The smell of Tregan burning made Marek’s task all the more unpleasant. Deciding there was no way he would attempt to drag the man from the fire pit, he worked around the problem. He stole a few logs from the fire and started another at the far edge of the clearing. This was soon a blaze when Marek added three soiled bedrolls.
So, by the light of the silver moon and a bonfire, he went about the work of collecting weapons and valuables.
Perhaps an hour after the fight ended, Marek stood over a heap of goods, much of which far surpassed the quality of his and Mags’ equipment. A fine axe and a hatchet lay beside an enchanted fire kit. All three would make the process of collecting wood and starting fires much easier. The three saddles were of good quality as well. Same with the skinning knives wrapped in a leather pouch in Riggs’ pack.
Stored in Leyan’s gear were the true prizes: fifty feet of rope enchanted to prevent cuts or fraying as well as a large oilskin tarp with two sigils stitched into one corner, rendering it waterproof. He also uncovered a large leather sack amongst Leyan’s gear. The weight and clink of metal within gave away its contents. The bandits had been busy.
“Time for the fun part,” he said, taking in the arrayed weapons and armor. “Principalities, but these three were armed to the teeth. You could equip a squad of soldiers with all this.”
Tregan’s mace outweighed nearly all the other weapons combined, but the giant man possessed few other tools of war. An ugly dagger and a pair of knobby fist weapons were the extent of them. A quick glance was all Marek needed to discard these. The dagger was pocked with rust, and the knuckles were massive, likely crafted to fit Tregan’s hands. The immense mace gleamed wetly on the ground. Marek ran a finger along one of the spikes and came back with a bit of his own blood.
“Nasty thing,” he whispered. He wouldn’t soon forget the mace’s bite. “Same as with the fist weapons. Too recognizable, and even bandits have friends.”
A thought struck Marek then, and he arched an eyebrow as he took in the weapon. Empath’s Gaze was but a thought away. He focused his intent on the mace and tried a few command phrases. Nothing happened, which didn’t surprise him since he couldn’t find a sigil, gem slot, or any other means of enchantment. He was about to move on when his eyes landed on the handle. Three tiny sigils were etched into the leather thong that bound it.
“What do we have here?” he wondered, finding a small clasp and unwinding the wrap. When Marek tried again, his vision filled with glowing words that described the simple yet promising item.
***
Item Name: Smithie’s Helper
Description: Eighteen inches of ox hide leather crafted to wrap the handle of a large forge hammer.
Quality: Fair
Properties: Reduces the weight of any tool to which the cord is bound by 25%. Mild resistance to heat.
***
Marek grinned, an idea brewing in the back of his mind. He set the wrap aside and moved on to Riggs’ equipment. Among the archer’s possessions, he’d uncovered a second bow wrapped in a watertight skin. Several other items were of note, but only the bow held magical properties. Rather than bearing sigilcraft, the wood it was made with had been steeped and cured in a special manner. Marek marveled at the amount of information his Ability gave him at a single glance. All it took was intention and the command phrase Examine Weapon. In time, he’d not even need that.
The bow’s magical properties were pragmatic to the extreme. Judging by how often Mags complained about her own bow’s condition, he knew she’d fall in love immediately. Water, Heat, and Cold Resistances, all of which affected the string as well, would offer a consistency of function through all types of weather that simply wasn’t possible with a mundane bow. Can’t imagine how good the man’s main bow must have been. Too bad I killed that too. Combined with the silver ring he’d taken from Riggs’ finger, his friend’s hunting skills would soon become legendary. The enchantment was minimal, the description claiming it granted a minor boost to arrow speed. Regardless, Marek couldn’t wait to see Mags’ face when he gave it to her.
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Finally, Marek stepped over the pile of gleaming steel he’d removed from Leyan’s pack and person. Throwing knives, a trio of matching daggers, a heavy-bladed shortsword chipped and marked from extensive use were but a portion. He also found a flail, nearly two feet of chain connecting the wooden handle to a ball of steel the size of a crab apple. Compared to the crude instrument Tregan had wielded, it seemed pathetic… yet in the hands of a skilled warrior like Leyan, such a weapon could shatter a kite shield, not to mention a skull.
Marek inspected the final three items. He’d saved the best for last, and they didn’t disappoint. Leyan’s spear came with an increase to piercing damage as well as resistance to rust or corrosion. Then there was the small chainmail jerkin he’d found under the bandit’s tunic; it was too large for him, but he was tempted to wear it anyhow. Crafted of a strange alloy and enchanted to further reduce piercing and slashing damage, it was a fine prize.
Last of all, Marek turned his skill to the black sword he’d been wearing on his hip. Unsheathing the sword, he laid it before the bonfire. No light reflected from its surface, which was an eerie sight to say the least. “Almost like it eats the light,” he whispered. “Damn, almost afraid to look.”
***
Item Name: Vorgaine’s Shadow
Description: A greatsword crafted entirely of Scorch Steel. Flawlessly balanced with a trio of fullers, it was forged to cleave flesh, bone, wood, and common steel with ease.
Quality: Fine
Properties: Greatly reduced light refraction. Wielder gains +2 to Dexterity and +1 Strength. Significant increase to piercing and slashing damage.
***
“Vorgaine’s Shadow,” Marek repeated, both mesmerized and disturbed. “Did this belong to some hero named Vorgaine? Or is that a city or region I haven’t heard of?”
A queasiness filled his gut. There was no way he’d leave the sword behind, but it was a named blade. Such treasures were well-known. Who might he anger, should he be found carrying the sword by someone who knew its legacy? What if Leyan had murdered an officer in the army—or a noble, even.
“Best see my plan through, then,” he said as he reached for the leather cord nearby. Marek unbound the black sword’s hilt and tossed the stained cordage aside. Then he wrapped Smithie’s Helper around the hilt. It wasn’t a perfect fit since Vorgaine’s Shadow had such a long handle. In time, he’d disguise the blade further. It would do for now, however.
He slid the blade back into its sheath and stood. “I’ll modify the pommel and the scabbard later. Maybe Mags will have some ideas as to how I can pull it off.”
Other than packing up and returning to the farmstead, Marek only had one more thing to do. Gritting his teeth, he approached the horses. He wasn’t gifted with animals, nor did he have much experience as a rider. The warhorse terrified him. The beast’s hide twitched and shook, its dark coat reflecting the moonlight. The whites of its eyes were stark in the darkness. Marek held out his hands, trying to calm the beast. It stamped the ground in warning and butted the air with its head.
“Alright,” he said gently, “I ain’t gonna leave you tied up. You’ll starve, and that isn’t a good way to go. Wish you weren’t so prickly. What a mount you’d be.”
The warhorse snorted and kicked one of the other horses in the flank. This caused a stir among the mounts, and the beasts strained against their leads. Things were about to go badly, he knew. The leads could snap and allow the horses to escape. The war mount might kill Lydia or seriously injure one of the horses.
“And that’s not mentioning what it could do to me,” Marek whispered. “Damn if I’ll fight a horse. Not tonight, and hopefully never.”
The volatile creature would be worth a small fortune—there was no doubt about it—yet it was late, he was exhausted, and he refused to leave it tied to the stump. So Marek drew the black sword.
The warhorse stilled, and its eyes widened further. Quiet as a shadow, Marek took a single step toward the stump and nicked the lead bound to the warhorse with his stolen blade. Leather parted soundlessly. The tension on its lead giving way triggered something in the warhorse’s mind. It reared up on its hind legs and pawed the air. Marek stumbled back with the sword poised to strike, but the horse crashed to the ground and bolted. A few branches snapped, and then all he could hear was a thunder of hooves as the horse tore through the forest.
He sheathed his sword and breathed deeply, waiting for the other beasts to calm. He saddled the larger mounts and loaded them up with everything he planned to take. He tied them so they could be led in a single file. Then Marek climbed atop Lydia’s back, handed the mule an apple he’d taken from the bandit’s food stores, and left the clearing behind.
The sky would soon lighten, and he didn’t intend on running the animals. They’d suffered enough tonight already. Sighing, the mage looked inward at last.
It was time to see what had become of his Class after killing three high-leveled warriors.