A few hours later, it was the afternoon and Axeton was getting more and more anxious about the whole situation. Being around two Knights of the Silver Moon, both of which supposedly were strong enough to warrant Dorian’s attention, was hard enough. But walking a long, open road next to wagons full of gold Rads made Axeton feel like a giant target. A few civilians had passed the caravan, on their way to Ostiphas, and had been harassed by the two leaders every step until they were out of sight.
“HALT!” Mo barked suddenly. It took a few extra seconds for the horses to comply, but they did. The entire party stood still.
“Do you see him, Mari?” Mo hastily asked the man, his bow already drawn.
“Yeah I sees em,” the stout, pale man replied. He was aiming down the bowstring, carefully sweeping the road. “Only one of em. Male, middle aged. Probably from Vintelli, by his clothes. Ambush?”
Mo grunted affirmatively. “You there, in the road. Stop, immediately!” he bellowed towards the man in the distance. Axeton looked for himself, seeing a man walking harmlessly towards the wagons with a bag slung over his shoulder. He leaned towards Sigyn.
“If he’s from Vintelli, he won’t know Morwellish,” he whispered. That country is isolated, and hundreds of miles away. Sigyn exhaled from her nose, her mouth a tight frown as she came to the same conclusion.
“Corporal Mo!” Axeton shouted to the man. “He probably doesn’t understand you. His people are merchants, this isn’t an ambush.”
Mo sneered at him. “Just what he wants us to think. Then when we get close, we’re peppered with arrows from all sides. You want that, you punk?” he spat at Axeton, before returning his gaze down the road.
The old, angry voice came back. OH, BIG MAN. IF ANYONE DESERVES AN ARROW TO THE NECK, IT’S YOU
Axeton chilled, shaking his head to clear it. Meanwhile, the hired men and women next to the wagon a few feet away were loudly placing bets on whether or not Mari could even make the shot at this distance. The paladin’s eyes darkened, a scowl betrayed his anger.
Suddenly, he felt Sigyn’s big blue hand on his shoulder. He looked back, and she shook her head. She’s right, he thought. I can’t give myself away. I’m just a hired hand.
“You have ten seconds to drop your bag and STOP WALKING!” Mo bellowed at the man. He was about 100 yards away from the caravan at that point. The man gestured wildly, pointing at his ear, then at the bag, before yelling back gibberish.
“What did he say?” Mari asked, his eye still trained on the man.
“Tell him he said he’s a traveling merchant,” Axeton hastily whispered to Sigyn. She nodded.
“Uh, he said he’s a merchant, sir,” she replied loudly. “And that he’s alone.”
“Bullshit,” Mo chuckled. “Mari, take him out.”
The bowman grinned, then unleashed the string. As soon as the arrow left the bow, a snapping boom erupted from it as its speed seemed to multiply tenfold. It screeched through the air, losing no altitude in the 100 yards, until it cracked with a sick thud, deep into the target’s upper torso. The man stopped walking, then in a shock, tried to pull the arrow out before falling to the ground in a limp thud.
Axeton and Sigyn stood horrified. An uproar or cheers and grunts erupted from the caravan as coins changed hands, the outcome of the various bets laid to rest.
A Force Gift, Axeton thought, his mind almost paralyzed with indignant rage. They killed him because they wanted to…
Sigyn let go of one board making up the side of the wagon they were escorting. She had gripped it so hard, the wood had begun to splinter. She glared at Mari, teeth clenched, before exhaling and looking down to the ground. A few of the guards looked either sick, or visibly upset. Not everyone was in a gambling mood.
With a bellow from Corporal Mo, the caravan began to move again. They didn’t slow down as they approached the man in the road. The only pity the two of Dorian’s men held for an innocent life was steering the cart around the body, as opposed to over it.
“Don’t want to damage the cart,” Mo gave as answer, somehow he must have known the question that everyone was asking.
Axeton looked at the man briefly while he could. He did appear to be a Vintelli merchant, his bright and colorful clothes were stained with the blood that just stopped gushing from the wound.
“Judging by the depth of the arrow,” one of the guards flatly assessed. A gruff, stocky man covered in scars and tattoos, he had barely said a word the entire journey. “Straight through the heart, lodged in the spine. He was dead before he hit the ground. A nice shot…more suited toward enemy combatants though…”
A shadow fell on his face and he growled the last part of his diagnosis, shaking his head. He looked off to the side of the caravan, turning one side of his lips up at a sneer towards the proud Mari as he marched along.
The rest of the traveling was relatively uneventful. It eventually became the evening, the chirping birds that had accompanied the trudging caravan gave way to peaceful crickets, and a chill slowly descended onto the group as they approached a gate. The wrought iron portal stood alone against the trees that lined the road, no fencing to either side of it. Mari briskly walked up to the gate with a key in hand. The pale, stout man grinned as he deftly inserted the key, not into the gate itself, but into one of the stone posts framing the door.
A loud CLICK stuttered from the stone, revealing, in a wave, a tall brick wall extending for at least 200 yards in each direction. An orchestra of awes and surprised gasps came from the group as they saw it happen. Sigyn leaned forward.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“That looks like deception,” she whispered into Axeton’s ear. “Do you think it’s your guy?”
Axeton breathed through his nose, his mouth set tightly.
“I don’t think so,” he finally answered. “His strengths are his Gift and combat, and what we just saw looked like an artifact. It doesn’t mean he didn’t pay for it and arrange the installation himself, though. So keep an eye out.”
Sigyn’s eyes rolled up in thought, then she dropped her head again to Axeton’s level.
“I should have asked before, what does this bad guy look like?” she whispered hastily.
“He’ll most likely be disguised,” Axeton began. “But he’s about my height, albeit thinner. Dark eyes, with black, swept back hair that gas a streak of gray running back from his right eye. His skin is a shade lighter than Mo’s.”
Sigyn nodded, her eyes cautiously looking around as the caravan began to slowly stream through the gate.
“One thing that may help us though…” Axeton continued, as quietly as possible. “When Dorian is excited, he subconsciously pops his knuckles with his thumbs. If you hear that, be extra careful.”
“That’s his name, Dorian?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he answered.
The group continued past the gate, the wagons briskly moving along a long, cobblestone walkway. Patrolling guards, wearing no discernable uniform but looking threatening nonetheless, became more and more frequent as they progressed along the road. Soon, they arrived at a manor home, sitting majestically just past an arc with “ESTES” engraved into the iron name plate. Axeton eyed the name, noticing that it appeared old.
He had a second house out here, he thought. Or, at Avandale. Maybe that’s why Dorian chose him, he was bribeable and had a backup home to retreat to.
The cobblestone road led to the right of the house, before sweeping to the left, then curving back out towards the main gate. A delicate fountain stood proudly in the middle of the circle, although the group began to complain as they noticed it was dry; most of them had depleted their waterskins. The wagons, at the harsh direction of Mo, stopped it just outside of a locked door attached to the house, which appeared to lead to the basement. The guards around the property would have created much more tension, if all the travelers weren’t so tired from walking with armor and weapons all day.
The home itself was immaculate; a white, three story manor house with yellow window shutters, and vines tastefully framing part of the main wall facing the road. A few stone steps led up to the front door, which was intricately carved from a dark wood. Axeton was trying to study the details on that door when Mo barged through it, Mari a few steps behind. A guard on the inside closed the door behind them.
Axeton assessed the house, his eyes combing over every panel and stone, trying to figure out exactly what Dorian had orchestrated here. He walked the grounds for a while, at least, as much as the posted guards would allow. After getting his bearings, he motioned discreetly to Sigyn, who followed him as they both sat down with their backs against the fountain.
“What’s the word?” he asked the firbolg as he stretched her long legs out.
“Mo and Mari haven’t said anything, other than giving orders,” she began.
“Figured. What else?” Axeton pried.
“A lot of them are nervous about coming this far out, and all the guards. Also, that illusion artifact scared them.”
The paladin nodded. Even in large cities, artifacts were very rare, and even those didn’t have much use. They could be used for alarms and a few other things, but that’s it. Axeton didn’t even know who made them or how, but the idea of one powerful enough to conceal a whole estate was mind-boggling.
When they were up all night discussing the next day’s plans, Axeton had told Sigyn everything that had happened to Avandale, and what Dorian was doing. They hadn’t exactly come to a conclusion as to this event’s part in his master plan, but he had a hunch.
“Sigyn,” he asked her out of the side of his mouth, trying to avoid the attention of the guards. “If you needed a lot of gold…for no reason in particular…how would you get it?”
Sigyn’s head bobbed back and forth for a moment. “Why good sir,” she answered. “I’d enforce a tax. That’s what governments tend to do.”
Axeton grinned. “Exactly. Why not pay people to mine it?” he asked, in an innocent tone.
She grinned back, her eyes looking around with curiosity. “Too messy. People will notice a big hole. Just force people to pay a tax, and by the time anyone complains to the capitol, you’re long gone.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he murmured. “And once you got the gold?”
“Melt it down. Currency is taxed on the road, but traveling with Destined Objects isn’t,” she said, shrugging her giant blue shoulders.
“They must be doing that here,” Axeton guessed. “But where exactly are they doing it…?”
Sigyn stood up, stretching her arms. “Well,” she said loudly. “Gotta pee. Excuse me, sir.”
Axeton watched as she approached the manor house from the side, near the locked door. She unbuckled her belt, which prompted every house guard and any hired hand paying attention to her to instantly look the other way. In the few moments she had unsupervised, she stooped down, her arm extended, her hands flat and parallel to the ground. She seemed interested in one spot, looked at it more closely, then made a loud showing of buckling her belt.
“That’s better!” she said proudly as she sauntered back to the fountain, sitting next to Axeton again.
“I'm impressed,” he said, nodding. “What did you find?”
The firbolg rubbed her nose with her thumb and forefinger, using the rest of her hand to obscure her mouth.
“There’s an exhaust vent over there,” she informed him. “They must be melting the gold down in the basement. I figured that’s the place they’re doing it, so they can hide. Pretty sneaky.”
Axeton raised an eyebrow. That’s genius, he thought. And kudos to her for figuring that out.
He then tapped the side of the fountain with a knuckle. “And that would explain why the fountain is dry. They’re diverting the water to the forge…” he figured.
“Yup,” she replied. “For quenching, mostly. My brother is a blacksmith. I…wasn’t allowed anywhere near his shop, except to work the bellows. So what do we do now?”
“Those two are still inside,” Axeton planned. “I don’t care what the mayor said, my gut is saying that Estes is still at home. If we can provide a distraction big enough, we can sneak in through a back door and find him.”
“One distraction coming up,” Sigyn said, as she stood again and walked up to one of the house guards. She loomed over the man, then turned her head to see who was watching.
“What do you mean we aren’t getting paid?!” she bellowed into the air, pointing angrily at the guard. The man put his hands up, then centered himself before ordering her to step aside.
Sigyn gasped loudly, slapping him. “No, I will not give you a kiss for payment!” she screamed indignantly. Axeton stood up, mouth gaping at the idea that something so tall could suddenly seem delicate and feminine at the drop of a hat.
Within moments, the hired hands had the guard surrounded. The women in the group had fists at the ready, to defend one of their own, and the large, scarred man grabbed the guard by the lapel and shook him violently. A house guard that had been watching but kept his distance brought fingers up to his mouth and whistled loudly, the sound already dying behind the loud shouts and threats bubbling from the crowd. Just after starting the commotion, Sigyn had quickly backed up and away from the guard, making room for the unruly mob and made her way back to Axeton with a smug grin on her face.
The paladin nodded, before quickly looking around the grounds to verify that all the guards had been occupied. They had.
“Let’s go,” he said, as they both bolted towards the back of the house.