor, in his father’s stead, not fighting such as Korrgonn and his ilk.”
“You seek to send him home to protect him, to keep him from harm’s way,” said Theta, “but he needs no protection, and he’s no boy, in age or experience. He proved his quality in the Vermion and again against Barusa—of that there can be no doubt. His path lies with us.”
The hairs on the back of Claradon’s neck stood up and the blood drained from his face. “Once, not long ago, you told me that those who share your path are not long for Valhalla.”
Theta smiled a thin smile. “Nevertheless, such is your path.”
“Meaning no disrespect, Lord Theta, but I beg to disagree,” said Tanch. “I think Master Claradon should head home; he mustn’t go against the Duke’s orders. Stopping Korrgonn is no longer Claradon’s first priority. His other duties must take precedence.”
“Wizard, you are as shallow and simple as a one-eyed drunken Dwarf,” said Ob, a large goblet of mulled wine in hand.
“What say you?” said Tanch, outraged.
“Harringgold wants Korrgonn dead as surely as we do,” said Ob, “even though he doesn’t believe he’s the threat that Theta says he is. But the Duke wants us to take Korrgonn’s measure so that he doesn’t have to. We are to take the risks, not him and his. That’s why he pushed you and me both to head off with Theta.”
“If we kill Korrgonn and come back heroes, we’ve served his purpose and we’re all best pals—as he will have backed us. If we get dead, that will give the Duke a good measurement of Korrgonn’s strength. He will use what he learns to put his own plan together, with his own men, to stop Korrgonn. We’re the fodder, magic-boy—make no mistake of that. We’re to be pushed out in front, to test and probe the enemy. Expendable assets we are—pawns, just like in Mages and Monsters.”
“And if we do end up dead, Claradon will come to rely that much more on the Duke, bringing Dor Eotrus more under his influence—under his control. That is his plan; I have no doubt. You can never fully trust a politician, and that’s what the Duke is, and that’s the truth.”
“You’re mad to think that Lord Harringgold is so manipulative,” said Tanch.
“And you’re a fool not to see that he is,” said Ob. “Harringgold is a crafty one. He didn’t get to be Archduke of the greatest city of Midgaard by his good looks alone.”
“He is the Duke,” said Tanch. “Deserving of respect and—”
“The Chancellorship deserves respect too, but Barusa is still a snake,” said Ob. “Open your eyes, Magic Boy, and see the world the way it is. You’re walking around in a fog.”
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” said Claradon. “I’m not ready, not yet, anyway.”
“That is much of what the Duke is after,” said Theta. “To take your measure, not just to have us take Korrgonn’s.”
“My measure? What do you mean?”
“He means that at the duel yesterday, the Duke learned you’re a warrior to be reckoned with, so he wanted to learn more,” said Ob. “To size you up, to see if you’re made of solid stuff or slippery slop. Any man can judge strength that’s in his face. But you showed guile yesterday, pretending the fool and coward until your opening came. That takes smarts and discipline. The Duke didn’t expect that from you. He wants to learn more. That’s why he asked us here—it wasn’t just to hear our tale of what happened in the Vermion.”
“I don’t know what more he could have learned about me from our discussion,” said Claradon.
“He learned that you rely on your comrades,” said Theta. “That the guile you displayed at that duel may not have been only of your own making.”
Ob raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Another reason to split us up. Easier to read the boy and control him without us hanging about. Mayhaps Harringgold is up to even more than I thought. Could he want the Dor for himself?”
“I can’t believe that,” said Claradon. “He was a good friend to my father. He wouldn’t betray us.”
“There is no doubt that the Duke has an agenda,” said Theta. “Most of which he’s kept hidden.”
“Hmm—dark times,” said Ob, a pensive look on his face. “Dark times.”
“I have much to consider and little time for consideration,” said Claradon. “No matter my decision, I can’t go with you now. I must await my brothers and have council with them.”
“In the meantime,” said Ob, “we’ll go track down Old Pointy Hat Pipkorn in whatever hole he’s hiding in and see if he can help.”
“You have no respect at all for anyone, do you?” said Tanch. “Not even for the Grandmaster of the Tower of the Arcane.”
“Nope,” said Ob.
Somehow, while holding the ensorcelled talisman, Tanch knew which way to turn, though he knew not their destination, nor their full route. He led the group through the fair districts of Lomion City and then down into a seedier neighborhood called The Heights. There, the broad avenues gave way to alleyways, narrow and grim. The streets became a maze and all manner of ruffians, beggars, and vagabonds prowled the ways. A far cry from the beautiful, tree-lined lanes of the High Quarter or the Mercantile District, but no worse than the coarser sections of other cities of the realm.
Despite the nondescript cloaks worn by the group, the wary denizens of The Heights marked their passing. Some folk made way for the sturdy group, and others stood glaring from doorways, windows, and darkened alleys. Not a place for an outsider to pass safely alone this was.
“Just where are you taking us, Mister Tanch?” said Dolan.
“To Master Pipkorn, I hope,” said the wizard. “Assuming that this thing actually works.”
“Where is Old Pointy Hat hiding?” said Ob.
“I can’t say, I’m afraid, though it seems we’re heading for Southeast.”
“Southeast! Oh, that just beats it,” said Ob. “All we need.”
“It can’t be much worse than this place,” said Dolan.
“The Heights are a palace compared to Southeast,” said Ob. “Good thing I brought my axe.”
“You bring your axe everywhere,” said Tanch.
“Gnomes are always prepared. That’s why we’re so long lived.”
“How much farther, Mister Tanch?” asked Dolan.
“We’re there, laddie,” said Ob gesturing ahead.
Before the group was a high stone wall, many feet thick, with a massive wood and steel gate and iron portcullis, both open. Several armed Lomion City guardsmen stood about and approached when the group made to pass through.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said one of the guards, apparently the officer in charge.
“Afternoon,” said Ob loudly, standing on his toes to catch the officer’s eye.
“This is Mideon Gate; beyond lies Southeast,” said the guard. He addressed Theta and took no notice of Ob. He stared as if expecting to see surprise at his announcement and for the group to turn away.
“We know where we are, man,” said Ob. “We’re not daft you know. Now stand aside so we might pass.”
The guards did not make way.
The officer narrowed his eyes and scanned the group with suspicion. “What is your business in Southeast?” he said, still addressing Theta.
“Our business is our own, laddie,” said Ob. “If you move yourself aside, quick-like, I may not have to step on you.”
“No one passes this gate,” said the officer in a stern voice, only now taking notice of Ob, “unless they state their business and sign their names in the logbook, by order of the Crown.”
“And then may we pass all friendly-like, laddie?” said Ob.
“Aye,” said the officer.
“Then give me the logbook, bucko, and sign I will.”
The officer motioned to one of his men, who passed Ob the logbook and a quill.
“Here’s the spot for our names, I see,” said Ob as he studied the book. “Too Tall is what they call me, and my friends are Scaredy Cat, Pointy Ears, and Mr. Fancy Pants,” he said, writing each name in turn. He passed the book back to the officer who stared at it dumbfounded.
“As for our business—my friends and I are headed to the Brown Boar Inn to get famously drunk and beat people up.
The officer’s mouth was open, but no words found their way out.
“Let’s go,” said Ob as he pushed forward passed the guards. They stared after the group as they made their way.
“The gates close at dusk,” called out the officer, “and don’t open again until dawn. Believe me, you don’t want to get stuck in there after dark.”
VI
EDWIN OF ALDER
Populated with a mix of residential buildings of rotting wood, decaying brick, and crumbling mortar, houses of ill repute, riotous gambling dens, seedy taverns, flea infested boarding houses, and fetid beggars’ hovels, Southeast was the foulest district in the otherwise fair city of Lomion, capital city of the Kingdom of Lomion.
A clinging mist continually hung over the district, sometimes even permeating indoors. The whole place radiated a sense of vast age and decay. An inexplicable malaise afflicted those goodly folk that braved its narrow streets and dismal alleyways. Those who lingered would oft grow morbid, grim, and even violent. Some said a strange vapor within the mist caused that madness; others attributed it to wizards’ spells gone awry in ages past.
“Not a fit place for proper folk,” said Ob as he eyed the ill-kept buildings that precariously leaned over both sides of the lane that they walked down, blocking out much of the day’s light. “Dark, dismal, and dirty—always been that way, Southeast has. Mostly folks up to no good are seen hereabouts—cutthroats and scoundrels, the lot of them.”
“And Gnomes,” said Tanch, the Duke’s talisman in his hand.
Ob narrowed his eyes and glared at the wizard. “It’s true: a Gnome or two has lived around here over the years. Mind you, they are southern Gnomes, from Grommel or Portland Vale, not Northerners like myself. My kin have more sense.”
“Things have gotten worse in Southeast in recent years,” said Tanch. “I have heard that most common folk, including the beggars, have fled or gone missing. Even the thieves’ guild moved out, as did most everyone else of sound mind. Only the crazies are left, and there are plenty of them, or so I hear.”
Theta grabbed Tanch by the arm. “This is not a place to be cornered in. Why did you have us leave our horses?”
Tanch winced from the pressure on his arm. “Forgive me—Lord Theta—but there—is something about the place—makes animals wild.” Theta released him and Tanch rubbed his shoulder. “It has always been that way, and grown worse of late, I’m told. If we had taken horses in here, they would’ve tried to throw us and run off.”
“He’s right,” said Ob. “Animals not accustomed to this place lose their heads and panic. I’ve seen it happen. The place isn’t quite natural; some wizards mucked it up ages back. Stinking wizards.”
Par Tanch looked stricken but offered no retort.
“Them fellows following us have horses,” said Dolan, “and they’re getting on good enough.”
“What?” said Ob. “Following us?” Ob cupped a hand behind his right ear. “Be silent,” he said, pausing to listen. “Oh boy, you’re right, I hear them coming. I thought I heard something a minute ago, but the darned wizard distracted me, as usual. Stinking wizards.” Ob glared at Tanch and took a swig from his wineskin.
“Let’s get out of this alley before they’re on us,” said Theta.
“Who are they?” said Ob. “That is what I want to know.”
“Somebody’s soldiers,” said Dolan. “They’ve been following us since before we entered Southeast, hanging well back, trying to stay out of sight. I caught a glimpse of them a couple of times.”
The group picked up their pace, but so did their shadows. The talisman led them from narrow alley to narrow alley, with no wide way to turn off in to. Shutters slammed closed on upper floors as they passed. Theta halted and turned about. “They’re coming up.”
“What do we do?” said Tanch. “Run? Hide? Perhaps we should surrender?”
“Keep quiet,” said Theta.
Horses walked up the way behind the group, hooves echoing on the cobblestones, two by two, taking up nearly the full width of the narrow alley, their numbers unclear in the mist and gloom. The riders wore the chain mail vests and leather hauberks common to the soldiery of the wealthier classes, beneath dark-brown cloaks, save for their perfumed leader, swathed in a red silken cloak and pantaloons and black leathern armor.
“Look what we have here,” said the leader, a handsome, dark-haired man in his thirties, as he struggled to keep his skittish mount under control. “Scared little rats scurrying down the alley. Stand aside rats and let your betters pass or we will run you down.” He and some of his men had hands to sword hilts, blades sheathed; others held steel crossbows, primed to fire.
“Laddie, just who do you think you are to be speaking to honest folk like that?” said Ob.
“I am Edwin of Alder,” said the rider. “You, on the other hand, are a half-grown mongrel rat by the look of it. Step aside, rat, so we may pass.”
“Ob, we’ve no time for this,” Tanch hissed from a shadowy alcove that he had stepped into. “Just let them pass.”
“They’re not just passing,” said Dolan quietly. He edged into the shadows, unslung his bow from his shoulder, and reached for his arrows.
“He’s Barusa’s nephew,” whispered Ob. “Seeking to settle the score with the Eotrus. He’s here for blood.”
“Perhaps you would care to step down, laddie, and see if you can push me aside?” said Ob.
Edwin smiled. “That I would, Dwarf.”
