Fool's Errand (11 page)

Whatever tension previously occupying the room burst like a bubble, and the company erupted in a series of toasts, shoulder-claps, and smiles save for the undiscernible expression on the covered face of their companion wizard. Soon, however, the pressing business at hand resurfaced when Thatcher inquired of Melizar.

“Master Melizar, you whispered something to me during the council meeting. Was this for my ears, or is this something you would share with the group and further elaborate on?”

“Young Thatcher,” Melizar replied, “it was something I planned to discuss with all. After Xyer Garan’s persistent attempts to goad our captain into battle right in the city council room, I thought that this man’s veracity required verification. I availed myself of a bit of
kashaph
in the form of a
veritas
spell. This useful bit of thaumaturgy allows me to see the words coming from the speaker as colors. True statements look blue, while falsehoods appear red. Half-truths manifest in various shades of purple. While I only inspected the end of Garan’s report, his statement about the ambush and end of his company was deep violet, indicating more lie than truth. Whatever he is hiding, his report, or at least its conclusion, was mere verisimilitude.”

“Mel,” Goldain said, “I know wizards have to be really smart and all, but for the sake of us poor warriors, might you try using some simpler words? We ain’t all as finely instructed as you are, my brother. But if I guess right, you are saying the big guy was full of deer droppings eh?”

Smiles stretched across the faces of the rest of the group.

“Yes, my large friend. Your instincts are as sharp as your sword even if your wits are somewhat more obtuse. Garan was lying.”

The glint in the Qarahni’s eyes during this exchange went unnoticed by those not trained to detect such subtlety, but Thatcher could clearly penetrate Goldain’s feigned ignorance. The Qarahni prince had a few secrets and a not-so-obvious cloak of his own that he wore proudly. Thatcher suspected this affectation by the northerner was to ensure any prospective opponents would underestimate the barbarian and thus give him an edge in any conflict. Thatcher would never make that mistake. His respect for his large companion continued to grow.

“So,” Duncan added, “this power of yours doesn’t tell you
what
he was lying about, just that he was lying. I didn’t need to use any
oth
to know something was wrong with that giant
,”
he said, referencing the divine power counterpart to
kashaph
.
Oth,
unlike
kashaph
, could not be learned and was granted solely at the discretion of the One Lord to priests serving the Malakim. “With his size, I would suspect him of being a Nephilim
chats-enash,
save he had none of the features of that accursed race. Nonetheless he is one to keep an eye on.” The others nodded agreement.

As the heroes raised their glasses to toast their successful mission, a knock came at the door. Most present saw nothing out of the ordinary about this, but Thatcher leapt out of his seat into the space behind the door with a single bound, drawing a long dagger in each hand in mid leap. His actions surprised his companions, who also rose and drew weapons in respect for Thatcher’s concern. Exchanging confused looks with the rest of the group, Goldain issued a whispered inquiry.

“What’s up, kid?”

“There should be no knock. These are guild rooms, and Mok would never allow someone to come here and disturb our meeting.”

After a brief moment, Goldain nodded and replied. “But, kid, if it was someone meaning trouble for us, I doubt they would have been polite enough to warn us with a knock, right?”

Thatcher considered the logic, and after a moment relaxed his pose but kept his weapons in hand and held his place behind where the door would open. Gideon sheathed his sword, but readied his shield on his left arm, approaching and unbolting the door.

As Gideon opened the door, ready for a quick backward leap to draw his sword should the visitor prove less than benign, he saw a strange, raggedly-dressed, lone figure standing outside. It looked like a V’rassi-Adami
chats-enash,
more commonly known as V’Adami. The elven races generally referred to half-bloods by a
V
and adding the name of the other parent race separated by an apostrophe.

This V’Adami, dressed in leather armor with a longsword at his side, stood with his hands empty, open and slightly outstretched, showing he was unarmed and non-hostile. The V’rassi were a high-elven race, most of whom lived in the Ketarynne Forest north of Paryn’s Gate. They were servants of the One Lord and Azadriel, the leader of the Malakim. Gideon knew the race well as his family, as well as many noble families of Parynland, had a degree of V’rassi blood in their bloodlines. Marriages between Parynlanders and the Ketarynne V’rassi were common, and relations between Parynland and the Ketarynne elves were solid. This young man looked like no V’Adami any of them, save Thatcher, had seen before.

The young
chats-enash
had the sides of his head shaved skin-close, leaving only a single, wide raised strip of hair down the center of his head. The V’rassi of Ketarynne were mostly fair-skinned and fair-haired, but this
chats-enash
had jet-black hair. His face, arms, and the area of his upper chest visible above his leather jerkin were heavily tattooed with thin, bluish lines, swirling, twirling and spanning every visible part of his well-tanned skin.

His features and pointed ears clearly marked him as some manner of elf, but his markings and skin tone more resembled the sailors from the islands off the southwestern coast of Ya-Erets. These men were called the Somamu, a branch race of Adami, and were great fishermen and whalers but even more renowned warriors. They occasionally brought ships as far north as Parynland trading fish, whale oil, and wood or bone handicrafts for the metalwork of the Parynlanders. Likely, one of this young man’s parents was Somamu.

The youth spoke in a solemn monotone and with forced effort to converse in heavily accented Adami. Despite Thatcher hiding behind the door, the
chats-enash
addressed the young rogue by name.

“Thatcher, Magar wants see you. You back one day, no check in. Magar also say bring guild share of booty from journey.”

Thatcher, with an indignant look and raised voice leapt from behind the door with daggers still in his hands.

“Thannos, you know better than to disturb the guild rooms during a council. And what I make on guild business inside the walls of Aton-Ri rightly is subject to guild share, but what I earned on this journey was neither guild business nor within the bounds of Aton-Ri, so by all rights, it is mine to keep.”

The others, not sure exactly what the proper protocol for rogues was and seeing Thatcher doing all right defending himself, chose to merely observe unless things got physical, at which point they would defend their companion.

“No tell me, tell Magar. Me no care. Just messenger, but boss say I no leave without you. You come now.”

The half-blood clearly did not intend to allow them to continue their discussion. They all looked to Thatcher to see his reaction to the ultimatum from his guild leader. Thatcher flushed red, whether from embarrassment at being summoned like a child or anger at being so defaced in front of his new companions, only Thatcher knew. After a few seconds of obvious consternation, he addressed his cohorts.

“Good fellows, I need to sort this right away. Don’t worry. I will see you all in the morning at the assembly. I will also make sure Mok knows you all are not to be disturbed again, and that your tab is covered. Enjoy yourselves, my friends, and don’t make too merry and miss the council in the morning.”

With that, Thatcher sheathed his daggers and left the room headed for the tavern exit. His strange, tattooed guildmate was right on his heels.

After Thatcher had departed, Goldain looked concerned.

“I hope the kid will be okay. I guess he knows what he is doing. I can’t help but feel we shouldn’t let him go off alone when he obviously is crosswise with some pretty grim types.”

“Don’t worry,” said Duncan placing a comforting hand on the warrior’s back. “The lad has grown up in this world and is better equipped to face it than all of us together. If we had pressed the issue, it likely would have caused the boy more trouble than it would solve. If he needed our aid, he would have asked us for it. We will see him in the morning, and he can tell us all about it.”

“I hope so for the sake of all our consciences,” added Gideon.

They closed the door and polished off the rest of the keg of ale with the lion’s share being poured into Goldain and Duncan. The Durgak gave his huge companion a mug for mug run.

Durgak were beings of stout constitutions and appetites for ale in great disproportion to their stature. Despite the privacy of the room being conducive to deeper conversation, the rest of the evening passed in mostly quiet contemplation of the day’s events and the disposition of their young rogue’s situation. As they left Mok’s tavern and proceeded northward, they were unaware of the shadowy escort provided by Thannos who had returned at the guildmaster’s orders to ensure both the safe exodus of Thatcher’s companions from the southwest quarter as well as confirmation that they were making no unscheduled stops along the way.

Duncan, who himself had not yet secured long term housing in the city, also chose to let a room at the Silver Shamrock. Goldain and Melizar had parted ways near the inn, with Goldain heading north toward the military district and Melizar heading east toward the neighborhood known as the Magisterium. The Magisterium, home to the Mages Guild, housed the majority of the city’s practitioners of
kashaph
arts.

Early the next morning, Duncan and Gideon broke fast in the common room of the Shamrock. Neither had slept well, between the unanswered questions after the council meeting and the sudden, duress-ridden exit of their young rogue. After breakfast, they left the Shamrock headed for the council meeting, hoping to reunite with their compatriots, including Thatcher.

As the pair approached the town hall, Gideon spotted Melizar approaching from the east. Exchanging brief greetings en route, they drew near the entrance to the city hall. Outside the entrance, a messenger wearing an official sash of the city greeted them.

“Captain Gideon, good morning.”

“Good morning to you, squire. What news?”

“Sir, I have been instructed to inform the council attendees that the meeting will be larger than anticipated. Mayor Farnsworth changed the venue to the muster fields of the city guard just north of the Warriors Guild. The start has been delayed one hour to allow everyone sufficient time to arrive.” Gideon thanked the messenger, and the trio proceeded toward the revised meeting place.

The three were among the last to arrive at the muster grounds. Goldain was already there and greeted them with a boisterous bellow that drew looks from all standing nearby. Xyer Garan, Arreya, Captain Tropham, and most of those from the previous day’s meeting were already milling about. Also present were a number of mounted troops from the Aton-Ri standing army and several other rugged-looking mercenary types. Two individuals still conspicuously missing were Mayor Farnsworth and their companion Thatcher.

As Gideon scoured the crowd searching for their young cohort, he spotted Thatcher ambling slowly from the south toward the meeting area. The lad, who usually moved with such grace and control, had a strange stiffness to his gait, sporting a perceptible limp. As Thatcher drew near, Gideon saw the boy’s face riddled with bruises. Below his right eye the young thief sported a nasty gash running down half the height of his cheek.

“Wow, kid!” said Goldain, shaking his head. “It looks like we should have started your fighting lessons a bit sooner. Lesson one is don’t block with your face.”

“Nah, “Thatcher replied through a grin that was more than half grimace, “just a little too much ale. I fell out of bed…repeatedly.”

His appearance testified that things had not gone smoothly with his guild. His diversion of the topic clearly communicated he had no intention of talking about it at this point. Duncan could not resist one final quip.