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Josiah had returned to Higslaff’s office to inform him that the guild was ready to receive the enemy guild member captured by the adventuring party. The plan was to deliver the individual to the barber shop because of its access to the underground tunnel system. A secondary plan was to take him to a small ship currently docked at the nearby port on the Snake Claw River.
Higslaff appreciated Josiah’s concern for the situation with the ancient magic user. If Higslaff did nothing, his risk of death was small. But the potential for long-term aggravation and suffering was great. The pawnshop owner classified the ancient magic user as a Soul of Consequence, like himself. So, it was unlikely any gods that might take interest would favor one over the other.
The pawnshop owner held moderate wealth and resources. He needed to know more about this Chisisuschugerganteramoski to secure an agreeable settlement and Snix’s release—unharmed. He was sure that gold wouldn’t be a primary route to that end. He held a number of enchanted items in his business inventory. None of them would impress such a powerful spellcaster. Possibly the right balance of gold and magic—unless there was something else. Information or access? That route might resolve the current situation, but leave him in debt to, or under the thumb of, individuals he’d rather not be under.
While wandering down the storage room shelves, Vernie hustled up to him. “Uncle, the gnome named Jax and his friend, Gurk, are in the shop. They said you wanted to meet them when they got back to town.”
“Send them up in a moment.”
Higslaff went upstairs and put two of the vials holding Healing Elixirs in the top drawer of his desk. He kept one in his pocket. He shoved the table back to its normal spot and then sat back, clearing his mind. He didn’t want to tip his hand, letting on that he knew about the captive, and the Transport back. Unless the ancient magic user had informed them about Snix. In that case it might’ve been a mistake not to reveal the presence of his homunculus.
Higslaff shook his head. The adventuring party certainly didn’t know he had a homunculus. They certainly wouldn’t be surprised that he might do something to keep track of them. He could use that to his advantage.
After Vernie let the pair of adventurers in, Higslaff stood and came around the desk, a friendly smile across his face, then frowned. “Only two? Is everyone in your party okay?”
“Yeah, we’re all good, dude,” the half-goblin thief, Gurk, said. They shook hands. He did the same with the gnome healer.
The young thief noticed the blood stains on Higslaff’s sleeves but didn’t say anything. He’d have to change shirts after the meeting.
“Please,” the pawnshop owner said, gesturing to two of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.” As he made his way around the desk, he asked, “You met with success?”
“Sure did, dude.” The young thief’s pointy-toothed grin was wider than Higslaff had ever seen.
The gnome pulled a wand from a leather scroll case and placed it on the desk. “One Wand of Foe Detection.”
“Plus,” the young thief said, “we captured a thief that don’t like you. Him and a tough magic user and a Hades cleric—and a couple of their henchmen—tried to take the wand.” He frowned. “They killed the dude that brought the wand, though. We killed the henchmen, but the magic user Transport Spelled himself and the cleric away.”
Higslaff picked up the wand and examined it, first by running his fingers across the delicate rune marks near its tip, and then using the goggles strapped to his hat. He then examined the wand using the jeweler’s loupes attached to the goggles. Careful inspection showed it was enchanted, and the basics of what the runes represented.
“This appears to be the item you were contracted to retrieve.” He set the item on the desk. “I did not expect you to return so soon. And with a captive.”
The pawnshop owner leaned forward with his hands on his desk. “Although I will have Coleen Sammae cast an Ascertain Enchantment Spell, of course, I can gather the agreed upon gold for completing your mission.”
Higslaff pursed his lips. “As to the captured thief of a rival guild?”
“Dude, the magic user that Transport Spelled them in, to try and steal your wand, killed the delivery guy in an Enveloping Gel Spell.” The thief’s nose scrunched up. “Like I said, he Transport Spelled away before getting it when Jax here healed Kalgore back up. Took off before him and the cleric got sliced up.”
“They left the thief behind,” the gnome healer said. “We thought they might try to come back and rescue him, so we bought a Transport Spell to get back here before they could.”
If the individual you captured is indeed an operative from the rival guild causing trouble here in Three Hills City, you will certainly be rewarded.” Higslaff leaned back in his chair. “That is out of my hands—although I will put you into contact with the right people. And put in a good word for your party.
“Can you get the individual to Josiah’s barber shop?” Higslaff made eye contact with the young thief, knowing that he was aware of Josiah’s access to the tunnel system there. “From there, the guild can shield him from the Transporting magic user, and work to determine who the fellow you captured is.” Higslaff tipped back his hat’s brim and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to do that yourself?”
“Nah, dude. We trust you guys on this. We can get him there, right away.”
Higslaff knew they just wanted the man out of their hands.
“Tell you what,” the pawnshop owner said. “You get the individual delivered, and tell Josiah anything you know, and then come back here for your payment—for the wand.”
A notion struck Higslaff. A way he might learn a little more about the magic user holding his homunculus. “Then, your adventuring party can join me at the Blue Bugle tonight. Josiah too, if he wants.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll pay for entrance and the first two rounds of drinks.”
The gnome nodded his head. The young thief said, “Sure thing, Higslaff. That’ll be cool.”
As soon as the two left, Higslaff wrote a note. He placed a gold and two silver coins on the paper and folded it. He sealed it with candle wax.
After the wax cooled the pawnshop owner called his nephew into his office. “Run this over to the Blue Bugle, and see that it gets to the bard scheduled there tonight.”
The Blue Bugle was a center for entertainment in Three Hills City. It offered drinks, music, food and gambling. The entrance fee kept the poor out. Workers of moderate means could save and enjoy an evening a few times a year.
It was a wooden building with sturdy framing and actual windows. The front was single story and wide. The building extended back to become a three-story structure. The upper levels were restricted to higher-paying patrons, for gambling and private meals and entertainment. A large blue bugle was painted on the wall facing the narrow street where customers entered.
For some reason that Higslaff couldn’t figure out, the busty elf took Josiah’s arm as the group walked from his shop to the Bugle. His friend had a lucky streak a mile wide, and a grin that’d stay on his face for weeks to come. The pawnshop owner had to admit, there probably wasn’t anyone as outright attractive as Marigold in the city. She was more than a head taller than Higslaff with a chest that, while not the largest in Three Hills City, was more shapely than any of its rivals.
Higslaff also knew Marigold was a tease. She might hold hands and listen to Josiah’s jokes and pointless stories, but the barber would never wake up the next morning with her in his bed. Besides, unlike his friend, Higslaff had a purpose. He needed to get a better feel for who the ancient magic user was.
He’d stopped by and asked Sill Rochelle to have a Transport Spell prepared for tomorrow, and that he’d need her to travel with him, and use a scroll with the same spell upon it—one she’d written—to return. That scroll cost him a small sack of gold. A magic user had to be accomplished, not only to cast the spell, but to create a scroll inscribed with it. Sill Rochelle was one of the few in Three Hills City that could. Other than for sale through his shop, at a profit, having the scroll on hand for an emergency, for himself or the guild, was also important.
Higslaff probably should have invited Sill Rochelle to join the group for the evening. He’d reserved one of the tables for eight. But, again, tonight he’d have been poor company for her, and she’d remember it.
The entire party had been Transported by the ancient magic user. But, from what Higslaff had learned through Snix—before his capture—Marigold, and the warrior druid, Lysine, were the ones that negotiated for the spell.
“So,” Higslaff said, as the party made their way through the entrance. They were being led by one of the blue-jacketed doormen to their table. “The wagon and oxen are being driven back by Lilac, a guard that survived the fight, and a sentinel, that fought on your side?”
“That is correct,” Lysine said. “They are to join a caravan south tomorrow. As compensation, they have been instructed to sell the weapons, armor and other gear obtained from the brigands defeated that Kalgore mentioned. And from those that attempted to forcefully obtain the item which you commissioned us to retrieve.”
Higslaff thought that was far too generous. But adventurers, Favored Souls, were often like that. Also, there was a “tell” at the end of Lysine’s statement. His eyes briefly looked down. They kept a couple more valuable items for their party. Generous, but not foolish.
The reserved table was on the first floor, round, with room for eight chairs, but with only seven placed. One had a padded cushion, for the gnome. Higslaff made sure he was seated between Lysine and Marigold. With the druid on his right, past him sat Kalgore and then Josiah. To the left, past Marigold, sat Jax and then Gurk.
Some disappointment rested on the barber’s face. His seat wasn’t next to the fair elven maiden, but the half-goblin thief to Josiah’s right immediately engaged him in conversation.
The group’s table was to the left of the stage, close enough that they’d be able to hear the bard, despite the background noise. The establishment was such that a quiet conversation wouldn’t be overheard.
After ordering drinks and a light meal of mild cheese, broiled river bass and rye bread, Higslaff steered the conversation to the ancient magic user.
“Marigold, tell me about this old magic user that provided the Transport Spell.”
She set down her goblet of wine with a sour look on her face. “A nasty old man,” she said. “Not a pervert. Even with missing buttons, he hardly tried to stare down my blouse. Too old for that.” She took another sip of wine. “That’s probably why he’s so mean.”
“Mean?” Higslaff made sure to keep his eyes on the elf’s beautiful face. “Did he mistreat you? Say in appropriate things?”
She shook her head, causing her waves of long hair to undulate across her shoulders. “Rude. Probably because everyone’s afraid of him.” She shrugged. “So old; he’ll be dead soon. Bet nobody goes to his funeral.”
Or undead, Higslaff thought. A lich soon. Instead he asked, “What do you think made him that way? Power?”
The elf rubbed a finger along the stem of her goblet while pondering the question. “He surrounds himself with mean little guards that want to hurt people. He was probably the same way as a kid. Tortured stray cats—you know—that kind of person.”
Lysine, listening to the discussion leaned close to Higslaff. “Chaotic Black, is how I would classify him.”
“Chaotic Black,” Higslaff repeated. He knew that was a fancy way of saying the man was prone to random acts of evil. He knew that anyone who became so powerful was rarely so random in their acts. But they could be impulsive and self-centered.
“That is, of course,” Lysine explained, “an observation based upon limited personal engagement.”
Marigold interjected, “Who’d want to spend any personal time with that mean, wrinkled up old creep?”
The conversation veered away from the ancient magic user. Even when Higslaff steered it back, he learned little more than what his homunculus observed.
When the bard sat down for his first set of songs, he announced his first two were requests received earlier in the day. “First, A Day in the Winterlands,” he said while plucking the strings to his ornate and highly polished psaltery, making sure all were in tune.
Higslaff’s ears perked up. He motioned for everyone at the table to listen. “It’s possible, this tale may shed some light on the old magic user.” He glanced up at the questioning face of the tall elf. “Maybe why he’s so mean.”
“We heard another song about the Winterlands being attacked,” Gurks said. “Happened about fifty, or a hundred years ago?”
“Fall of the Winterlands, “Higslaff said. “I’m guessing that could be the second request.”
“Interesting,” Lysine said.
Higslaff lifted his mug of beer. “Fortunate the God-Emperor’s ambition didn’t extend across the Narrowing Sea, to here.”
“He’s still alive?” the gnome healer asked.
Gurk replied, “Dude, what’s fifty or a hundred years to someone everybody calls the God-Emperor?”
Then the clean-shaven bard announced, “One Day in the Winterlands.”
Then he sang with a steady cadence:
A hundred hundred helms shone bright,
As the armies marched toward the fight,
Two hundred hundred feet marched on,
To meet the foe at Ebedon.
The walls before the army lay,
A small deterrent, perhaps a day.
They had marched long, they had marched far,
Under the banner of Ikasildar.
The defenders were few, but resolved to still stand,
As the last chance for saving the Winterland.
From Akbe to Blue Harbor, the cities lay cold,
Already defeated by the purple and gold.
The Aimen was dead, with Benemere and Roos,
They had faced death or slavery, and death they did choose.
Montremain had slain hundreds enjoying the kill,
Finally meeting his end when his sword had its fill.
Birdman and Patrick now wandered the planes,
As the Psionic Knights had dismantled their brains.
Mightyrenus had been vanquished at New Havnor,
Of the Zodiac, twelve had fallen, and there were no more.
Leviticus, the prophet, had returned at the last,
Though he could not survive the Bryaveir’s blast.
The armies of both North and South were slain,
The rest fleeing to Vidkin with the merchant of Tanne.
So the last of the brave, the free and the true,
Watched the advancing armies—their fate they all knew.
To their gods and their patrons they lifted a prayer,
That they all would fight well with the Dragonslayer.
They knew from this battle few would still live,
And odds for their winning, the Gambling Monk wouldn’t give.
So they faced their fate grimly, with their banners unfurled,
But to the last man they knew it was the end of the world.
After applause from those sitting at the benches in front of the stage, and the nearby tables, Marigold asked Higslaff, “What does that have to do with that creepy old magic user?”
“Like the Birdman, he’s a refugee from the war,” Lysine said.
The half-goblin thief shoved a piece of cheese in his mouth. “What do ya mean, dude?”
Lysine cleared his throat. “If I accurately recall, another song about the God-Emperor’s conquest included the lines:
Telecarn, Cancer, Chi, and Sir Joshua too
Fought on like windstorms, and thousands they slew.”
The druid looked at Higslaff with a questioning eyebrow. “Might you be suggesting ‘Chi’ is short for Chisisuschugerganteramoski?”
The pawnshop owner nodded affirmative.
“Then Chi and the Birdman are old comrades in arms,” Kalgore said.
“Being a refugee for a hundred years,” Marigold said. “That could make him mean. His home and everything taken by the God-Emperor.”
“Maybe Chi was the one that fixed the Birdman’s brain?” Jax said.
Higslaff flinched. He pressed his hand to his cheek and came away with blood.
“You are injured,” the druid said. The adventuring party began scanning the room for the source of the pawnshop owner’s wound.
Higslaff picked up a napkin and placed it over the deep cut. “Not to worry,” he said, forcing a smile. “It stems from a dispute.”
“Dude,” the young thief said. “Someone’s made a voodoo doll.”
Higslaff dabbed the wound again. He had the Curing Elixir in his pocket, but didn’t want to use it, yet. He dabbed again, trying not to flinch. “It will be settled tomorrow.”
Jax extended his hand, reaching in front of the elf. “Give me your hand.”
Higslaff knew the gnome was a healer, but shook his head, declining. “That’s not necessary.”
With remarkable dexterity, the elf snatched the bloody napkin with one hand and grabbed hold of the pawnshop owner’s wrist with her other hand. Before he could pull back, she placed Higslaff’s hand on the table. The gnome gripped it, and then Marigold leaned forward, pressing her breasts down over both hands.
“There,” she said, still holding the pawnshop owner’s arm in place. “Jax hates taking on pain when healing.” She winked at Higslaff. “Call it positive reinforcement for him.”
Kalgore said, “Never anything like that for me.”
The elf rolled her eyes. “If I did, you’d get hurt on purpose.”
“Maybe,” the big warrior said, taking a bite of rye bread and showing a sly grin as he chewed.
The young thief laughed while the gnome muttered a spell.
The bard announced the requested song. “Fall of the Winterlands.”
“You’re pretty smart,” the young thief said to Higslaff.
While the song began the wound and its pain faded from Higslaff’s cheek. It appeared on the gnome healer’s face. The gnome flinched. Then, within seconds, the transferred wound began fading.
When the God-Emperor came down like a wolf on the fold
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold
And the sheen of their spears was like the stars on the sea
When the Kratzfians marched and laid siege to Akbe.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green
That host with their banners at sunset was seen.
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn has blown
Half the host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Belagusta had aided with a fiery blast
And the Wizard of Winter felled more as he passed.
Montremain had slain generals with the Chaos Blade’s charm
And Meltarm had battled all who dared Justice harm.
But there stood defenders, eyes open, mouths wide,
Through the ranks marched the God-Emperor, determined in stride.
Belagusta challenged first, and was decimated unto smoke
Then Archimedes, Mage of Ice Mountain, was the next to be broke.
The mortals all stood, spirit broken and pale,
’Till Benemere the White rode forth, in gleaming white mail.
The ranks were all silent as he battled alone.
He perished unheralded, with trumpets unblown.
The Kratzfians moved forward to press their advantage,
The defenders stood ready, courage as could manage.
The cresting attack took them over the walls
The fighting raged on, in doorways and in halls.
Telecarn, Cancer, Chi, and Sir Joshua too
Fought on like windstorms, and thousands they slew.
Aimen and Emperor battled near side by side.
Akbe was in crumble with nowhere to hide.
The pocks of resistance were being destroyed,
The fate of the Winterlands none could avoid.
Like Grahmlaug before, died defending his land,
Like the Hold of the Sea Princes, who’d failed to stand.
Covered in blood, crimson to the feet,
The Emperor of the South with sword raised, jeered defeat.
Ravaged his way to the embattled town square
Issued the God-Emperor to meet his end there.
Once again it halted, the bloody conquest
All eyes turn toward it, the despotic contest.
The defenders knew their last hope, their last gasp,
As a sun weary wanderer, one daring an asp.
Like fell darkness he came, came out of the night
Like cold blackness he struck, struck with all of his might.
Against such force, no mortal could stand
Even one so mighty, with the Chaos Sword in hand.
The Aimen knew this, and claiming his right
With Hammer of Justice, wagered into the fight.
The two battled on, relentless. The God-Emperor laughed.
Then laid them low with his strength and his craft.
The men of the Winterlands battled on, relentless, to the last.
The God-Emperor laid them low with his strength and his craft.
Marigold, lost in the song, forgot she’d been leaning forward. She sat back up straight.
Higslaff withdrew his wrist. “Thank you, Jax.” He would’ve preferred not having his arm held by the gnome while it was pinned beneath the beautiful elf’s more than ample bosom.
He reminded himself that she was a tease. He started to say something to Marigold, but she cut him off.
“No need to thank me too.” She turned and rubbed the top of Jax’s head. “I was just looking out for my friend.”
Higslaff decided to let it drop. Clearly there was something about their relationship that he didn’t want to know.
Beyond that, what the gnome healer, and what Marigold did for him, wasn’t asked for. He didn’t want to give the impression that there was any form of debt or obligation. Besides, being stabbed in the face, over a distance, and trying to formulate a plan to deal with that powerful spellcaster left him detached, and unable to truly appreciate the elf’s flirtiness. At any other time he would’ve responded differently. What man wouldn’t?
It’d give him and Josiah something to discuss over a future lunch. He knew his friend was already jealous.
The bard began another song, this one about the unexpected, and ultimately tragic love a mountain giant had for a turquoise-haired mermaid.
Higslaff didn’t really listen to the tale or the table’s discussion that followed. He sipped his beer and tried to arrange what he knew about the ancient magic user and align those traits with other troublesome, and dangerous customers he’d dealt with.
Josiah noted his friend’s distracted silence. He engaged Higslaff’s guests, allowing his friend to maintain focus.
Very old, evil, highly skilled, knowledgeable, and accomplished in spellcraft—which didn’t fit with impulsive. Egotistical, and a refugee—if not from Blue Harbor, then had probably spent time there. The last was an assumption, but from the little Higslaff read, Chisisuschugerganteramoski would’ve fit into the city’s hierarchical structure.
The pawnshop owner finished his ale and suppressed a smile of satisfaction.
He knew what to offer for the exchange.