Fool's Errand (29 page)

As the remaining Durgak berserkers and Adami troopers pursued and hacked down the fleeing goblinoids, Melizar closed in on the fallen body of the Cyrian knight. Goldain had just wrenched his sword from the chest of the Cyrian when Melizar ripped the gloves off his hands, revealing his bluish-black skin beneath and dove upon the fallen form of Garan.

Melizar mumbled and chanted a
kashaph
spell as he straddled the chest of the fallen Cyrian while spreading his hands wide and plunging his dark fingers and thumbs into the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth of the dead Xyer Garan.

Gideon awoke not far from the site of Goldain’s victory, and he, the northerner, and the young rogue, Thatcher, looked on in perplexed amazement as their mage companion swayed in a some kind of trance as he sat upon the fallen form of Xyer Garan. Still somewhat delirious from his wounds, he thought this was the strangest dream he had ever had.

Winding down these darkened stairs always reminds me of my uncle’s wine cellar. Those were great times growing up his estate. It has been a long time since I really felt like I belonged somewhere. There won’t be any sweet, buxom servant girls waiting at the bottom of these stairs though, just a fat, balding jailor and hopefully two prison rats that might be of some use to me.

“Hey, Marut, get your fat, lazy carcass out here now.”

Scrambling in his usual disheveled and overly-nervous manner, that useless swine tumbles out of his room, smoothing his filthy garments as though that somehow makes him more presentable.

“L...l...Lord Garan, h...h...how may I help you.”

That pig always stutters like that. I wonder if he really has a speech impediment or if he just trips over his tongue in fright whenever I am around. I kind of hope it is the latter. That thought appeals to me.

“I hear you have a couple of prisoners that might be of some use to me. Story is that you’ve got a deadbeat spellsinger down here rotting away and nobody else cares enough about him to pay his debts on his behalf. Also, you’ve got a tavern owner awaiting execution for poisoning some gangsters that were trying to extort him for protection money. Is that right?”

I wish he would stop sweating and twitching like that when I am trying to talk to him. It makes me want to smack him senseless. But then I would never get what I came for and be able to get out of this stinking rat hole.

“Uh, y...y...yes, Lord Garan, th...th...that is correct. The b...b...bard is in the second cell on the left, b...b...but the murderer is in the h...h...hole.”

“Well, you have two minutes to get them both here in front of me. I want to talk to them. If I like what they have to say, then you will release them to my custody, and you will be relieved of any responsibility for them by my authority. If not, then you will have a bit of a mess to clean up after I leave.”

I guess I will sit in the guardroom and wait. Guards won’t be back from dinner for an hour or so. By that time, I plan to be long gone.

Ah, that little porklet moves faster than I had thought. Unholy blazes, I hope that skinny one is the poisoner, because if not, then that is the ugliest singer I have ever seen. I would pay him to put a hood on if I saw him singing in the street.

“This is the bard, Rarib.”

Oh well, he’s got to sing better than he looks.

“And this disgusting-looking fellow is the taverneer, Podam.”

Wow, these two look pathetic. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“So, murderer, I hear you have an affinity for special ingredients, which your patrons find less than palatable.”

Hmm, that half-smirk tells me this guy isn’t at all sorry about what he has done. Maybe he at least might be of some use.

“I have a proposition for you, fatso. You come with me on a mission and do everything I tell you, which may include a repeat performance of what landed you here in the first place. You do that, and at the end of our little adventure together, I will personally ensure a pardon from Princess Tarynna herself, as this mission is of utmost importance to Cyria. Of course if you think this may be too dangerous or unsavory a business for you, I can have Marut return you to your cell, and in three days you can keep your appointment with the hangman.”

“Well,” says the pudgy innkeeper with a conniving smile, “as much fun as your second option sounds, I am afraid the hangman will have to find another date. I am happy to be of service to my country.”

“Yeah, I figured you for the patriotic sort. Well, now, how about you, bag-o-bones? You know you are the ugliest bard I have ever seen.”

“Is my state not sorry enough?” squeaks the homely spellsinger. “Must you add unkind words to my burdens, my lord?”

“It’s no wonder you can’t make a dime. It must be hard for folks to sympathize with you if you keep scaring their children with that face of yours.”

Oh, and now with the sad, hurt look. This guy gets any more pathetic, I am going to vomit. Well at least, I will be one for two on this trip.

“Listen, let’s do a little audition, spellsinger. Show me a voice half as ugly as your mug, and I will spare you a slow death by ending you right here. Let me hear a song with some power worthy of saving, and I will make you the same offer as our patriotic friend here.”

This bard is absolutely a paradox. How can something so ugly make a sound so beautiful? I can feel my heart pounding with the power of his song. Whatever he looks like, this singer has some serious koach in that scrawny body.

“Enough, enough. It is fortunate that your song and your face don’t match. So what will it be, songbird? You feeling patriotic all of a sudden too?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, or how someone like me could assist a great lord like yourself, but if given a chance to sing for my freedom, I would gladly do so.”

“Fear not, scarecrow, your debts will be cleared from the estate of Xyer Garan, Lord of Westfield Manor. I will promise you one thing, however, if you fail in what is asked of you, or if you do not live up to what is expected, you will never see Cyria again. Your life has been granted you at my word, but it can easily be taken from you by my sword.

“Fine, Marut, I will take these two prisoners off your hands. If anyone gives you any guff about them going missing, just say Xyer Garan took them for target practice.”

A gray, shadowy blur surrounds the edges of vision. The scene before Melizar’s eyes fades to black. Such is the way of the soul-see spell, but this time it seems different.

Usually, concentrating on the question in your mind while bonding with the recently departed would render visions of a series of memories related to the question at hand. Every time before, when he had done this with Adami slaves, there had been pleasant, glowing transitions between memories up until the shining
Meorah,
or luminary spirits, would come and whisk the memories beyond the reach of the bond.

This time, though, the transition was not pleasant. A feeling of paranoia and anxiety filled Melizar as this first memory faded from view. He could also almost hear guttural growls and terrible shrieks in the distance. He was still wondering why this time was so different as the second memory faded into focus.

Well, armor off and sword aside for this evening, I guess the time has come to contact that manipulative mage. Of course the mystic is going to need to know what happened at the meeting and about the Parynlander, Gideon, and his band of fools. They are likely going to be trouble.

This silver-ringed glass disc was given to me as a tool for communication, but it almost feels like a leash.

“Kalama orpus, rengo marimos.”

I have no idea what those words mean, but they are what connects this disc to the mystic’s disc. The glass is shimmering in its usual blue glow. I guess it still works. Doutbless I am going to get some guff about being out of contact for so long, but so be it. There in front of me in the glass is the image of a figure cloaked in blue with glowing azure eyes shining from the shadow-filled cowl, which hide completely the face of the mage.

“What have you to report?”

As rude and direct as ever I see.

“All is going according to your plan. The shields you had planted with the raiders pointed to Parynland just as you said they would. I told the council I found similar shields. I slaughtered the patrol I was leading with the help of some of the goblinoids you have aligned with, but they didn’t seem to realize I was on their side, so I killed them too.”

“You idiot! Thossse are our pawnsss in thisss game, and every one you kill weakensss our forcccesss in the coming conflict. Ussse your head for sssomething besssidesss a helmet ssstand and don’t let me hear of you ssslaughtering any more alliesss.”

I hate that stupid hissing accent. Sounds like some kind of reptiloid freak.

“Look, they were ugly, and I wasn’t in the mood for ugly. You want to keep your wretched beastlings alive, then keep them away from me, that’s all I got to say. I’ll kill who I need to kill, but once that’s done, I will get rid of anything too ugly to live.”

“Your impertinenccce is an exxxcccentricccity I grow weary of tolerating.”

“Yeah, well it ain’t changing anytime soon, so get used to it. Anyway, you wanted me to raise suspicion of Parynland’s involvement, and this idiot pig of a mayor most assuredly suspects someone in Parynland is involved. I did my job. The council reconvenes tomorrow and will likely send some armed force to intercept the ambushers.”

“Whatever it takesss, you mussst be a part of that forccce if you cannot disssuade them from sssending one. Delay the action whatever way you can, but ssshould it proccceed, you mussst make sssure you are a part of the sssent forcccesss.”

“How exactly do you expect me to do that?”

“Do whatever you can to sssabotage the action along the way, but be careful not to get caught. Ssshould it come to an armed conflict, ussse sssurprissse to take out the ssstrongest warrior and then make yourssself ussseful in whatever other way posssible. I will make sssure we have ample troopsss at our disssposal to ensssure a victory.”