Jerathon Alexander read the report and frowned. The southern portion of the city along the river was becoming too crowded. It was the widest section of the river below the locks and had the most extensive dock network. It was, therefore, the best place to load and unload ships, but the section had been initially built as residential long before ship trade became the most essential commodity.
A few prominent traders had been pushing for several months to have the apartments and houses torn down and turned into warehouses. This would make it easier for merchants to bring their items to the docks for shipment. Right now, ships only left twice a week because it was too difficult to operate the locks on a full-time basis. This meant all the merchants had to come to the docks simultaneously to get their items on the ship. On its own, this was way too much traffic, but with all the locals roaming about their homes, it made it even more difficult.
With warehouses to store items for shipment, merchants could bring their goods down any time during the week. Plus, shipments that came up river could also be stored in the warehouse, meaning all the deliveries did not have to be made as the ship pulled in but could be done over the course of the week.
It was an excellent idea, and the council supported it, especially since the traders had agreed to foot the bill for the warehouse construction. They would be able to process ships much faster and quickly make up the costs of the buildings in a few months. The council was also willing to accommodate the few hundred people who currently lived in the area by setting up another section of the city. The problem was that there was no more room.
The displaced citizens would undoubtedly want to stay along the river, but the further south you went, the poorer and more rundown the neighborhoods became. To remodel that portion of the city to meet the needs of the wealthy citizens that were to be relocated meant lots of money. The sewers needed to be extended, streetlamps required to be installed, the streets needed to be paved, they would need to encourage more shops and markets to open in the area, and a host of other things, not the least of which was to find somewhere else to move the people already living in those poor sections.
It would cost money, and it would take time. Jerathon scribbled a note to himself to meet with the traders and merchants to see if there was any way to raise taxes for a short while until the cost of such a relocation could be recovered. Pay a little now; make a lot later. It was a simple principle, but it took a keen grasp of commerce to accept it, especially when you were the one that had to pay now.
Jerathon also penned in a meeting with Leron, the city planner. They would need to find a place to put the peasants they displaced. They could not just keep pushing them south, or they would have to move them again in five years when the riverfront property continued to expand. The eastern part of town was open, but there were trees there, and the northern lumberjacks kept pushing the limit as to how far south they were willing to go.
Jerathon knew that in time, he would have to yield to their wishes and allow them to harvest the trees in that area. It would need to be done if the city was going to expand anyway, but it meant moving the people that lived there. Maybe it was time to jump across the river. So far, the entire city lay east of the river, but there was always talk about expanding west.
The problem was that there was absolutely nothing over there. It was a lot easier to upgrade the poor sections of the city than build entire new ones. They would have to dig a new sewer system, lay out all new streets, set up zoning laws, and, most expensive of all, build bridges.
It was not easy being the mayor of Garrilport.
Jerathon pulled a cord next to his desk that rang a bell out in the hall and would bring his page. The knock on his door came far too soon to result from his summons. “Enter.”
The boy opened the door and walked quickly to the mayor's desk. The mayor handed him two rolled parchments, one before the other. “Take this to the city planner's office. And take this one to one of my scribes and have them make enough copies to deliver to all the members of the merchant's council. I believe there are seventeen members now. You probably know their names better than I do. When the scribe is finished, deliver the notes.”
The boy took the notes and waited silently. “Your response to my bell was impressive. Were you avoiding your other duties and just waiting outside my door, or were you on your way to my office for another reason?”
“Captain Irenum is waiting downstairs,” the boy said
“He is early.” The boy simply nodded. “Send him up and then do as I bade you.”
The boy left. John Irenum, captain of the city guards, entered the mayor's office a few moments later and closed the door behind him. The captain was tall, with broad shoulders, and an intimidating sword. “When I set times for meetings, I expect them to be upheld. I'm a busy man,” Jerathon said, shuffling paper around on his desk.
John looked at the reports and notes scattered across the mayor's desk. “Can they wait?” he asked, motioning to the desk.
“Can't you?” he replied.
“I was waiting, but your mute page directed me to your office early. I assumed you were ready for me. But please, if I am intruding, I have nothing better to do but wait for your free time.”
Jerathon smirked at the sarcasm. “You seem to be in a good mood, by which I mean an irreverent one.”
The captain took a seat across the desk. “You should have seen it, Jerry,” John started, continuing down the road of disrespect. “It was great.”
Jerathon sighed, leaned back in his chair, and motioned for his guest to continue. “You know the pickpockets I've told you about?” Jerathon nodded. Some scoundrel was using children to rob the members of his city. He could not very well throw the kids in jail, but he had been unsuccessful in tracking down their master. “Well, I saw one of them get caught today. He was a young kid, maybe nine or ten. He had this great scheme where he pretended to fall off a ladder and land on passing victims. They would catch him, and he slipped their purse in the confusion.
“I only got to see him do it successfully once and was about to put an end to it when this stranger walked by. He made an impressive figure with an air of superiority around him. Anyway, the kid fell on him and took his coin pouch. I was about to confront the kid when he turned around and saw this stranger holding four pouches.
“While the kid had taken his pouch, this guy took all four that the kid had picked thus far. The kid tried to run, but the stranger caught him and gave him a little talking to. When they parted, I followed the kid. I don't know what this stranger said to him, but that theif turned around and gave those stolen pouches to four poor families on the east edge of town.”
“Did you manage to tail the kid further?” Jerathon asked.
The captain shook his head. “He went back into the city and slipped into the sewers. I don't know how those kids get their heads through the grate. Anyway, I went back to the edge of the town, and it turns out this other guy actually lives out there. He's in the process of fixing up the worst house in the area.”
“So why did you tell me this story?”
“I don't know; you asked me why I was in such a good mood. Besides, I thought there must be more to this guy. I mean, I've seen some of these pickpockets at work. They are excellent. Some guy off the street couldn't just beat them at their own game. Besides that, he seems to be made of money by the size of his coin pouch, but he's living in the worst house in the entire city. Something's odd about him.”
“John, over 8,000 people live in this city, and most of them are odd. I can't investigate all of them. Besides, that’s your job. If he’s not breaking any laws and is paying his taxes, he can do whatever else he wants.”
The rest of the meeting involved more serious talk about keeping the complex city of Garrilport safe from itself. Jerathon had forgotten all about John's story by the end of the session.
----------------------------------------
Leron got up from his chair and began to pace back and forth behind his desk after John finished recounting the story he had told the mayor. The city planner had just finished a meeting with the mayor, and the captain had shown up right after.
“I assume you met him when he registered with you. I just wondered what you thought of him.”
“I remember him well,” Leron said, stopping by a small liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink. “I think his name was Artemis Entreri. Yes, I remember him.”
“Well,” John prompted, growing impatient, “what did you think of him?”
“I think he is hiding out in the open.”
John looked confused. “That sounds like a contradiction in terms.”
“Tell me, Captain, do you ever lose your keys.”
John laughed, not noticing the change of topic for now. “All the time. If it weren’t for a miracle each time I find them, I'd probably never be able to lock or unlock my house or get into any guardhouses.”
“When you can't find them, where do you look?”
“I look everywhere,” John replied, his eyes rolling back in his head as if he were reliving one of the many moments. “I look under my bed, behind by bed-stand, in all of my pants, and I've even looked in the bushes beneath my bedroom window.”
“And where are they usually?”
John smirked. “On my dresser right where I always put them,” the captain's smile grew, realization dawning on his face, “hiding out in the open.”
“I think this Artemis is running from someone. It might be the law, or it might be mercenaries, but he is running from someone. I think he feels he has a big enough lead now that he can stop running. If whoever is chasing him stumbles upon our fair city, they will comb the taverns and gaming houses. They will look in every dark alley and search the northern section of town. These are the places where people can disappear. They might even wander through the downtown area, asking store clerks and shop owners if they've seen this man. They will doubtfully look in poor sections of the town where even the residents don't want to be there.”
“Do you think he deserves any attention, or am I overreacting?”
“Who knows? He told me he came from the northland, and he still feels there is some danger from his pursuers even though he's on the other side of the Great Range. Traveling through the mountains is not easy, and if he is still being chased, he must have done something extreme enough to warrant it. If you watch him walk, you know he is a fighter. He could be dangerous, or he could be an asset.”
“Hire him to clean out the northerns?” John thought out loud.
“No one can clean out the northerns, but you get my point. Who knows, check him out; it can't hurt anything.”
----------------------------------------
Entreri was taking the morning off. He was making some good headway on the addition to his new home, and he felt he deserved a break. He was finally calling it a home. The name meant more than just that he had raised the shack to a higher level of existence. It also meant he had an eerie sense of security. He had not killed anyone in over three weeks, which was approaching a record for him. People were finally leaving him alone.
Entreri strolled through the edge of the residential district as the houses gradually turned into shops. A small park took up an entire city block and held little more than shade trees and benches. A small pavilion on the edge of the park cast shade over a farmer’s market that was taking place. Entreri smiled as he saw his neighbors selling their produce. Since Billy’s charitable donation to the assassin’s neighbors, the mother and son now had enough money to pay the small setup fee and were quickly recovering that fee and more.
For some, all it took was a little nudge in the right direction to get over the hump. Entreri could see that they were doing well by the number of customers they had crowding around their table, and they would be able to expand their garden.
The former assassin did not take so much pleasure in their sudden prosperity as he did in the fact they were no longer poor. He despised poor people. Entreri saw no reason to be poor, for everyone had something to offer. It was only laziness or ineptitude that held people down.
Entreri had been hired to kill several such people and always felt a slight sense of satisfaction when he completed the job. If the people did not contribute to society, they had no right to exist in it. Entreri thought back to his last such job.
He had just returned to Calimport, and the Basadoni guild had claimed him. They meant to demean him by giving him a job far below his capabilities. Then, like now, he had not responded with violence but had given the poor family money to cover the fee they owed. He had not acted out of compassion but pity. He had not wanted to waste his energy killing the poor creature and would rather see them flourish against Basadoni’s wishes. He had acted the same way now.
Entreri found a nice restaurant in the center of town and decided to eat his first good meal since leaving Calimport. He had cooked for himself mostly, and though he knew the difference between flour and sugar, he was no chef.
This restaurant was one of the richest in the city, and Entreri waited for the host to seat him. Entreri had entered this restaurant for two reasons. He wanted a good meal, but he had also noticed that someone had been following him for several blocks. It was hard to shadow someone in this type of establishment. It was Entreri’s way of calling out his pursuer. And it worked.
John Irenum, Captain of the Garrilport Guard, stepped into the luxurious restaurant a bit tentatively a couple of minutes after Entreri. He had never been to this particular establishment before, but he had heard stories about it. He knew the mayor frequented it and that the prices were way out of his meager range.
He was off duty, and his dress was casual enough that he didn’t draw attention to himself as he would if he were wearing his uniform and carrying a sword. Either way, the host recognized him. “Well, Captain Irenum. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the privilege of serving you before. Are you here alone?”
John was too busy looking around at the lavish decorations in the foyer and needed the question repeated. “Oh, uh, no. Actually, I am with the man who just entered.”
The host nodded. “Ah, yes. He did say he might have a friend joining him."
“He did?” John looked behind him to see if this unknown friend was still coming. It took him a few moments to realize that he was the friend and he had underestimated his prey’s abilities.
“Is something a miss, Captain?” the host asked, perplexed by John’s behavior.
“No, not at all,” John replied, thinking that everything was a miss.
“Will there be more members of your party coming?”
“No,” John replied. At least I don’t think so, he added silently. “It will just be the two of us.”
“Right, then.” The host picked up a menu. “If you’ll follow me.” The host led John through the small entryway and into the main restaurant.
The place was amazing. John was used to bars and taverns where all the tables were spread across a wide-open wooden floor with a vast bar along the back wall. In here, the floor was covered with lush, blue carpeting that seemed almost too sacred to walk on. Unlike the taverns he was used to, space seemed cheap as each table was set up far from the other with plants, partitions, or some other obstacle to give the diners their privacy. Elegant lamps provided the lighting hung strategically over each table only to illuminate the guests, leaving the space between the tables in mysterious darkness.
Entreri was seated in a corner, already sipping at a delicate glass of wine. The host sat John down with a flourish. “What would you like to drink this afternoon, Captain?”
“Uh,” John stammered as his eyes went from the host to Entreri, who seemed unaffected by this intrusion. “Just a glass of water will be fine.”
The host looked disappointed until Entreri jumped in. “Nonsense, Captain,” Entreri spoke up as if he and John were long-time friends. “Bring my friend here a glass of this exquisite wine.” He raised his glass to the candlelight above the table to see the flickering glow filtering through the red liquid. “I’ll not let him dine in squalor despite his reluctance.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The host smiled, bowing slightly toward Entreri. “As you wish.”
As he walked away, Entreri lowered his glass to take another small sip and place it on the table. John was still unnerved by this whole situation. He had thought he was being careful as he had followed Entreri through the city, but this man had been aware of him the entire time. He was sitting in a restaurant that made him very aware of how much money he had or, more correctly, how much money he did not have. Yet through it all, the man sitting across from him acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“I will assume you have not dined here before, Captain,” Entreri spoke first. “I would ask you what is good, but you probably don’t know.”
John did not know what to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he kept thinking of and then rejecting opening lines. Entreri paid him no mind as he slowly leafed through the extensive menu. “This looks good,” he said suddenly, finding something he liked in his reading. “Fresh trout. ‘Only the finest filet of trout, simmered in white wine and butter sauce, served with a squirt of lemon and a side of steamed vegetables.’” Entreri put the menu down momentarily as he looked at his silent dining partner. “It’s so hard to get good fresh-water fish in the dessert. We got plenty of swordfish and lobster, but I was never a big fan of anything that lived in saltwater.”
John was still opening and closing his mouth as Entreri raised the menu back in front of him and continued reading. The young waitress came by with John’s wine and placed it beside him. “Are you men ready to order?” she asked pleasantly.
Entreri put the menu down. “Yes. I’d like the trout. May I ask how big it is?”
“About six ounces, sir.”
“Right. You better give me a double portion then. Can you recommend something to drink?”
“With the lemon squirt on the fish,” she explained, “you’ll probably want to stay away from the traditional wines—the fruits clash. I recommend our barely ale. It is much lighter than your traditional tavern drink and goes down smooth.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The waitress turned to John, who was still in a state of confusion. She saw he had not yet opened his menu. “Are you ready to order, sir, or do you need a few minutes?”
“Beef,” John managed. “Stew.”
“Beef stew?” the waitress repeated, hoping she had heard wrong.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Captain!” Entreri nearly shouted. He turned to the waitress. “My disturbed friend will have a sixteen-ounce steak, medium rare, with a large mug of your best dark ale.”
The waitress smiled at the correction, wondering if they even had beef stew. “Will this be one bill or two?”
Entreri put his hand beside his mouth as he whispered, though he made sure John could hear him. “You better make it one.”
She giggled as Entreri winked. “Right, sir. I’ll be right back with your salads.” She removed the menus from the table and departed.
With nothing for Entreri to read, he placed his arms on the table and stared at his guest. John had stopped his jaw exercise and was beginning to come out of his perplexity. “You knew I was following you,” John said, an edge creeping into his voice.
“Please,” Entreri replied, noticing the edge and taking another sip of his wine. “You don’t want to fight in here, do you?”
John did not know what he wanted to do. He had followed this man out of curiosity and was now twice as curious as before. Supposed criminals were his usual targets, and since he was good at his job, he was rarely mistaken. When discovered, John invariably had to fight his prey, and they always ended up in a jail cell or a coffin. This was different, and it took John a little while to realize it.
John was out of uniform and was not wearing his sword. He did have a dagger. The man across from him seemed unarmed, but he had underestimated Entreri several times already and would not do so again. Besides, he tried not to think about fighting right now.
“So,” Entreri continued, “what do you want to talk about, Captain? Have I done something wrong?”
John had not planned for this. He had wanted to follow this man, not interrogate him. He had done nothing wrong, and there was no reason for the Captain of the Guard to pay any attention to him, but he could not quite walk away from this now. “I noticed you’ve taken up residence on the eastern edge of town. Nice area, though I don’t see too many of your neighbors eating beside us.” John gave a cursory glance around the room to let Entreri know what he was talking about.
“Oh,” Entreri looked startled and concerned, “I thought you would pick up the tab for this meal. You think I have money?”
In the poor light of the dining room, John was momentarily taken in by Entreri’s horrendous acting ability. “It had crossed my mind,” he replied. “The city planner might have mentioned it.”
Entreri shrugged, conceding the point. Instead of replying, he took another drink of his wine, handing the topic of conversation over to the captain.
John decided the best way to approach this now that he was caught was to be straightforward. “I am the Captain of Garrilport’s City Guards, and it is my job to make sure this city is safe for the general public. I spend most of my time chasing down criminals and exposing them to Garrilport’s severe justice system. However, whenever possible, I do like to stop crime before it happens. This means I spend some of my time simply observing the people of this city to try and predict what they will do or how they will act.”
The waitress returned with the salads. Entreri covered his leafy entree with dressing and dug in. John ignored his, having never eaten a salad in his life, and continued talking. “So far, I know very little about you, but everything I do know concerns me. You seem to have a lot of money yet live in the city’s poorest section. You seem to be very sure of yourself and have made tremendous improvements to your squalid shack, yet show no signs of wishing to enter the functioning portion of society. I was also privileged enough to watch your little encounter with a young pickpocket the other day and am willing to place a bet that your past has not always taken place on the right side of the law.”
Entreri flinched at this, looked like he would say something, but drained the rest of his wine and continued eating.
“I am not accusing you of anything yet, but men like you do not often enter this city, and they usually bring trouble with them when they do.”
“Have I brought you trouble?” Entreri asked, looking up finally. John did not respond. “As I can see it, all I’ve done so far is brought you money. I’ve spent quite a bit of gold since arriving in your beloved city yet have asked nothing in return. Here I’m even buying you lunch, yet you accuse me of potential crime. Which reminds me, are you going to drink that?”
John looked at his untouched wineglass and shook his head. Entreri swiped it up, took a sip, and placed it next to his empty one. “You should have said so earlier. It’s not as good warm.”
“What are your plans?” John asked bluntly, trying to ignore Entreri’s antics. “Are you on the run? Are you hiding?”
“I’ve been in your city for almost two weeks, so I’m not going very fast if I’m running. And if I’m hiding, I’m doing a bang-up job, seeing as how I’ve attracted the attention of the Captain of the City Guards.”
“Do you have a trade?”
Entreri shrugged. “I am an assassin specializing in killing mages, royalty, and dark elves.”
John frowned at the reply, not enjoying Entreri’s supposed sarcasm. “Where did you get your money?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I have access to a dragon’s treasure hoard via a magical portal that I carry with me everywhere I go?”
“Not likely,” John replied.
Entreri shrugged, pushing his empty salad plate aside. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”
The waitress arrived with the main course. She took one look at John’s untouched salad and cleared it before she set down his succulent steak. Despite his unwillingness to touch anything set in front of him thus far, John’s willpower evaporated as he inhaled the meat’s rich aroma. He took a deep swig from his ale and cut into his meal. “And where do you come from?”
“I come from a land across the great sea, about 15,000 miles away, filled with trolls, goblins, and halflings.”
“Halflings?”
“They are quite remarkable,” Entreri explained. “They grow to about four feet tall and are unusually plump. Yet they are excellent thieves and surprisingly nimble. Oh, and don’t forget the giants. There are lots of them were I come from too.”
“And dark elves,” John added to this fantastic tale.
“Ah, yes, the dark elves,” Entreri repeated, his voice falling away as if recalling some distant memory. “I never did like them. But they were nothing compared to the ilithids.”
“Haven’t heard of that one,” John remarked, his mouth half full of steak.
“And a good thing too. They are hideous creatures with squid-like heads. They are extremely telepathic and know exactly what you are thinking. They can paralyze you with a mental blast and then eat your brains by sucking them out of your ear.”
“Charming creatures.”
“Not really,” Entreri countered, getting a laugh from John. John cut his chuckle short as he peered into his companion’s eyes, wondering for the first time if Entreri was telling the truth. He shook his head.
“So,” John started, wishing to change subjects, “with such an interesting past behind you, what do you plan to do with your time now?”
“Right now,” Entreri answered in between mouthfuls of fish, “I plan to continue working on my house and keeping out of trouble. I wouldn’t want you and your men to worry about what I was doing. I like to keep a low profile. Actually, I’m getting to a point in my work where I need a good blacksmith. I’ve seen several shops around the city, but you know as well as I do, anyone can set up shop, but the good ones are in short supply.”
John nodded, an idea slowly forming in his head. “I know a perfect one, actually. His name is Buster. He does all the work for the city guards and a few wealthier merchants. What did you need?”
“I’m adding on to my house, and I’d like to give the floor a metal framework so it lasts longer. Where is your blacksmith located?”
John gave Entreri directions. They continued to eat in silence for a while, occasionally commenting on the weather or the different aspects of the trade that went down the river. Entreri asked a few questions about the northerns that piqued John’s interest, but all in all, the captain learned very little about the man he had been following.
At the end of the meal, Entreri paid for it and left a healthy tip. He thanked John for his conversation and departed. John stayed at the table for a while as the waitress came to clear the dishes. “Who was that?” she asked innocently.
“His name is Artemis Entreri,” John responded.
The waitress shrugged. “He was fascinating.”
“That he was. That he was.”
John left the table and walked out of the restaurant. Entreri was nowhere in sight, but the captain had no intention of following him further. Instead, he set off in the direction of the blacksmith he had recommended. Buster had come to Garrilport several years ago from a monastery in the Great Range, the mountains to the north. John had never questioned the former monk on why he had left his religion but was glad he had.
The large man was a great blacksmith and had a few other interesting talents. One of which was determining a man’s moral disposition with surprising accuracy. Buster claimed it was a priestly talent, but John had never been a big believer in magic of any kind. He marked the ability up to just a good awareness and common sense. Either way, Buster had helped him with several investigations by identifying criminals or telling John he was barking up the wrong tree and the man he was chasing was as pure as the wind-driven snow.
John figured Buster would have a good time with Artemis. The man was hiding something, and John hoped the blacksmith would be able to say if it was a good secret or a bad one.
The captain pushed open the door to the blacksmith’s shop and triggered a small bell that hung above the door. “I’ll be right there,” a voice called from a back room.
John looked at the small entry portion of the shop. The walls were covered with dozens of everyday items that you could buy and a few examples of custom-made tools to show the customer what Buster was capable of. John walked across the floor toward the counter and winced as the floor creaked loudly beneath him.
“I really got to get that fixed,” Buster said as he came through a door behind the counter. “Customers are beginning to think my floor is an example of my work. I try to let them know I did not build the place, and it is almost older than I am, but some don’t listen.”
John finished his walk across the noisy floor and nodded. “Yes, you do need to get that fixed. Tell me, what makes a floor squeak?”
“Loose nails, bad wood, or both. The noise comes from the wood pivoting on the metal nails. If the nails are tight or the board doesn’t flex, it won’t creak. But I doubt that’s what you came here to ask.”
John shook his head. “No. I just recommended a customer to you.” John gave the big man a brief description of Entreri.
“A customer or a suspect?” Buster asked, ever cautious.
“Hopefully, the former,” John replied. “This one’s got me baffled. Everything about him tells me he’s trouble, but I just got done having lunch with him, and he seems like the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I just don’t know. He’s not a suspect, as there’s no crime I’m trying to tie him to. I just want to know if I should consider him for future investigations. You understand.”
Buster nodded.
“And he’s got a lot of money,” John continued. “So, give me a favorable report and do a good job on what he asks of you, and we’ll both be happy.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” John said and turned to leave. He tried to tiptoe across the floor back to the exit but made more noise than when he entered.
----------------------------------------
“What are we doing down here in the sewer?!” Parnid cursed. “You know I hate it down here.”
Quinton Palluge looked at Draick and then at Parnid. The two men had accompanied him through the lower basement of his riverside chateau and into the sewer. Reillon, Quinton’s magician, had promised a demonstration to explain his odd behavior two days ago, and Quinton was eager to get answers. The prominent merchant had asked his two best men to accompany him so they could all judge what Reillon had to show.
The magician stood in front of them, looking even paler than usual. He had a willowy frame to begin with but having spent the better part of the last two weeks locked in his room with little if anything to eat did not help matters. He wore a billowing, dark blue robe, which hid most of his slight frame, but his bonny hands and slender neck stuck out, reminding anyone who knew him that this man did not inspire fear. Reillon was about to change that.
Quinton's men had hollowed out the area where the four stood, and it was relatively dry. Reillon stood facing the other three men across the twenty-foot hollow.
“Okay, Reillon,” Quinton finally addressed the man who had led them down here, “what is this about?”
“Three weeks ago,” Reillon started, his speech a husky whisper, “your men returned from a successful raid with a valuable chest. You took from it all the gold and priceless jewels and, at my request, let me have the rest. Inside were over a dozen scrolls that belonged to Charistim Kwoll, a renowned battle mage who lived over a hundred years ago.
“I have spent the last two weeks studying those scrolls, teaching myself the ways of the mighty Kwoll. I now stand before you as the most powerful man in all of Garrilport, and maybe the world.”
Quinton did not know if he should laugh or be appalled at such an outrageous claim. His men did both for him. Draick was a member of the city guard, Quinton’s best fighter, and likely, one of the best fighters in the city. He laughed long and hard.
Parnid, Quinton’s head thief, now that Trevor was recovering from his failed pick attempt on Reillon’s door, looked on with mocking disbelief. “That’s preposterous. I hope you have more tricks up your sleeve than just rigged doors because I could run you through in a heartbeat, scarecrow.”
Reillon shook his right hand free from his huge sleeve and snapped his fingers. In the middle of his emaciated palm hovered a small flame. Parnid had seen Reillon’s parlor tricks before and was not impressed by this. “You’ll have to do better-”
Before Parnid could even finish his accusation, Reillon twirled his wrist, turned away from his audience, and hurled a massive fireball down the sewer corridor. The ball disappeared from view, but the three onlookers heard it explode against the wall, and the expanding flames licked hungrily at the edge of their hollow. The fire dissipated quickly, and the men could see all the water had been evaporated and the walls scorched black.
Draick had stopped laughing by now, but Parnid was still agitated. He turned back to look at the magician with his index finger extended in front of his face with the small flame still dancing. He blew it out, and a tiny wisp of smoke trailed from his finger.
“I can do the same thing with a jar of oil, a rag, and flint, and my flames will last longer.”
“Perhaps you would prefer a more frontal attack,” Reillon bated.
Without asking permission, Parnid charged the weaponless would-be battle mage. With his right hand still poised in front of his face, Reillon shook his left hand free of his robes and hurled three tiny magic missiles at the rushing thief.
All three projectiles took Parnid in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. Draick and Quinton looked on as Parnid lay on the dirty ground, sparks of energy jumping from his arms and legs as he went through a few moments of spasms before lying still. A groan came out of his mouth to let the two men behind him know he was still alive.
This groan shook Draick out of his trance, and he pulled his sword to charge the mage. Quinton grabbed his lieutenant’s shoulder, holding him back as he spoke to Reillon. “Promise me you won’t kill them.”
Reillon stood with his arms crossed in front of him and nodded.
Quinton accepted this answer and turned to his fighter. “Kill him.”
Draick did not need any more encouragement and rushed the mage. Reillon didn’t move a muscle as Draick approached him with his sword upraised. The prone form did not hinder Draick’s aggression, and the city guard swung fully into the wizard.
Draick was executing his fourth strike on the mage before realizing he was doing no damage. There was a faint shimmering around Reillon, and the stone skin was preventing any of Draick’s attacks from getting through.
The protection spell could only absorb so many hits, so while Draick was dispelling the stone skin with his fifth and sixth attack, Reillon reached out and touched the occupied fighter on the forehead with a glowing red hand.
Draick’s entire body went rigid by the stunning touch as if he had just been dropped in a tank of freezing water. With the fighter motionless in front of him, Reillon summoned a magical war hammer with his right hand and slugged the man in the chest, sending him flying backward.
Parnid watched the display from the ground, recovering from the magical attack cast against him. Seeing that the mage now held a weapon, the quick thief leaped to his feet to attack. Reillon was not a fighter and hurled the hammer at Parnid to free up his hands. Parnid rolled under the throw and continued his charge.
Quinton winced as the hammer exploded against the stone wall of the hollow, sending rock fragments flying. He had asked his magician not to kill his men, but if Parnid had not ducked, Quinton did not think the thief would still be drawing breath, much less have a head to draw breath with.
Reillon had already begun another attack with his left hand as his right had thrown the hammer, and as Parnid came out of his roll, the mage unleashed a prismatic spray at the thief. Five colorful bursts of energy flew from the fingers of his left hand, one of which took Parnid in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground.
The thief was not badly hurt this time, for the spell was only used to knock down a group of attackers while the mage prepared a better attack. Parnid jumped back up and saw a circle of blue flame dancing around Reillon’s feet. He was hesitant to approach the mysterious flames, but as Reillon’s left arm coiled back to unleash another spell, Parnid had to strike.
He leaped forward and sliced his short sword across the wizard’s chest. Instead of cutting up Reillon, Parnid felt a searing pain in his own side as if someone had scraped a red-hot poker across his hip. Reillon held his next spell in check as Parnid, doubled-over in pain, foolishly attacked again, shoving his blade straight forward at the mage’s chest.
As the tip of the sword struck home, Parnid howled in pain again, dropping his weapon and clutching his chest. The fire shield only reflected the pain of the attempted attacks and not the actual wounds, or Parnid would be vainly trying to stem a fountain of blood from his chest. The thief quickly realized this but was too weak to do anything but wave his arms in a pathetic means of defense as he lay on his back in front of the casting mage.
Reillon finally unleashed his hold spell and watched as Parnid’s frantic arms ceased their motion; his mouth paused in mid-scream. Reillon walked out of his protective fire shield, the spell disappearing without him, and moved over to Draick, who lay moaning on the ground. The mage stood over the prone fighter, no spells prepared and no protection, but Draick did not dream of attacking; instead, his eyes kept glancing over at Parnid, whose body was frozen in a frightful position. Fear and pain were plastered across the face of the thief as his body was locked in place by the mage’s spell.
“Enough,” Quinton said before Reillon could begin a new onslaught. “Will he be okay?” he asked, motioning to his petrified thief.
“I did as you wished and withheld my killing spells. Everything I used here was meant to stun or paralyze. I am much more powerful than what you just saw.”
Quinton was not sure he liked this new ego that came with Reillon’s skills, but he could not deny the claims. “Will you still serve under me?” Quinton knew if any of his other men had this kind of power, they would want to be in command or break away on their own.
“It is not the mage’s calling to rule. If it were not for you, I would have no home, no money, and no men to back my abilities. If it were not for you, I would have never had the opportunity to gain these powers. You are in command, though I would like a bigger room.”
A sudden yelp came from Quinton’s left, and he turned to see Parnid coming out of the hold spell, finishing the scream he had started several moments ago. There were no lasting wounds on his body, and the pain had faded to a dull throb. He sprang up, looking for his enemy, but Quinton stopped him with a word.
Draick and Parnid collected their weapons and came back to stand next to their master, giving Reillon evil looks the whole time. Quinton knew they would hold a grudge for a while, but from now on, they would be working beside the mage and not against him. They would get over it.
“I think it is time I joined the council,” Quinton said, laughing as he turned to leave the sewer and return to his office to plan his rise to power.