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A wooden palisade protected the town of Shorn Spearhead. The wagon passed by clusters of farm cottages surrounded by fields growing wheat, beans, potatoes and turnips along the way.
The driver turned the oxen-pulled wagon off the main road and onto a gravel road that passed through an apple orchard. The town sat off the main road by a quarter of a mile. The palisade was tall enough that an ogre couldn’t see over, but could probably climb, if the guards atop didn’t use their crossbows to stop such a venture.
The main gate stood open without a guard. Getting closer, the deep meadow grass nearer the town was being harvested by men swinging scythes.
The big warrior rode in ahead of the wagon. The female driver sat on the bench seat with the gnome and druid. The elf and the half-goblin sat in the wagon, concealed from view by the canvas covering.
Inside the palisade the town looked like a patchwork of buildings, nothing uniform. Wood, brick, stone, in all combinations. Some structures started as stone and had been added to using brick or wood, or both. Others appeared to have originated with wood, and expanded through use of stone or brick.
A main street bisected the town, with its shops and other buildings lining each side. A street, if it could be called that, left a space between the outer facing shops and building fronts, and the palisade. Short boxy structures, mostly residences, were tucked against the interior palisade wall. Those that didn’t have stout doors set with a small shuttered window had sturdy, metal-reinforced doors closed with rusted padlocks. Those were for storage.
The druid directed the driver to follow Kalgore. He led them to a stable where they could leave the wagon and have their oxen and horse looked after.
“As discussed,” the druid continued, “Kalgore and Lilac will deal with the stables. Gurk and I will seek a buyer for the bricks, while Marigold and Jax secure two rooms for the party. Lilac, I trust you will remain at the stables?”
Snix figured she must have nodded agreement, because the druid continued, “We will then meet at the inn to finalize our plan.”
“I’m going to get a cloak before going to the inn,” Marigold said.
“Understood, but do not unnecessarily delay reserving rooms, as the day is coming to an end. Shorn Spearhead does not offer an abundance of accommodations.”
Since he wanted to know where the party would be located overnight, Snix followed the elf and gnome.
The Aviary Inn was built of cut stone and included three floors. The outer wall was a honeycomb of small alcoves. Nearly all of the cavities provided a nook for a bird nest. That was going to be a problem for Snix. But it might also keep the blue jay away. It was to be expected in a town run by a former adventurer that went by the name, Birdman.
Behind the inn stood Kolger’s Tavern, or conversely the inn was located behind the tavern. They were connected by a tunnel passage between basements.
Snix had once entered the Aviary Inn with his master, hiding inside a sack. During that same journey, he’d found purchase outside one of the tavern’s shuttered windows that offered a limited view and hearing. It wouldn’t be bad, depending upon where the party might sit.
“After I get a new outfit,” the elf said, “I want one of those tub baths, even if they only offer lye soap.” She mumbled about replacing buttons Kalgore refused to admit stealing. The one replacing her bra’s broken hooks had popped off and gotten lost.
The gnome had to trot alongside the elf to keep up. “I remember the trading shop that has cloaks and pants and stuff,” he said. “I doubt they’ll have a complete outfit that’ll fit.”
The elf stopped, catching the gnome by surprise. He came to a halt a few steps past her.
Shorn Spearhead wasn’t a large town. Nor did it boast a large population, but there were a number of workers and residents going about their business. The elf’s abnormal height drew enough attention. Her bouncing chest, long black hair, and the fact that she was an elf did more than turn heads. Being paired with a gnome, also an uncommon race, was an additional factor. His short stature, just over four feet tall, and her being over six and a half feet, reminded Snix of a human mother and a young child. But human children didn’t have facial hair that extended into sideburns.
Stopping on the side of the hard-packed road, outside of a baker’s shop, wasn’t helping with anonymity. A few birds flying past seemed to take notice of Snix in the air above the gnome and elf. Their surprised chirps and whistles were thankfully ignored, due to the two adventurers’ disagreement.
The elf rested her hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean, Jax?”
“Well,” he said, drawing the word out. As he did, he stepped further off the road and next to the bakery’s door. He signaled for the elf to follow.
She looked around, hand going to the missing button on her blouse. She suddenly became self-conscious of the attention she was drawing.
“Forget it,” she said, and marched toward the textile shop just up the street.
The gnome ran to catch up. “It’s just that you’re so tall, and a woman. So a tall guy’s stuff probably won’t fit right.”
“Just my luck. You’re probably right.”
A guard with a shield and mace stood outside the entrance to Kolger’s Tavern. He wasn’t a problem for Snix. The man was alert, but his focus remained on people walking the streets or approaching the tavern. Snix slowly crawled along the wall, keeping to the shadow formed by the porch’s overhanging roof. Despite sundown, the heat of the day was still on the town, and the window shutters were all open.
Like the door, the wooden shutters were reinforced with metal. If they’d been closed, it would’ve proven a serious challenge. Sneaking in when a door swung open, with a guard, and the individuals going in or out would’ve made it risky. As it was, the homunculus climbed in the window from the top at a snail’s pace to avoid drawing notice.
Once inside he clung to the wall, near the plank ceiling, in the shadow of a support beam. The tavern hadn’t changed since he was in it last. Few places changed, unless visited by some form of destruction, followed by rebuilding. Even then, change was rare. His master’s business was rebuilt to match what had been destroyed by fire. The furniture and layout of his master’s office, and residence, never changed. Snix attributed it to most humans being creatures that clung to familiarity and habit.
The same eight polished pine tables, with six to eight chairs around them, stood in the same places. There were smaller tables as well as a birchwood bar with high stools. A combination of lanterns and several weak Light Spells lit the tavern. The same odors of stale human sweat, spilled beer and coal smoke filled the room.
This time, in addition to the usual chatter, arguments, and laughter, a minstrel sat on a high, corner stool and played tunes on his fiddle.
It was early in the evening, and a bustling business meant most of the tables were taken. Snix easily spotted the elf and gnome sitting at a small table along the wall, near the bar. A few seconds later he spotted the other party members. The big warrior sat on a stool at the bar, his back to the elf and dwarf. He ate an apple while holding a tankard with his other hand. He grumbled and cursed to himself, probably to discourage someone from sitting next to him.
The half-goblin and druid were seated at a table near the entrance. They were drinking as well. The druid did most of the talking, discussing various types of trees and their value as firewood. The half-goblin nodded, appearing to pay attention, but his eyes regularly surveyed the room and the people in it.
The druid did as well, but he mainly watched people enter and exit the tavern.
As a predetermined signal to those bringing the item his master wanted in trade, a wand that could detect foes, the gnome wore a black top hat similar to the type his master preferred to wear himself. This one had a brown band and blue feather. The party had arrived in the first day of a four-day window to meet and make the transaction.
The gnome wore the hat well, probably better than any of the other party members could. He looked around in anxious glances, only half paying attention to the elf, who complained about the bath she’d taken, and how she didn’t like the ugly brown color of the hooded cloak she’d bought. And none of the buttons matched her blouse’s buttons.
The half-goblin had managed to sew a new one onto her bra.
The blue jay familiar was resting on the sill of the first room they’d rented for the night, occasionally flitting over to the second rented room’s sill.
After less than an hour of the gnome nursing his second ale and the elf ordering her third cup of wine, a thin, dour-looking man approached their table. He was balding with a wispy mustache and wore dusty traveling clothes. He was armed with a matching pair of daggers.
“It is you.” The thin man grinned broadly and reached out to pat the gnome on the back, but stopped. “Ah, you don’t recall.”
“Maybe,” the gnome replied.
“Well, it’s easy for me to recognize a gnome. You’re so few and we humans breed like rabbits—or rats, depending how you shorter folk tend to characterize us.” The thin man cocked his head as he appraised the elf. “A beautiful elven dining partner.”
The thin man cleared his throat, then said to the gnome, “Last time we met, you were with a cleric of Athena.” He winked at the elf. “Although she couldn’t hold a candle to your elven radiance.”
The elf moved a hand through her dark wavy hair. A wide smile spread across her face. “Why, thank you so much.”
The thin man gestured at the gnome. “It must be the hat. My great uncle had one just like that, and he always seemed to attract the company of beautiful women.”
Snix recognized the code signals, mentioning “the hat” and a “great uncle.”
“I recall now,” the gnome said, awkwardly. “We met in...Spot on the Plains.” He fumbled at adjusting the hat on his head. “Why don’t you join us—if you don’t mind, Marigold?”
Spot on the Plains, a crossroads town to the north, was the return code to solidify the connection for the transaction.
“Ahh, Marigold, a fitting name for such a beauty.”
Snix was impressed how the man’s dourness evaporated in the presence of the elf. Or he was accustomed to displaying many faces, and playing many roles.
“Yes, please do,” the elf said. “My companion, Jax, hasn’t shared much about where he’s travelled.”
“I can spare but a short time, for a drink together,” the thin man said to the elf. “My friends call me Dusty.” Then, taking a chair, he said to the gnome, “You’re buying, my friend.” He laughed. “You owe me one, remember?”
“Of course,” the gnome said, grumbling. “How could I forget?”
The thin man spoke mainly to the elf. When his eyes weren’t sneaking peaks at her cleavage, his attention was on the room, or what he could see without turning his head too far.
“Well,” he said, after draining his mug of beer, “I have a rendezvous with a surly man in the plum orchard west of town before sunrise.” He pushed his mug to the center of the table. “Plum wine. I don’t care for it, but there are those who do.”
“I had plum wine at a Japanese restaurant once,” the elf shared. “On the sweet side, but not bad.”
The thin man glanced at her with a blank expression. “You elves,” he said, scratching his head. “Gotta go.” He nodded once to the elf. “Grand to meet you, Marigold.”
“It was nice to make your acquaintance, Dusty.”
Then he extended a hand to the gnome. “Good seeing you again, Jax.”
The gnome slid off his chair and they shook hands.
“You too, Dusty.”
The thin man looked around and made his way out the front door. After he did so, the gnome said, “You aren’t old enough to order wine.”
The elf leaned forward and whispered, “I used a Fake ID.”
The elf giggled and the gnome snickered at some sort of inside joke, because Snix didn’t know what “Japanese” was, nor did he know there was an age requirement for elves, who were near immortal, to drink wine. But he did gather that a “Fake ID” was something that made it otherwise permissible and, by the whispering, not available to most elves. Although, there were no other elves in the establishment that might overhear.
While the pair was laughing, the half-goblin thief got up and left the tavern. Snix was about to follow him when a human female approached the gnome and elf at their table. She had blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair. She wasn’t particularly tall, and wore a mail shirt and skirt, with breastplate. Although polished and well-maintained, scars of combat covered both the front and back plate.
“Might I join you?” she asked in a polite, sincere tone. A hand rested on the pommel of her arming sword. She’d been at the bar, two empty seats away from the party’s big warrior.
The gnome and elf shared a quick glance before the gnome gestured to the seat Dusty recently occupied. “Sure,” he said.
When she was seated, the gnome said, “I’m Jax.” He pointed to his friend. “She’s Marigold.”
“I’m Elisha Justine Woolwine.”
Something about the blond female threw the pair off for second. It appeared to be her necklace with a bronze pendant in the shape of a cross.
“Marigold, Jax,” the blond female said. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I had a question that I believe Marigold can answer.” She made eye contact with the elf. “If you’d be so kind?”
Skepticism fell across the elf’s face. “I’d like to know, how you know, that I know, the answer to what you want to know.”
Dimples showed as the blond female smiled. “I know that you know what I want to know, because of who you are.”
The elf’s eyes went wide and she looked at the cross again. “Because I’m from the same world as you?”
The gnome said, “You got here by playing Monsters, Maces and Magic too?”
The blond female cocked her head. “I arrived in Shorn Spearhead by caravan, working as a guard. I’m a sentinel.” Her eyes held sincerity. “I have encountered what everyone would call monsters, but I did not taunt or play with them. I dispatched them as quickly as my sword skills allowed. I have not trained in the use of a mace.” She thought for a second. “I am not knowledgeable about enchantments, and would not delve into their use with any sense of play.”
Both the gnome and elf appeared to deflate, at least emotionally.
The gnome gestured with his hands. “Ignore what I said. It was...”
“A silly joke that only a gnome would get,” the elf said, reaching over and resting a hand on the sentinel’s forearm. “He asks me things like that all the time.”
The gnome scrunched up his nose. “I do not.”
The sentinel gently but firmly reached with her left hand and lifted the elf’s hand from her forearm.
The elf retracted her hand. “I’m sorry. That was so rude of me. I—we don’t even know each other.”
“No,” the sentinel said. “I intruded while you were enjoying a private conversation.” She gestured to her sword’s pommel. “It is just that I prefer my sword arm remain unbound in any way.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” The elf sat up straight. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over. Elisha Justine Woolwine, I’m Marigold, and this is my friend, Jax.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” the sentinel said with a smile. “Thank you for sharing your table with me.”
“Would you like a drink?” the gnome asked. “Seems I’m the one buying tonight.”
The sentinel shook her head, causing her fine blond hair to sway. “Not tonight, I am afraid but, I promise, should we meet again, I will owe you each a drink, if you’ll answer my question.”
The elf’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, ask away.”
The sentinel looked up to the left, in thought, then said, “An elf once said to me: Heeya ma dorm’e e garmue hom.”
The elf cocked her head slightly. “He really said that to you?”
Before the sentinel could respond, the elf said, “Ohh.” She started to look around the tavern, but stopped. “It was a compliment, Elisha. He approved of your outfit.”
The sentinel laughed. “Well, I guess that is a compliment, coming from a handsome elf to a human.”
“He’d be an idiot not to,” the elf magic user said. “You’re very attractive. Don’t you agree, Jax?”
The gnome nodded vigorously. “He’d be a complete dolt.”
The sentinel smiled again, dimples showing as she blushed. “That is very kind, and I thank you both for the compliment. And for answering my question, Marigold. Someday I may learn the elven tongue.”
“Gnomish would be better,” Jax said, “then you’ll be able to translate this: No re sol cha fleen.”
The sentinel repeated the gnome’s phrase then said, “I may come across another gnome first.”
The gnome, despite his tea-colored skin, blushed as he worked to suppress a smile.
“I must depart,” the sentinel said, standing up from her seat.
The elf and gnome stood in response.
The gnome tipped his top hat and bowed slightly. “I look forward to that drink. And so does Marigold.”
The sentinel returned to the bar and paid her tab, and then left.
When she was gone the elf ordered another cup of wine and scooted her seat closer to the gnome’s. She whispered. “In about fifteen minutes, me and you need to be someplace.”
The elf looked around and sipped her wine, leaving the gnome to scratch his sideburns.
Snix only disturbed two owls while trailing the gnome and elf. He spotted the druid following his two party members, doing his best to remain unobserved. He wasn’t too bad at it, but couldn’t match a trained thief. A town setting wasn’t where a druid felt most comfortable, although it seemed that this druid didn’t mind so much.
The elf informed the gnome that what Elisha really said in elven was: “Meet me next to the textile shop.”
The two party members hadn’t communicated with the druid about their destination, and seemed unaware he was trailing them.
The elf asked the gnome, what he’d said to Elisha in gnomish? He declined to answer, seemingly embarrassed.
It wasn’t yet late in the evening, and a few people still travelled up and down the town’s streets. Weak Light Spells sporadically located on the sides of buildings or cast upon scattered posts offered enough light for humans to find their way. The guards stuck mostly to the palisade walkways.
The gnome and elf walked past the front of the textile shop, looking around carefully. They spotted someone in the narrow space between it and the candlemaker’s. It was the sentinel. She’d donned a brown knit hat, and had stuffed her blond hair up beneath it.
The sentinel stepped out and said, “Please follow.”
The gnome hesitated, but the elf tugged him by the arm.
She led the two adventurers to one of the storage buildings tucked against the palisade. She withdrew a key from a pocket along the inside of her calf-high boots and unlocked the padlock.
The sentinel looked around. Satisfied that no one was paying attention, she ushered the gnome and elf inside. Following, she pulled the wooden door closed.
Snix found slits in the storage building’s wall, just beneath the roof’s overhang. Probably for ventilation.
The gnome held his everlast candle, providing a flickering glow among the crates that filled only half of the building’s interior. The gnome and elf were listening to the blond female.
“Listening and observing was part of my training as a sentinel,” she said. “The muscular warrior two seats away from me at the bar, and a dirty man with a scar through his eyebrow at a nearby table both listened in on your conversation with the man who introduced himself to you as Dusty.”
The elf caught something in the sentinel’s tone. “So his name isn’t Dusty?”
At the same time the gnome accused, “You listened in on our conversation.”
“No,” the sentinel said to the gnome. “But by the way they leaned and tipped their heads, and ignored all else around them, it was apparent what they were attempting.”
The gnome squinted one eye and stared up at the sentinel. “Then how do you know the man’s name is Dusty—or he said it was his name?”
“I heard him introduce himself, before sitting down and your private conversation commenced.”
The elf’s right hand moved closer to her rapier’s grip. “So, what is his name, if it isn’t Dusty?”
The sentinel observed the elf’s posture and hand position. “We travelled in the same caravan to Shorn Spearhead. We both worked as guards. I know him has Skart.” She shrugged. “The different name provided to you caught my attention.”
“Why should we believe anything you’re telling us?” The elf shook her head.
“Skart—or Dusty, served many nights on guard duty with me. He carried a spear, along with his two daggers. The way he handled the spear showed minimal, possibly no training in that particular weapon’s use. He blended in well, kept from getting noticed. He watched members of the caravan more closely than he did for intruders.”
“So?” the elf asked.
“Yeah, so?” mimicked the gnome.
“I served as a paladin’s squire, for Marie, Champion of the Downtrodden. Like her, but in my own way, I strive to warn and ward those in danger.”
Snix held back a hiss. He didn’t like paladins. Neither did his master.
“So,” the gnome said, “you think we’re in danger.”
“Of course we’re in danger,” the elf said to the gnome, exasperated. “Since we got stuck here, when haven’t we been in danger?”
The gnome bit his lip. “We’re supposed to meet Dust—Skart tomorr—”
The elf slapped her partner on the shoulder. “Shhh. Gurk and Lysine said we gotta keep things a secret.”
“Keeping secrets is important.” The sentinel smiled, making eye contact with the gnome. “Especially for your kind.” Then she gazed up into the tall elf’s eyes. “I suspected that you and Skart discussed something important. And two individuals, neither of which I believe are associated with Skart, were listening in. I recommend you plan accordingly.”
The elf asked, “Why aren’t you telling your buddy, Skart, instead of us?”
“You’re a beautiful elven maiden and he’s a cheerful gnome, a loyal companion.”
“How do you know he’s loyal?” the elf asked. “And they say beauty is only skin deep.”
“She is kinda bitchy sometimes.” The gnome flinched as the elf slapped him on the head.
“You sound just like Kalgore.”
“Nuh uh.” The gnome grinned. “He says you’re bitchy all the time.”
The elf rolled her eyes, then explained to the sentinel, “Kalgore is the big warrior at the bar.”
The sentinel crossed her arms. “That leaves the man with the scar through his eyebrow. With all the dirt from travel on him, he should be named Dusty. Whatever your business, you need to watch for him.”
The gnome stared at the floor and grumbled that sentinels probably get bonuses to Hearing, or Perception Rolls.
“That’s only one person,” the elf said, a sound of relief in her voice.
“And anybody he tells,” the gnome said. He looked up at the sentinel. “If he was listening, and if he heard anything.”
The sentinel tilted her head back and forth in equivocation. A few strands of blond hair slipped out from beneath her knit cap. “I believe you have the measure of it.” She moved toward the door. “I wish, you Marigold and Jax, and your companions Gurk, Lysine and Kalgore, luck tomorrow.”
The gnome bit his lip and glanced up at his companion.
“Skart, too,” the blond female continued. “By my estimation, he is a thief.”
“You don’t trust thieves.” The elf’s statement wasn’t a question.
“As much as I trust a fox to wander past a hen house.”
The gnome scratched a sideburn. “Unless the fox has someone that’ll kick his butt if he’s been told to do something else.” He picked up his everlast candle and moved toward the door.
“That is probably true.” The sentinel prepared to open the door. Before she did she shot an accusatory eye down at the gnome. Then she pointed to her breastplate and whispered to the elf, “In case no one has told you, Marigold, you’re missing a button.”
The gnome slapped his hand over his mouth, stifling laughter. Obviously, his gnomish ears had heard.
The elf said to the sentinel, “Thank you, Elisha Justine. I already know.” Then she slapped the gnome on the head. “You, not a word.”