Realms of infamy zk, p.16
Realms of Infamy (зк), page 16
The squire nodded, only half-listening to what his master said, his mind caught up in the lesson the knight had imparted.
"Anticipate, that's what I need to do," Tomkin repeated softly as, now unchallenged, they rode into the castle.
"Two plates. Lord Stone obviously doesn't want me to dine with you." Dressed in full livery, with a two-handed broadsword strapped to his back, Tomkin felt decidedly overdressed and more than a little foolish as he gazed through the garden gate at the small table within.
"Nonsense, lad. Lord Stone has taken the time to serve us dinner in his fine garden. Admittedly, the garden has gotten rather smelly of late, but we'll both find out why at dinner. Another plate is easily gotten."
"No!" the squire squeaked for fear that the castle lord could hear them while they whispered outside the garden gate. "I couldn't eat in front of him. I'd be afraid of dribbling soup down my surcoat. Couldn't I just eat my meal with the horses?"
Ganithar, remembering his days as a squire, took pity on Tomkin. "All right, lad. You don't have to attend the dinner. But I want you to stay outside this gate and guard it with your life. No one is to disturb our dinner without my permission. I want to get to the bottom of the strange goings-on around here."
Much relieved, Tomkin took his post as the Hammer strolled into the garden and met Lord Stone.
"Anticipation, anticipation, anticipation," the boy muttered to himself over and over. "Should I draw my sword, I wonder? Or maybe I should stand inside of the door, not outside. Should I call for help if attacked, or die silently, defending my lord?" Sweat began beading on the squire's forehead as he looked in all directions, ready to sell his life dearly for the Hammer.
Standing just outside the garden, the woodsman-made-squire craned his neck this way and that, trying to see both the Hammer and the doorway into the keep. So caught up in his duty was the boy that he could barely hear the words of the two men in the arbor.
"I no longer rule this castle," Lord Stone said. "I serve another, and here it is!"
Tomkin caught a glimpse of a large melon resting on several rose stalks. It was unusual all right, but wild roses alongside melons were nothing strange in the forest. Tomkin didn't like roses very much, but he did like watermelon.
The leaves on the melon vine looked larger than normal, spear-shaped things as big as plates. Inch thick vines spilled out all over the plant. The bloated, blood-red roses seemed to be fashioned of impossibly thick petals coated with oil.
Tomkin tore his gaze away from the garden. Even the weirdest of plants must not distract him from his duty. If the Hammer wanted to eat dinner surrounded by weird plants, that was his choice. They'd both seen many stranger sights than that on the trail.
After surveying the area around the garden, Tomkin once again glanced into the arbor; he saw his master tugging at a rose vine connected to the melon. There were rose vines wrapped around his back, too.
The squire shook his head. What a silly game this seemed to be. He and friends held such contests of strength in the woods, but they used small trees to bend and snap; this melon-stalk didn't seem like much of a test for what he knew of his master's considerable strength. The scene also confused the squire, for the knight had laid strong prohibitions against playing with food-and that melon looked ripe for the picking.
Again Tomkin shook his head. Strange were the ways of his betters, and he was nowhere near experienced enough a warrior to judge them silly for it. He sighed and turned back to his watch.
"Anticipate, anticipate, antici-"
A shove from behind sent Tomkin reeling. Sir Ganithar and Lord Stone pushed through the garden gate, barely noticing that they'd knocked the boy down. The squire glanced back into the garden and saw the plates still heaped with food. A glance back at his master revealed a terrible look on the Hammer's face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy.
Their contest of strength must have become a squabble, Tomkin decided. Sheathing his sword, the squire followed his master away from the garden.
Sir Ganithar dismissed the boy's concern with a stiff-limbed wave. "No, nothing's wrong. You and I will be sleeping in the hall tonight. Tomorrow we have much work to do-and a trip to take."
That was decidedly odd. Just a few hours ago the squire had heard the Hammer order special baths to be prepared every day for three tendays. Ganithar had also ordered the fixings for a huge party. Tomkin himself had carried the invitations to all of the knights' local friends, and sent off even more to the High Moor Heroes' Guild.
Tomkin hoped that he hadn't done something to cause the argument between Lord Stone and his master. Perhaps, the squire realized grimly, I failed to anticipate something Sir Ganithar needed at the dinner. The knight must surely have been furious, for he left without eating a bite.
Sir Ganithar's chilly silence as Tomkin helped the knight prepare for bed only confirmed the boy's suspicions. Tomkin was miserable as he went about his chores: though he could barely lift the magical hammer, it was his duty to stow it so Ganithar could reach it easily if an attack came upon them at night. The special cloak of silence, boots of leaping, and belt of invisibility were entrusted to the squire every night, as well. The Hammer figured no one would ever suspect the young squire of holding such fabulous items.
Before he dozed off, the Hammer ordered his squire to sleep on a pallet outside the room's only door. Tomkin did as he was told, but only pretended to sleep. A short time later, hearing the snores of Sir Ganithar, he rose from the pallet. He donned the cloak to prevent the guard from hearing his movements. The boots would allow him to spring great distances and move as lightly as a feather over any floor. The belt, activated with a magic word only Ganithar and he knew, made his form vanish from the sight of man, plant, and animal. Thus girded, he could set about "anticipating" his lord's needs.
The dreams of Ganithar the Hammer and all the other minions of the rose were the same. Huge vines of enormous size twisted around their bodies and squeezed the life out of them. The twenty entranced men and women sleeping in the castle all twisted and turned in their beds, caught up in the nightmare images filling their minds. Thorns plunged into their bodies, ripping out their still-beating hearts. They tried to cry out, but vines filled their mouths.
Then, quite abruptly, the dreams ended, and each of the rose minions fell into a deeper, less-troubled sleep.
"Sir Ganithar! Wake up! See what I have anticipated for you."
Ganithar leapt up, his warhammer in hand. At first he saw only the stupid grin of his squire. "You have on my cloak," he rumbled. "And my boots and belt!" Then he noticed the huge covered silver platter in his hands.
"I'm sorry something spoiled your dinner with Lord Stone last night," Tomkin said. "And since you went to bed without eating, I anticipated you'd be hungry this morning. I found this serving thing and got your breakfast ready before you woke up." He lifted the tray's lid to show his master the lovely great melon he'd chopped off the rose vine in the garden.
Seeing the look of shock in his master's face, he reddened. "You're upset about the piece I cut out of it, aren't you?" the squire asked sadly. "I'm sorry, but I only wanted to make sure it was ripe. It tastes rather good, but not like any melon I've ever had before. And it smells a bit like roses. I suppose it's from growing so close to them."
Stolen Spells
Denise Vitola
On the sign hanging outside Bareen Tykar's shop, there was the symbol of a spinning wheel and below it the words "Country Spell Crafts and Implements for Daily Living " I cast my gaze over the door, noting the deep, rich color and the carving of a twisted tree. It was a beautiful piece of art, gloriously old and fashioned from timber found only in Cormyr. The man who owned such a door would have money enough to buy a magical lock that would keep thieves like me standing out on the street.
I had just arrived in Kendil, a quiet hamlet in the foothills of the Sunset Mountains, just east of Asbravn The village had a mercantile look about it; the majority of the buildings were well-kept, whitewashed affairs edged with flower boxes, each decorated with a quaint, homey motif. An inn fronted the swept cobbled street, and farther down the way, there was a tiny shrine honoring Sune Firehair, Goddess of Beauty and Patron of Love.
I felt inside my jerkin pocket to check the bits of helpful magic I carried. A thief is never far off from his tricks and spells, and knowing that I had come to this place adequately prepared made me feel more confident about meeting the proprietor of this shop.
Entering the establishment, I paused to glance around. The place was empty except for an old, fat clerk wearing a green apron and brushing a beefy hand through his shock of white hair. He stood before a wall of shelves arranged with rows of glass jars, tins, boxes, and intricately plaited baskets. The light from thick, stubby candles set among the goods gave these mundane treasures a bright sparkle, but there was so much dark wood that the large room had an oppressive feel to it.
The man squinted at me as I kicked the door shut and halted to smooth my beard and braid. "Bareen Tykar?" I asked, stepping up to the polished stone counter.
"Aye," he answered, "and who would be asking?"
"My name is Arek Adar. You sent a message along the trade route to Triel about wanting to find a certain elixir from the Sunset Mountain region. An elf named Latine Fire-walker spoke with me."
He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he studied me. Finally he smiled. When he did, his lips disappeared into the bag of wrinkles that made up his face. "Firewalker came by earlier and said to expect you." Leaning forward, he continued in a low voice. "He tells me you locate hard-to-find objects, objects of some antiquity."
I nodded. He made it sound as if I were a bona fide dealer of heirlooms, but the truth of it isn't nearly so mundane as that.
I'm a thief of magical objects. I've stolen icons from all the cities clinging to the edges of the River Chionthar. My adventures have even taken me to Cormyr and beyond, and yes, I love antiques. The old spell-stuff had such romance to it, such charm. Nowadays, it's different, what with mages by the hundreds flocking into the Heartlands hawking their crude, magical wares. How dull.
"It's true, then?" the merchant asked.
"Perhaps."
He pursed his lips, and I saw the tip of his tongue dart out to wet them. "Look around you," he said. "In this shop, I sell magical teas and balms. These things are drubbed up by the people of the southern range of the Sunset Mountains, and while in the past these elixirs were held in contempt by the elite living in the big cities, that's no longer true. I employ several agents and they travel into the lesser-known places looking for things for me to sell. One of them returned from a trip to the village of Urlok, and he told me about a brew called Spring Tonic. It's so potent that it revitalizes a man and takes him back to the spring of his youth." "I've not heard of it, nor have I heard of Urlok." "I can supply you with a map."
'Traveling the Sunset Mountains in unfamiliar territory can be dangerous. Zhentarim, you know. Red Cloaks. Mon-sters, too."
Bareen Tykar shook his head. "Yes, yes, I understand. Your commission will reflect the added cost of danger. Are you willing to try?"
"Tell me more about the Spring Tonic first." "Apparently, this brew is drawn from a hidden pool. The people of the Sunsets have kept the location of this spring a secret, as much a secret as the spell employed to create the tonic. My colleague is sure it's the reason for the health and vitality of the people in Urlok."
"Why doesn't your associate just go into the mountains and buy it for you?"
"We've tried this, but Jig Elbari, the dwarf who blends it, is unwilling to sell it." "So you want me to steal it?" "That's right."
I always take a moment to prime the client by pretending to be wary of him and his request. Folks expect thieves to be suspicious. It's part of the little dance we do to get a better price for our services and silence. I've found it is also a good way to drive the bargaining my direction.
He turned to pour a cup of tea from a free-standing samovar, finally filling in the quiet between us. "All right. I'll make it worth your time and risk. If you find the Spring Tonic, I'll triple your fee. That should salt the soup a bit, don't you think?"
Two days later, my black war-horse, Stealth, and I traveled a narrow trail through the southern range of the Sunset Mountains on this mission for Bareen Tykar. The path was barely visible, blanketed with autumn leaves, moist from the silky mist curling low about my horse's feet. It was a heavy, dark wood we passed through, and dusk was coming on. Night bugs started to peep and twill about me, greeting the evening with a heralding symphony.
I had seen many abandoned dwarf-dug mines along the way. Passing through these places where the hemlock hid the sun, my imagination fed my anxiety. At one point, I thought I heard the echoes of ghostly workers breaking rock with pick and mallet. To make it worse, Bareen Tykar's map did little to point me toward Urlok.
I was entertaining thoughts of camping for the night when Stealth turned a bend and stopped with a snort and a head shake. Just beyond the path, guarded by an outcropping of boulders and a low wall of tangled undergrowth, a large glade opened. I squinted through the trees to see the bobbing light of small, hand-held lanterns. Laying an ear that direction, I heard excited voices and the rattle of armor.
Urging Stealth forward, I used the shadows from the rock altar to hide our cautious advance. I halted to blink several times-a thief's trick to adjust to the contrasts of bright and dark.
Goblins. Sure as I had stolen swords from their kind, I knew the commotion in the grove was caused by goblins. Ugly, stinking, cowardly goblins. Where were the Red Cloaks when you needed them?
Goblins are some of the best highwaymen in the Realms, and they don't care whom they attack. I glanced about, looking for those who might still be concealed in the creepers and vines bordering the path. I even looked overhead, thinking they might drop out of the trees on me at any moment. Except for the ruckus in the glade, all was still. I dismounted.
Clinging to the boulders, I came close enough to count six goblins and one female dwarf. She was trying to keep the group at bay with grunting shouts and a wooden staff. The goblins poked back at her with their swords. One swung a club. She ducked this attack, jabbing at another with her staff. He fell, and she assured he stayed down by punctuating her parry with a savage kick.
Being that I'm not given to heroics, I'm the first to admit that I thought of turning back down the trail and running away from the problem. I was here to find Spring Tonic, not to save people from nasty, little ravagers. Besides, where there was a goblin, there was sure to be a bugbear or an ogre or two. A shiver jittered through me when I considered the possibility.
Still, leaving a maiden-any maiden-in distress is not a thing I could forgive myself for easily. And as I considered the situation, I realized, too, that frightening the life out of a few of those monsters was a prospect I would enjoy. A plan suddenly figured in my brain as I remembered the light catcher I carried with me.
I'd picked it up while doing a second-story job on the house of a minor lord in Scornubel. The light catcher was a precision item, styled with a spell that allowed it to capture a flame at a hundred paces, even as it created shadows so black that a panther from Chult would have a hard time seeing. Shaped like a tube, it was fashioned from hammered brass and was as thick as an elf's forearm.
I returned to my horse and quietly unbuckled my saddlebag, doing it by feel as I scanned the darkening forest for lurking ogres. My fingers found the light catcher and I hurried back to the rocks again.
The receded daylight became my ally as I padded closer to the fray. I could see the goblins taunting the dwarf, and their game made them oblivious to my approach.
Stopping beneath the drooping overhang of a willowy tree, I aimed the tube and murmured the simple incantation that freed the magic. Instantly, the lanterns lost their charges and the glade was thrown into utter blackness. The goblins screeched in unison. I moved quickly, my own eyes barely adjusting to the darkness before I contacted the jaw of my first goblin. He screamed out and when he did, I brought the end of the light catcher toward the noise to bang him full in the face. My instincts drew me around into a lunge as I felt the breeze of an arcing sword and saw the hint of movement. I tackled another goblin, slamming him into a tree. The others dashed from the glade, barreling down the slippery path.
I may not be much for heroics, but I do like a good brawl, especially when I know I can come out the winner.
I spoke the light catcher incantation backward and those lanterns left behind flickered to flame, forcing the shadows to recede. I bent to pick up a lamp, glancing at the terrified dwarf still wielding her staff.
"I won't hurt you," I husked. "I'm not a killer."
She stared at me for several heartbeats. I noticed that she had a beard as blond as mine, and I couldn't contain a small smile. I tried to cover it by whistling for Stealth.
"I'm obliged to you, sir," the dwarf said, lowering her weapon. "If you hadn't come along, I'd be dead now."
"You're welcome," I answered.
"What might I do to make us even?"
"You can tell me if there are any inns nearby. I don't want to camp in the woods tonight with goblins about."
She nodded and pointed up the path. "The village of Urlok has an inn. It lies a league or so up the trail, but it's hard to find, being hidden in a deep hollow. I'll show you."
I nodded and, catching Stealth's reins, fell in beside her. We walked a while in silence before I thought to ask her about the dwarf, Jig Elbari.
"I've heard of him," she said. "He's a secretive old man, though. A hermit."
"I understand he has some old spell-stuff."
"Yes, that he does. He brews up tinctures and elixirs for folks. Used to be a doctor for one of the mines hereabouts,so I guess he's knowledgeable in the ancient ways."
"Do you know about his Spring Tonic?"
