Sword Storm III

Sin on or not, the dark altar needed to be destroyed. I still remembered the feeling of relief from destroying it the first time around, and the dread poison which had afflicted Gunhild and her sisters.

Sword Storm had been enough to reduce the altar to a twisted heap last time. This time my single blade tore it to rubble. Each impact, though it sounded like the gonging of Blackbridge’s bell, barely slowed as it clove through the metal branches.

My clangour was interrupted in a whirring of claws and bristled fur. My ring caught the culprit before Oswic or Attart as the attack was from behind.

My sword was halfway to skewering the creature when I realized it had already scrambled about on the floor and was proceeding to flee. It was a badger, and had been as startled as we were. I tensed as it leapt onto the door, but before I could cast my rapture spell it was off and away, the trap beneath unsprung.

“Should a badger cross the path

Which thou hast taken, then

Good luck is thine, so it be said

Beyond the luck of men.

“But if it cross in front of thee,

Beyond where thou shalt tread,

And if by chance doth turn the mould,

Thou art numbered with the dead.”

I clapped my hands together and rubbed them once I finished reciting the rhyme, “I’ve no idea how the poor creature found its way here into the dungeon, but fortune shines on us Attart! I’ll take the council of a badger before the opinion of an unknown potion any day.”

Attart smiled demurely, “Is that what they say of badgers in The Painted Lands? On the Bronze Coast they are known as shapeshifters and thieves.”

“Here too, but they are thieves with honour. Once given kindness a badger is like to seek an honest wage.”

I gave my sword a few more swipes of the altar. The gentle feeling of relief I’d felt last time I’d destroyed it rose again, this time buoyed by the good fortune of the badger. I felt giddy, like I was nearly floating. I had to resist the urge to dance on the balls of my feet.

I pointed at the Gorgon statue on the far end of the room, “We must not turn back lest we follow the badger where he has turned the earth. Our path is behind there.”

“Do you remove her blindfold to open the door?” Attart asked.

I barked out a laugh, “Exactly. The only thing,” I pulled the blindfold free. The statue popped forward and I grabbed her elbow for the second time in my life, “The only thing,” I grunted, “stopping anyone,” took a breath, “from opening it,” whew, “Is how heavy the whole things is.”

I stood back and gestured to the newly created entrance with a flourish. My sword dashed down the “short” corridor beyond (20 feet or so) and let the iron door have it.

The warlocks couldn’t set hinges to save their lives, but by the pools of the stars could they make them. The metal gave before the hinges.

I winced and rubbed the insides of my ears. You’d think I’d have gotten used to the sound by now.

A spear belatedly twanged into the door frame a moment later.

“That’s why you break all the doors?” Attart asked.

“That and similar. Worse. I doubt a single spear could kill me unless I was exceptionally unlucky, and the badger is with us tonight!”

Attart winced and pinched her nose, “What is that?”

A smell filled the air. Sharp like oranges, bitter like ashes, gentle like rain.

I smiled.

“That smell means we are on the right track!”

Last time I’d smelled it I’d been directly outside old Tom’s house. I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone of the hob, but we’d made no promise of me showing him to them. If this Tom was even the same Oldshoe I’d made my promise to.

My sword flew across the room and rapped on the door.

Silence.

I put my hands to my mouth and hollered, “Tom! If you remember me, now is your chance to show yourself, I’m about to knock the door down!”

The door swung open and a little hairy man dressed all in red peered out.

“Who has come threatening to knock poor old Tom Oldshoe’s door down? What has old Tom ever done to Sirs?” He doffed his jester’s cap in the direction of Attart, “And yon lady as well? Master Tom was not expecting visitors for supper.”

Attart startled and pulled her cloak about herself, “You can see me?”

“Old Master Tom is not so old as to turn a blind eye to such a fair maiden, mistress. Begging mistress’s pardon.”

“The mistress is unaware Master Tom is one with the knowing, Master,” I emphasized the word for Attart’s sake. Hopefully she’d know enough to avoid telling a hobgoblin her name. I would have forewarned her if I could, but even now I couldn’t speak directly to her of Tom’s nature.

“Although...” I continued, “Your knowing is missing. Do you truly not remember me Master?”

If I was lucky I could trade the memory for a favour, though that might count as trickery. It was possible to trick a hob, but I didn’t want to earn his enmity.

Tom shook his head, “Old Tom has never seen Sir in his life. Would Sir do the favour of granting Master Tom the memory?”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from celebrating prematurely. It was possible to grant an elf a gift, so the request could be a subtle play on Tom’s end to gain something for free, not aware that I owed him a favour already. Though even then I’d expect a hob who lived in the warlock’s halls to be more cautious. The badger’s luck was carving my path forward.

The question was, if Tom believed the exchange to be a gift, would it be a gift, or a repayment of favours owed? And more importantly, would I keep the memory I granted?

“I would happily grant you the favour of sharing the memory, Master, if you so wish it.”

Tom squashed his hat back onto his head and rubbed his face to cover a frown. One which I could see clearly through Oswic’s eyes, “Master Tom would not want to take advantage of Sir, even though Sir has the advantage of knowing old Tom Oldshoe when old Tom Oldshoe does not have knowings of Sir! Master Tom would offer Sir’s maiden a new body in exchange for the memory Sir.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I shook my head and raised my hands to brush away his worries, “Telling my tale to a receptive ear and granting you a favour are payment enough Master.”

Attart’s eyes widened, “Oswic, are you sure—”

Tom’s head perked but I nodded, “Entirely,” I returned my full focus to Tom—hopefully such a thing as focus existed in the eyes of our agreement—and smiled, “I cannot ask for so much from one as esteemed as yourself, Master. It would be unkind.”

“Grant Master Tom the favour of Sir’s shared memory then, and he will be most grateful.”

“Consider it done Master.”

My mind went blank. All senses left my body and I collapsed in a heap.

Suddenly I was observing myself from outside my body. I was Oswic only; the man who had not been changed.

The Darkswallower of Bleakfort was gone.

***

“Oswic! Are you okay?” Attart rushed to the Darkswallower’s side. From his mind came only a buzzing white light. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t even breathing.

Tom had gone still as well, but his face was enraptured with delight. Tom had not gained the memories which we shared, but instead taking his turn at “sharing” my memories. He’d taken everything, and who could say what he’d gained from seeing my side of every encounter, and the dungeon itself?

I myself was not unaffected. Memories this body had only ever experienced second hand were flooding through me. The strange sad-happy look in Erin’s eyes as she kissed Brace. The glances Gunhild had thrown my way. The kindness the Delta folk had offered me. A sudden tenderness for Attart in all of her strange unknowns.

Love.

The moment I thought the word it burst through the Darkswallower. Before he could even breathe he remembered her face; white and rosy cheeked, her hair; golden-brown and bouncing in curls, and her name; Melinda.

Melinda walking along side him in the autumn leaves. Melinda dumping a pail of cold water over his head when they were children. Melinda preparing a bed beside the hearth for him to wait out the storm though he—I—had never needed it. Dancing with Melinda at the Interdiem fest.

He’d loved her. I’d loved her. She’d loved me.

That had been years ago.

I forced my thoughts into the Darkswallower’s mind, forced him to breathe, gave him my memories.

He gasped—I gasped—and then began to cry. Where was she now? We’d not been in touch for half a decade. True love indeed.

I cried some more, this time for what had been restored to me. Though not as extreme as the promise of Elysium it was a cruel world without love. One of material relationships only, and those relations which rose from the materialism.

They were quiet tears. Silent tracks down both my cheeks on both my bodies. Attart stared between me in concern.

The hobgoblin broke the silence.

“Sir has not cleaned poor old Tom’s mother’s house yet Sir!” he admonished me, “What is he supposed to tell Tom’s poor old mother?”

I (in my strange and twisted Darkswallower body) laughed. My heart was light despite the sorrow, “Tell her that you arranged a cleaning of her house a week before you made the bargain Master. You can’t claim I am late just yet.”

Tom clutched his head in his hands, “Poor Old Tom’s mother won’t listen to reason, Sir! Best Sir is finding his mother as fast as Sir can.”

“I’ve other commitments, Master,” I shrugged helplessly. The motion was stiff and uncoordinated. I was working off of Oswic’s muscle memory, not my own, “The bargain didn’t outline a time limit.”

I waved off Tom’s doe-eyed stared, “But your mother’s house must be cleaned! I have made a bargain with you Master Tom, and I intend to keep it. Perhaps we could introduce a time limit?”

Tom clutched his hat to his chest, “Sir is ever so kind. What does Sir have in mind?”

Tom was a crafty one. It was better to let the other party set the opening offer so they didn’t know how far you were willing to go.

I could be clever too.

“Let me talk to others about you and I’ll happily set a time limit Master.”

Attart’s emotions were as naked as the rest of her. A jolt of understanding danced across her face. Tom couldn’t have missed it, though he revealed nothing in his own expression.

“The time Sir! The time! What limit does Sir offer in exchange for this bargain?”

No amount of luck was going to get Tom to slip up and offer a limit first. The secret now would be to offer as long a time as possible without offending him.

“Before I leave the—,” Elysium and the etiquette book might count as leaving the dungeon, “Before I end the warlock’s rift I’ll have your mother’s house cleaned one time Master.”

Tom shook his head, “Sir must clean Master Tom’s mother’s house sooner than that! Old Tom tears ups thinking of his poor mother in a filthy house Sir!”

Indeed tears began to well up in the little man’s eyes.

“Do you think it will take me so long to escape this dungeon Master?” I asked as innocently as I could manage.

Tom wrung his hat, “Sir is wise and clever in the ways of nature and magic Sir—Master Tom Oldshoe would never dispute one of the wise—but poor Master Tom has seen dreadful things, Sir, dreadful things. He trusts sirs and mistress, but he does not trust the dungeon! His mother’s house must be cleaned in a fortnight!”

“Master Tom, it is still near a fortnight before I met you for the first time. I need far more time than that. A year and a day, if you fear the dungeon is so untrustworthy.”

“Until the next full moon.”

“A fortnight of fortnights.”

Tom counted it out on one hand, then the other. Then he kicked off his shoes with a frown, “Kind sir, Master Tom begs of you, be more kind. He cannot wait so long. Three full moons.”

My eyes narrowed. I had no idea of the exact time, but Oswic had been keeping rough count, even when drifting in and out of consciousness. The next full moon was in fourteen days, give or take.

“Three new moons from now, Master Tom, not including the one this month.”

That would cover me if Oswic had miscounted and it was the day before the new moon rather than the day of or after.

“Less a day.”

I sighed and stuck out my hand, “For the freedom to no longer be bound to my promise of not speaking of you to others, I promise to fulfill my bargain to clean your mother’s house within the next three new moons, less day, not including the new moon this month.”

“Sir has a bargain, Sir,” Master Tom reached out and shook my hand.

I felt my tongue loosen at once. It hadn’t been fully bound. I suspected Tom had left enough wiggle room that I might accidentally slip up and allow him to pursue Melinda. I suppose this iteration of the dobby was less vengeful given how easily he’d made the bargain. Perhaps he’d given up after I’d warned Attart, or perhaps it was another blessing of the badger.

Tom smiled up at myself, Oswic, and Attart in turn, “Was there anything else gentlesirs and gentlelady?”

Attart quickly shook her head, which was wise of her. So why did I, the Magus, find my own mouth opening?

“My friend Eric is trapped not far from here in one of the warlock’s cells. He is surrounded by deadly cave bees. Can you rescue him Master Tom?”

Tom rubbed his chin, “Old Tom has kept bees before Sir. He knows all the back ways and secret passages. If Sir would be so kind as to show where Sir’s friend is kept, Master Tom can be the one to free him. So long as Sir does the carrying, Sir.”

Right on cue Attart asked, “What of my ghosts? Did I not tell you I could free him?”

Perfect.

“I hoped Master Tom could be more reliable, if I can afford his price.”

“Of course, Sir, of course! Fear not. Old Tom knows all the ways and hereabouts whither,” Tom reached behind the door and retrieved a small polished wood box into his hands. He slid the top opening revealing a stack of paper cards.

“Master Tom found these cards in a holy man’s cabinet, Sir. The holy man has not asked Master Tom for them back so there has been no theft Sir,” Tom winked at me, “But Master Tom does not know what the cards do, Sir! He is completely befuddled. Would Sir help old Tom know what old Tom has found?”

Funnily enough, the cards he had stolen from the holy man were called holy cards. I knew that, which meant Tom knew it in my memories, but he didn’t know that he knew it. Which meant it wasn’t enough for him to have the memories, he also had to access them.

“I will happily explain the cards to you in exchange for the retrieval of my friend, Master. I could do it myself, but it would be nice to have an expert such as yourself on hand to ease the rescue.”

Tom’s hand shot out, “Master Tom Oldshoe accepts happily as well. He has been ever so puzzled by these cards.”

I reached out my own hand, then stopped just shy of his fingers, “I will explain the nature of the cards to you in exchange for the rescue of Eric from the warlock’s cell where he is currently held.”

Tom frowned, but clasped my hand, “It is very rude to change the deal last moment Sir. Sir and Master Tom were near in the midst of shaking already.”

“I regret the necessity Master,” I said as diplomatically as I could.

Tom smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye, “Sir is wise. Come sit by Master Tom’s fire while Sir explains to him Sir’s cards.”