ROHDAR

Pilot

~II~

It was still storming by the time Rohdar woke up. Lightning flashed in through the curtains of the window, heavy raindrops beat relentlessly at the glass, and the obnoxious thunder still shook the bed at every blast. It was time to go. The young man only had a handful of coppers left in the little sack at his belt, and he had to get the job done if he was to acquire any silver - or any money for that matter. Rohdar still had no idea what the riddle really meant.

The item is searched for near the shade,

Classically hidden is the blade.

To acquire it sneaking must be done;

Nothing is like it under the sun.

How was he going to find this artifact in one of the largest cities he had ever been to with nothing but four lines of poetry to go off of? Rohdar suddenly felt that the heist was a hopelessly impossible endeavor. He did not even consider himself to be good with riddles.

“‘The item is searched for near the shade,’” Rohdar whispered out loud. He put on his boots and leather jacket. He rolled up his biscuits in a cloth then stuffed them into his pack. He put on his light cloak, attached the pack to the right side of his belt, and put on his heavy cloak, then left the room. He placed the key on the counter, put up his hood, and stepped out into the rain. Rohdar was going to find the city’s Hall of Lore.

“Excuse me,” he said to the driver of a passing carriage, but received no response. Rohdar shook his head and continued walking. It had grown colder since the night, and the thought of an early winter exhausted him. His hands were beginning to sting in the freezing rain and Rohdar had no gloves for himself - and not enough coins to buy any with. All he could do was stuff his wiry hands deep into his old pockets.

Rohdar soon found himself passing a stable, and caught sight of a stableboy shoveling just inside the open stable doors.

“Hey,” Rohdar called at the top of his lungs.

The dark haired head of the scrawny stableboy lifted from his work. “Yeah?”

“Do you know where the Hall of Lore is?”

“Yeah,” answered the young stableboy, “to the end of this street, then turn left for a few blocks. It’s big, you’ll see it.”

“Thank you so much,” Rohdar called deeply and walked on.

“No problem!” he heard from behind.

Rohdar followed these directions and was soon approaching a large stone building. He saw the words “The Kingdom of Vitta, Hall of Records, Lore and Literature” carved in black above colossal wooden doors, and walked up the stairs to them. He expected the doors to be heavy, which they were, but when he grabbed the handle he opened it easily and he stepped in onto tile floors of black and grey granite - most likely imported from the south of Blaeldur before the war. Vitta and Blaeldur had been fighting over the lands around the river Nordura for the last year, and Rohdar had scouted for Blaeldur before the war was officially declared.

There was a little old woman at a counter ahead of Rohdar, so he walked towards her.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The little old woman gave him a rehearsed smile and looked up from her papers, saying, “Yes?”

“I’m not from the area, could a person or location be searched for by keyword?”

“Usually,” she answered, “What are you looking for?”

“Is there a place called ‘Shade?’” he inquired.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the little old woman, “you can stay here.”

“Thank you,” said Rohdar.

The little old woman walked off through a private door - most likely where old, important, or sensitive documents and records were kept.

Rohdar heard echoed dripping and looked around. Rohdar was standing in a puddle of rainwater that had been dripping from his cloak. He looked behind him. There was a messy trail of water on the beautiful granite tiles all the way from where he stood to the entrance. Rohdar felt a wave of embarrassment engulf him. Anyone would have tracked in that much water, right? He was still embarrassed. If he had had enough money to buy proper rain gear, as any decent person would, only his boots would have sprinkled water, rather than his large cloak replicating an absorbent stormcloud inside the impressively clean corridor he stood in.

The little old woman soon returned with a few folders.

“There are two streets in Pravo called ‘Shadehood,” she began, “but locally there is a smithy recently inherited by a man called ‘Shaid.’ I have some older documents but you can’t take anything with you.”

“That’s fine,” he nodded, “can I look at them?”

The little old woman handed him the folders.

He set them on the counter and opened the first. It was a large document concerning the smithy, known as the Blue-Burning Forges on Shallowdrift Road and its ownership transition to Shaid. Rohdar thought that this looked interesting and worth a try. “Where is Shallowdrift Road?”

“A few miles south,” the little old woman answered.

“This should help,” he said as he closed the folder, “Thank you.” Rohdar politely closed the folder and followed his trail of water out the doors and into the rain, which had not relented in the least. At any rate, he would have to pass the same pub if he were to go south. Rohdar made plans to dry off there, get more detailed directions, and maybe get something more to eat then a few biscuits.

“Shaid,” Rohdar said to himself, trying to ignore the cold, wet discomfort of the environment. He hoped that this man called Shaid was the same “shade” referenced in the riddle.

When Rohdar passed the stable where he had gotten directions to the Hall of Lore, he noticed that the stableboy was missing. He entered the pub with the same air he had the night before, only he immediately pulled down his hood and asked, “Do you serve meals or are you more alcoholic?”

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“We soive bridz ond chizz dis toim ov day.”

“Breads?” Rohdar guessed.

“Yis,” the old man nodded, “yih kin go osk me daughtor Arwyn tuh show yih duh bridz.”

“Arwyn?” Rohdar asked, glancing over his shoulder at the table-wiping brunette behind him. That must be her name. He felt uncomfortable at how he had ended last night’s conversation. He looked ahead, but the pub owner had gone into the back, so he turned and approached the girl with his hands in his pockets. “Excuse me,” he said, “are you busy?”

“Nope,” she said, glancing over her shoulder around the empty pub, “can I help you?”

“I hear you sell breads?” Rohdar inquired.

“Yes, I’m trying to start a bakery. Would you like to buy some?” I can show you all the different types I make.”

“Yeah, that’ll be nice,” he answered.

“Okay, follow me,” she said and dropped her cloth. She hopped over the counter and started pointing and talking so quickly that Rohdar could not manage to keep up. “This is what they make in Pravo, this is from Angau, the soldiers in Blaeldur get this but the commoners get this. This one over here is what they make in Liff. Oh, and all these are from here in Vetta, so they’re familiar.”

“Familiar to you,” he pointed out , causing Arwyn to giggle a bit. “Well, I’ve only ever traveled through Liff, so which one’s from there?”

“This one,” she said, pointing at a narrow loaf with a crispy-looking crust, “It’s three coppers.”

Rohdar nodded and reached inside his sack for the money. He put the three copper coins in Arwyn’s hand, exchanging them for the bread. He only had nine coppers left - not enough for a room at the pub.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

Rohdar tried to smile back, but could not quite manage it. He looked down at the bread in his hands and let the seconds pass. Rohdar badly needed the silver. He had to find the blade. He knew what it was supposed to look like, the handle was of black leather, the straight blade of the dagger hidden in a dark red sheath decorated with silver edging. He was not to draw it from its sheath, but to retrieve it untampered with.

“Hey,” said the girl’s sweet voice, “you look wet.”

Rohdar laid eyes on her in acknowledgement.

“There’s a fire over there,” she offered, “you can go dry yourself if you like.”

“Thanks Arwyn,” he said, trying out her name.

The girl blinked her brown eyes, “You know my name?”

“You knew mine,” said Rohdar.

Arwyn gave a light laugh and said, “Well, I have to go, have a nice day.”

“Likewise,” he said and walked towards the fireplace at the center of the pub. He heard the pub door open and shut as he removed his cloak and draped it over a stool by the fire. He put his loaf of bread away in his pack of things at his belt and pulled up a wooden chair to the fire. Rohdar now had absolutely nothing to do. He wished that there was someone in the pub to play a game of cards or something with. What was he waiting for? He suddenly realized that he had forgotten to ask where Shallowdrift road was. No one was there to ask; how stupid of Rohdar to forget. After a few minutes the old pub owner appeared behind the counter to flip through the pages of the book Rohdar had signed his name in. He stood, grabbed his damp cloak, and swiftly strode up to the counter.

“G’day sor,” the old man said.

“Uh, goodday,” stammered Rohdar, “could you direct me to the Blue-Burning Forges on Shallowdrift Road?”

“Aw yis, juss go out duh door, torn roight, ond go stroight ‘til yih pazz duh flower shop, den Shollowdrift is ot yih lift ond yo’ll foind duh smizzy.”

“So right from here, then left at the flower shop?” Rohdar asked, tossing his damp, heavy cloak over his shoulders.

“Yis,” the old man confirmed.

“Alright, thank you,” he said, fastening the copper clasp at his throat. HE pulled up his hood and went out into the rain. Thankfully, it was not pouring down as heavily as it had been before, but softly drizzling. Rohdar turned right and felt the copper clasp. It was a wreath, much like a delicate crown or headpiece small enough to function as a ring if it was not attached to a diamond-shaped piece of copper. It was clipped in place by an intricately designed, tiny copper knife. Even though it was just copper, it was so carefully made that Rohdar could probably sell it for 50 coppers - or maybe even some silver if he located the right buyer.

Rohdar wondered what else he might have of value in the event of not being able to find and steal the dagger. He thought of his boots, which were of good quality, but it was illegal to sell and trade military (especially foreign military) equipment in Vetta. He had traveled all the way from Angau to Blaeldur to Vetta in them anyway.

What about his rings? He looked at his left hand. There was nothing on his thumb, but he had a band of the same dark grey as his eyes on his index finger, as well as a gold ring he had traded a pocket knife to a Blaeldur soldier for. He had bands of ivory on his middle and smallest fingers, and two silver rings on his fourth finger. He could sell the gold, silver, and ivory for a decent amount of money, but he did not want to lose his rings.

He had another gold ring, a silver ring studded with sapphires, a rosegold ring with silver vines twisted into it, and two simple steel rings. These were all strung together on a piece of twine and tied to the inside of the pack of things Rohdar had at his belt. He thought that if he found that blade, he would probably need full use of his hand for many possible reasons, and that he would make much less noise without them.

Rohdar passed the flower shop and turned left. He saw a wooden sign at his right, which said “Blue-Burning Forges” in blue paint. It was a stone shop with a large chimney on the left side of its steel roof. The sign on the wooden door said “open,” and Rohdar was going to investigate. He entered the shop.