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Windrake's Rogue
Chapter 02 - Mindguards

Chapter 02 - Mindguards

The tavern in Hedard was a bustling hub of activity, its flickering lanterns casting warm light over the worn tables, where weary travelers and local townsfolk mingled. A cacophony of raucous laughter, clinking tankards, and coarse humor filled the air. In one dimly lit corner, two figures sat, occasionally scanning the venue, searching for their quarry. A red handkerchief was conspicuously placed on top of their table – a secret signal to whoever was watching.

An eighteen-year-old boy shifted restlessly atop a stool, his fingers drumming against the weathered wood as he cast wary glances toward the entrance. "Do you think they’ll show?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Calm down,” his elder companion replied. “You’re sticking out like a mermaid in a desert.”

“I want to ensure that everything goes smoothly the night before we leave,” the boy said.

The older man leaned closer in. “You’re worrying too much. Your mentor is not some common thief. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

“I know, Marv–”

“Shh!” the man interjected. “Remember, we are not using our real names – not even out here. I’m Henrick, and you are my apprentice, Pudge.”

“Why is that my name again?” ‘Pudge’ asked, crossing his arms in annoyance. He had been training rigorously for the past couple of years and happened to be very fit.

“It doesn’t matter what your name is,” ‘Henrick’ said. “You’re an apprentice; you shouldn’t talk. You should be paying attention to everything else besides the jawing. That’s how you prove you’re not useless.”

“You realize that I’ll need to talk at Windrake,” Pudge said with a smirk. “I might even make some friends who aren’t a hundred years old. You can’t babysit me the whole time.”

“Skye is your friend, and let’s hope the last few years of my training have stuck with you. You should be able to keep our little secret well enough – provided you don’t do something foolish.”

“You’re rather good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?” Pudge prodded. The young man felt it illogical that they would use fake names, but then openly discuss other aspects of their personal lives, but he didn’t comment on it. The old man had his quirks.

“I’m a dark mage who survived the Burning Covenant,” the old man retorted. “I had to become an expert at keeping secrets. It was a necessity.” For a brief moment, his lighthearted smile faded into a darker grimace before returning to its usual cheer.

“What secrets do you keep from me?” the boy pressed with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye.

The old man chuckled. “I would never reveal where Skye hides her leftover cookies. You’d demolish an entire dozen without blinking an eye.” He glanced at the boy and found him staring back with an intensity that was hard to ignore. His jovial facade faltered again, though only slightly. “You know all my exciting secrets.”

“I don’t think so,” the teenager said confidently. “That’s why we stopped our training a year ago. I was finally breaking through your defenses and it frightened you. I was getting close to discovering something big.”

“Interesting theory,” Henrick replied, a noncommittal smile on his lips. “Perhaps some secrets are best left buried in the dark.”

“Thank you, oh mighty one, for curating what truth you deem I’m ready for,” the boy replied.

“I’ve spent the last seventeen – almost eighteen – years raising you,” Henrick said with a mixture of pride and irritation. “I potty trained you. You’d think that would earn me at least a small measure of trust.”

“I do trust you,” the young man assured him, “but the curiosity eats away at me. Someday, I’ll find out what you’re hiding.”

“Maybe someday,” the old man said enigmatically, robbing his young pupil of the satisfaction of a true concession.

“And I’d hate for your head to explode from all the secrets you try to cram up there,” Pudge quipped with a grin.

“Don’t worry about me,” Henrick replied, smirking. “I have a well-functioning brain that can handle quite a bit. Unfortunately, I think you fell on your head too many times as a child, but you still seem to be doing fairly well despite your limitations.”

Pudge snorted, then scanned the bustling tavern once more, seeking any signs of their clandestine counterparts.

“Skye should have settled in by now,” remarked Henrick, trying to distract the younger man.

“Are you worried about her?” Pudge asked, his brow furrowing.

“Nah,” Henrick replied, shaking his head. “Windrake is quite welcoming to new students during the first week. They draw you in with a cozy sense of security, only to hit you with a mountain of work in the second week.”

“What about the Soul Inquiry?” the young man asked. “I only know a little bit about that process, and it has me worried. What if Skye reveals something?”

“No plan is flawless,” the old man replied, “but we've been careful all these years. Even if Skye did pick up on something, I still believe we're in the clear. Soul Inquiry isn’t a deep dive into the private corners of someone's mind; it’s primarily used to gauge a person’s temperament and uncover any pressing secrets related to their interest in magic and attending Windrake.”

“It’s a good thing we are avoiding it then.”

“Likely to avoid it,” Henrick corrected him. “We can't afford overconfidence. I underwent Soul Inquiry when I first joined the staff, but Gordon might be inclined to perform it again since I will technically be a new hire. Hopefully, our timing is ideal. We’ll arrive when everyone is engrossed in the first day of classes, and any lingering tasks will hopefully slip from his already crowded mind. If I do get summoned, I will try to get word to you early enough to give you a chance to flee.”

“How strong is the headmaster’s mind magic?” the young man inquired.

“Remember, I’ve been a small-town gardener for the past twenty years. I haven’t seen Gordon in a long time, but I doubt he’s gotten any stronger. However, I have no doubts that he could break into my mind.”

“And you’re sure he won’t use mind magic on me?” Pudge once again asked the question that he had asked multiple times in the past week.

“Not completely sure,” Henrick answered, rolling his eyes. “I’ve told you before: null guardians are usually not subjected to Soul Inquiry, as they are non-magical – or, I should say, they are supposed to be non-magical. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself; that’s the best we can do.”

A waiter interrupted their conversation, setting a mug of some unknown ale on the table.

“I think you brought this to the wrong table,” Henrick said, eyeing the drink warily.

“It’s on the house, sir,” the waiter responded, leaving the drink behind as he walked away.

Henrick frowned as he examined the mug in front of him. He peered over the rim into the dark ale, then picked it up and took a cautious sip.

“You’re drinking it?!” Pudge asked incredulously.

“Ehh,” Henrick grunted. “If it's poison, at least it will save me from having to teach a bunch of brats at a magic school tomorrow.”

As Henrick set the drink down, they both heard an extra clank. The old man chuckled as he fished an item out from the ale. The dim light glinted off a tarnished iron key, with the number eight etched clearly into its surface.

Henrick rose from his seat, hoping Pudge would connect the dots on his own. His young assistant quickly – and wordlessly – followed him toward the staircase leading to the second floor of the tavern. They climbed the steps and strolled down a narrow hallway, stopping in front of a door marked with the same number. Henrick knocked lightly, then paused, waiting for any response. When silence greeted them, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a soft click.

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The door creaked open, revealing a simple bedroom illuminated by the faint glow of a lantern. The room was sparsely furnished: a modest bed with rumpled linens, a small side table, and an unremarkable dresser.

Sitting at the small table was a dwarf, arms crossed and a scowl etched deep into his hardened face. His bushy, dark-brown beard was flecked with gray, and tufts of hair stuck out from beneath a fur-lined cap that had seen better days. His brows, thick and nearly as dark as his hair, furrowed over his beady eyes, which glimmered with suspicion. He wore a matching leather vest and pants, plus a belt that held a sheathed dagger. He shifted as he rose from his seat, his stout, muscular frame lending him an imposing presence despite his lack of height.

“Any weapons?” the dwarf asked curtly, his voice as gruff as gravel.

Henrick raised his hands in a harmless gesture. “Nope.”

The dwarf hobbled over to the old man and began patting him down, his fingers deftly checking for concealed weapons. He then shifted over to Pudge to replicate the search. The dwarf was unamused by how much of a struggle it was to reach the boy’s tall, broad shoulders. “What the fuck do you feed the kid?”

“Well, some of the village cats have gone missing…” Henrick surmised.

“Gross!” Pudge replied, cheeks flushing with indignation.

The humorless dwarf frowned, otherwise ignoring the jest. He looked at Henrick with a furrowed brow, his expression shifting from grumpy to scrutinizing. “Are you a mage?”

“Yeah,” Henrick said. “I can do some water magic.”

“Apprentice?” the crabby dwarf drawled while indicating to Pudge, not sparing any extra words.

Henrick nodded.

With a flick of his hand, the dwarf that Pudge had already taken to calling ‘Grumpy’ inside his head wordlessly gestured for them to follow, then exited the room and crossed the hallway to a door marked with the number seven. He gave two distinct knocks, paused, and then knocked three more times, all in a deliberate rhythm. The door creaked open, revealing another dwarf. His jet-black hair was streaked with silver strands.

Grumpy leaned forward and whispered into the second dwarf’s ear. The other dwarf's expression shifted, and he nodded in understanding before turning to face Henrick and Pudge. “I’m Kudrim,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Thank you for your patience with our process. Discretion is of the utmost importance to us.”

Kudrim stepped aside, ushering them into room number seven – virtually identical to room number eight, save for the three additional dwarves, seated on a chair, a bed, and low table, respectively. Grumpy remained outside in the hallway as the door swung closed and clicked shut. The atmosphere shifted, and all eyes gravitated towards a dwarf with a copper-colored beard, dressed in a lavish tunic. He was perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing the newcomers.

“I’m Jakko,” he introduced himself, taking charge of the interaction. “You’ve met Kudrim; the other two don’t matter. Just so we don’t waste any more time: you are here to purchase a large quantity of Mindguards, correct?”

“We’re here to evaluate the product first and then discuss a potential purchase,” Henrick countered.

Jakko's eyes narrowed slightly, gauging Henrick's response. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I assure you, the quality of our Mindguards is beyond question. The designs come from Grimstone himself. You won’t find a better product anywhere else.”

“From Grimstone?” Henrick asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “How can you make such a claim?”

“I’ve met him personally,” Jakko offered.

“Recently?” Henrick questioned.

Jakko huffed. “Is this an interrogation? I have Mindguards, and they work. That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re the one who claimed to know Grimstone,” Henrick responded, refusing to back down, “which makes me question your credibility. Many believe Grimstone to be dead.”

“If Grimstone were to be alive,” the dwarf replied, “he would need to keep a very low profile. I imagine he would prefer it if the majority of Arestia thought him dead.”

“But those he would have trusted would never be so foolish as to throw his name around casually,” Henrick said dryly.

“Are you here to talk about Grimstone or are we here to make a deal?” Jakko asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

“Show me what I’m buying,” Henrick said, reluctantly conceding that he needed what the dwarf purported to be selling.

Jakko grunted, then reached behind the bed, retrieving an artifact that resembled a crown. Its form was striking: sleek black metal with intricate runes etched along its surface. Three bands of metal wove gracefully together, seamlessly welded into a unified structure. With pride, he held the Mindguard out towards Henrick, inviting him to examine the craftsmanship up close.

Henrick accepted the Mindguard, feeling its cool surface against his palms. “Impressive,” he murmured, tracing a finger over the engravings.

“It’s made from onyx steel with all the same enchantments as the originals. I can guarantee this will protect you from any mind magic the Grand Oracle can throw at you,” Jakko promised.

“I bet this is a popular item,” Henrick commented.

“Aye,” Jakko said gruffly. “A lot of people would rather not have the Grand Oracle poking around in their mind.”

“If I were to purchase fifty of them,” Henirck asked, “would we be your biggest buyer?”

Jakko’s eyes narrowed. “If you were to purchase fifty of them, that still wouldn’t buy you information about my other customers.”

Henrick shrugged. “I just want to know who my potential business partner is. How are you able to craft so many when Grimstone himself could only produce a few?”

“What do you know of Grimstone’s work?” Jakko challenged.

Henrick looked at the dwarf with a contemplative expression. “I’m a mage with many years of experience,” he said. “I know a little bit.”

Jakko’s frown remained, but he moved on. “Such a powerful and in-demand artifact is not cheap. I am sure you are aware that fifty of them will cost a small fortune.”

“I can imagine the price such fine workmanship can fetch,” the old man agreed. “Before we discuss details, would you mind putting it on?” He handed the Mindguard back to the dwarf.

Jakko paused, but then shrugged and placed the crown on his head. Henrick subtly glanced towards Pudge, who gave a slight shake of his head. Henrick pursed his lips. “You know, Jakko,” the old man said, “this seems too good to be true. Grimstone was a prodigy, and you’re claiming to not only match, but exceed his work. I’m afraid I won’t be buying anything tonight.”

Jakko snarled. “You think we haven’t confirmed they work? You’d be a fool to miss out on this opportunity.”

“I think I would be a fool to spend so much money on an artifact when my gut is telling me its only value is artistic.”

“You know what I think?” Jakko asked with a sneer. “I think you never intended on buying anything. I think you’re a spy.” With that, the dwarf produced a crossbow that had been concealed on the far side of the bed. The two dwarves at the table jumped up, drawing their daggers.

Henrick reacted immediately, snapping his fingers to unleash a dense curtain of black smoke. A crossbow bolt whizzed through the air, punctuating the silence with a thud as it embedded itself into the wall.

“Aye!” a voice shouted from within the smoke. “He’s not a fuckin’ water mage!”

Pudge located the source of the voice, launching himself forward and tackling Kudrim to the ground. Caught off guard, the dwarf struggled as Pudge pinned his arms down. A dagger clattered to the floor, and Pudge quickly snatched it up, driving it into the dwarf’s chest. Kudrim thrashed for a few moments before going still, his eyes wide open, yet devoid of life.

Pudge leapt back onto his feet and took a few steps forward, listening intently to the chaos unfolding around him while tightly clutching the stolen dagger. The muffled screams of an unlucky dwarf echoed through the smoke, evidence of the haunting power of dark magic.

“Trey!” Henrick shouted through the swirling darkness. “Behind you!”

The boy spun around just in time to see a dwarf lunging at him, a dagger glinting menacingly despite the thick darkness. Reacting on instinct, he sidestepped the attack, feeling the rush of air as the blade sliced through the space where he had just stood.

Pudge quickly assessed his surroundings, spotting the flicker of movement in the smoke. He thrust his dagger forward, hoping to catch the dwarf’s torso. He misjudged the height, however, and the dagger ended up impaled in an eye socket instead. The dwarf took a step back and spun around before falling to the ground with a thud.

Instead of retrieving the dagger from the dwarf’s skull, Pudge instead grabbed the dagger in his fallen foe’s hand. He turned, crouching low, ready for the next enemy, but the room had gone silent. The smoke around him began to swirl, and then it was pulled away, sucked into Henrick’s outstretched hand.

“You got two,” Henrick noted. “Not bad. Maybe those muscles aren’t just for show.”

Pudge looked over at Jakko, who was dead on the ground, his corpse barely recognizable. His body lay in a twisted position; his skin was pallid and ashen. Another dwarven corpse was situated behind him in the same state.

“You slipped up,” the boy said to his elder companion. “You used my real name.”

“I did not!” the older man insisted. “Your ears must have deceived you.”

“Don’t worry, Marvin. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Hey!” Marvin exclaimed. “Just because you think I used your real name doesn’t mean you get to throw mine around. I’m going to go take care of the other dwarf. You look around and see if you can find any notes about any other buyers, or, if we are lucky, anything on Grimstone.”

“He hadn’t seen Grimstone in many years,” Trey said.

Marvin glanced over at him. “Huh.”

“And he never actually tested the Mindguards,” the boy informed him, “but he fully believed they worked.”

“It’s a pity we had to end their operation,” Marvin said with a smirk. “It would have been entertaining to see someone attack the Grand Oracle, believing themselves to be impervious to the influences of mind magic. A pity indeed.”

“How did Grumpy not hear the fight?” Trey inquired. “We weren’t exactly quiet.”

Marvin pointed over to the table, where a green candle remained lit despite all the commotion that had occurred a few moments before. “A muffling candle – ironically lit by the dwarves to prevent extra noise from escaping the room. I’m going to go take care of ‘Grumpy.’ Make yourself useful. I’ll be back soon and we can take care of the mess with dark magic. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long. I want to get some sleep before I have to teach class tomorrow.”

Marvin left the room, leaving Trey alone with four dead dwarves. “Windrake should be fun,” the boy muttered to himself.