B01DCAV4W2 (S) (3 page)

They arrived in front of the two guarded shacks.  The buildings were nothing to take pride in.  They were really just planks driven into the ground vertically, with more planks nailed horizontally to keep them together.  The roof was comprised of even more planks nailed together and topped with a coating of tar.  There was at least an inch of space sometimes between the joints.  The prisoners could at least enjoy a well ventilated space.  Probably hadn’t made the rain too much fun, though. 

Richter stopped walking and Randolphus motioned to one of the guards.  He lifted a simple wooden crossbar and opened the door.  A well-built man was in the process of standing up from a pile of damp straw that must be serving as a bed.  The sky was still overcast and the inside of the wooden box was draped in shadow.  Richter cast
Simple Light
, and a ball of came to hover above his head.  It was a benign spell like the name implied, but his casting served two purposes.  It allowed them all to see and it specifically allowed the prisoner to see that he was dealing with a caster.  The magic he could command, coupled with Richter’s armor and weapons might throw the Warrior off of his game, and make him think twice about making a move.  If the man was discomforted at all though, he didn’t show it.  I need to take the initiative, Richter thought to himself. 

“So you’re one of the guys that was sent to kill me, huh?  How was the trip through the forest?”  Richter put a false sense of cheer in his voice.

The man just stared back.  Even wearing only a pair of simple cloth pants and a basic shirt, the Warrior exuded a sense of menace.  A cruel smile found its way onto the man’s face, and Richter knew that he was looking at a true enemy.  Even if the mercenary had never been hired to come to the Mist Village, Richter knew this Warrior was someone he wouldn’t want standing behind him.  He analyzed the man.

Name: Orvin. Human Level 28. Health 720.  Mana 130.  Stamina 590.  Disposition: Distaste.  Humans are one of the shortest lived, but most prolific breeders in the Land. Humans have a broader affinity for skills than other races. No special bonuses to race. Humans get four points to distribute per level.
 
Profession: Warrior.
 

Keeping his expression cheerful, Richter clapped his hands and said, “Okay then, bye!”  As he was walking out he said to the guards, “No food or water until I say otherwise.  He can suck rain water from his clothes.  If he makes a nuisance of himself, call Yoshi and the other sprites over.  They’ll bind and gag him.”

“What,” the man said in a shocked voice.  “That’s not necessary!”

Not giving the merc any more attention, Richter kept talking to Randolphus.  “Like I said, if he keeps up that noise, gag him.  I’ll be back to speak with him again in the morning after he has had time to wipe that stupid look off of his face.  Now let’s go see the woman.” 

The guards threw the crossbar back onto the door.  Richter heard a kick against the inside of the door, and the shack shuddered.  Richter was in no mood for either games or invaders that wanted to have temper tantrums.  He walked back up to the door and looked through one of the slats.  The mercenary made eye contact and they stared at each other for a long moment.  Richter started speaking in a soft voice, “Listen up shit bird.  I hate rapists.  I hate you in particular, so much, that if you kick that door again, I will burn out your left eye.  You are one taint hair away, from having an eye patch as a permanent fashion accessory.  So go ahead, open that dick hole you call a mouth again.  See what happens.”

Richter kept his voice even the entire time.   Part of him wanted Orvin to challenge him and part of him didn’t.  The part hoping for confrontation was thinking about how the mercenary deserved punishment.  The part of Richter hoping that Orvin stayed quiet, was afraid that he might actually enjoy burning another man alive. 

Whatever Orvin saw in Richter’s eyes convinced the mercenary to back away from the wall and sit down on the damp straw.  Richter watched the Warrior move away, and his own body shuddered slightly with unrealized violence and adrenaline.  He took a deep calming breath before shaking his hands out twice and moving to the other shack.  Randolphus and the other guard stared at their Lord with serious and cautious expressions. 

Richter told the guards to remove the other crossbar.  The ball of light above his head followed him into the room.  What greeted him wasn’t a defiant warrior though.  The inhabitant of this guard shack was a waif of a girl.  She was a blond haired woman of slight stature.  Her brown shirt was too large for her and was cinched with a heavy belt at her waist, leaving the top loose.  He could just make out a simple wooden necklace underneath.  She was wearing brown hide leggings and matching brown moccasins.  The young woman was sitting on her bed of straw looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. 

He thought about what she must be thinking.  She must have seen him through the walls.  He had gone inside of the other shack for barely a minute before coming back out and threatening the man with beatings and food and water deprivation.  Then she saw him threaten to maim a complete stranger just for kicking a wall in frustration.  This all occurred only a few feet away from where she had been huddling down onto her straw pallet, probably hoping that the scary man wouldn’t come over to her shack as well.

Richter immediately softened his expression and went down to one knee.  He analyzed her so he would better know how to address her. 

Name: Natosca. Half-Wood Elf, Half-Human. Level 6.  Health 130.  Mana 110.  Stamina 160.  Racial blends are erratic in their disposition.  They can end up with some or none of any of their parent races characteristics. 

Hmmm, Richter thought.  Natosca was the second hybrid that he had run into.  Maybe Yoshi could relate to her, but he would try first. 

“I apologize for just bursting in here so loudly.  I also apologize for any ill treatment you have received since you were brought in by my hunters.  Have you been mistreated?”

“N-no, my Lord,” she stammered.

“Please,” he said soothingly, “just call me Richter.”  She was still cowering in the far side of the hut, so he lowered himself to ground, looking her in the eyes.  “I heard what the mercenaries have done to you.  I am so sorry.  I want to explain what is going on here.  My village suffered a brutal attack, less than a month ago.  That is why security measures have been so harsh.  I promise that soon we will escort you to the boundaries of the mist and release you.  Is that what you would like?”

She just nodded. 

“Is there anything else that you know about the mercenaries,” he asked her.  “Are there more coming?  Did they discuss the Count’s plans?”

She shook her head and then started shaking more violently, “No, my Lord,” she said in a whisper.  “For the first few days they didn’t say anything, and then after that… After that they would just take me one after another.  Sometimes more than one at once!”  She broke out in sobs that almost broke Richter’s heart.  He half reached out to comfort her, but thought better of it.  She probably didn’t want any part of a man’s touch right now, no matter how well intentioned.  He stood to go, not wanting to bother the poor girl any further. 

“I’m sorry, but you will have to stay under guard until you are escorted out of the village, but I will have some better bedding and blankets brought to you.” 

He was walking out of the door when he heard her ask, “What will happen to the man that I was captured with?”

Richter had already made that decision, so it was not a difficult question to answer.  His voice was dark and heavy with meaning, “You won’t need to worry about him again.”

The door closed and the crossbar was put back in place.  He heard her crying softly inside of the hovel, and he hoped that they were tears of relief. 

CHAPTER 2

Richter looked around.  When he had first come back to the village, dawn was just breaking.  His villagers had still been mostly asleep, but now the village had awoken and everyone was moving around.  Word of his return seemed to spread like wildfire.  More and more of his villagers came to greet him, some laughing, some cheering, but all decided to barrage him with questions.  After five minutes, he could barely hear himself think.  A gruff voice came to his rescue.

“Get back, get back ya vultures!  Let the man breathe!  He didn’t fight through monsters for the past two weeks just to fight through you turkeys.  Get back afore I knock ya into next week!”

Krom, the newly appointed and official smith of the Mist Village, elbowed his squat and powerful body through the crowd.  “I’m sorry about all of this yer Lordship,” the dwarf said loudly.  “It seems everybody in this village has forgot they have jobs to do!”  He looked around fiercely and most of the villagers backed away, cowed by the gruff blacksmith.  Soon only Krom, Randolphus and a gnome were still around.  Richter looked around for Terrod, but didn’t see him.  It wasn’t overly surprising.  The love of Terrod’s life was still recovering from an emotional trauma.  Since the growth of the Quickening, she had been spending time beneath its boughs.  Terrod said it was helping her to relax and hopefully heal.  He was probably up there with her, in the meadow just north of the village. 

The gnome wasted no time speaking.  “Lord Richter.  I know that you planned to use the Magic Core to make a Forge, but that is a large mistake in my opinion!  The Core should instead be used to make a Philosopher’s Crucible.  We would be able to make the most powerful potions and powders in the River Peninsula.  Perhaps one day, in the entire Land!”

Taken aback by the impassioned speech coming from the gnome, who Richter only vaguely remembered and recognized, he asked what seemed to be the most logical question, “Who are you again?”

The wind seemed to be taken out the gnome’s sails as his shoulders slumped.  Before he could answer, Krom interjected, “It don’t matter who he is, yer Lordship, and it don’t matter what you think, Beyan.  I done told you fifty times over the past few weeks, if I told ya once!  The Lord here has decided to make a Magic Forge!”

Richter opened his mouth to add to the conversation, but Krom spoke up first.  “And more than that!  If his Lordship wasn’t going to make a Magic Forge, he wouldn’t waste a Magic Core on what is basically just a fancy way to make wine!”  The dwarf started muttering to himself, “Probably couldn’t even make a decent ale with that cauldron thing, so what good is all yer potions and magicky elixirs?”  His voice rose again as he clapped Richter on the shoulder.  “You tell him your Lordship!”

Richter opened his mouth to speak a second time, but again Krom started on a ranting discourse that focused on the foolishness of gnomes who couldn’t even be trusted to grow a beard.  Beyan wasn’t some shrinking violet, though.  He was puffing up his chest with the clear intent to start shouting down the dwarf, when Richter decided he had had enough.  If he was being honest with himself, watching the two short men, one bespectacled and portly, the other muscle bound and bearded about to come to blows, Richter just wanted to shout, ‘Cripple Fight!!!’  The only reason he had let Krom’s tirade last as long as it had, was because in his mind he was trying to figure out which of them would say, ‘Tim-maaae.’ 

It was time to get back to business though, and overbearing or not, Krom had a point.  He put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, curving both slightly and whistled sharply.  The gnome and dwarf looked up at him surprised, seemingly having forgotten that he was even present.  “Enough!  Beyan, Krom is right.  The production of quality arms and armor for our village is the primary concern.  We must be able to defend ourselves.”  Seeing the gnome’s crestfallen look, Richter decided to throw him a bone.  “I am interested in this… Philosopher’s Cauldron, I believe you called it.  Jot down the important points and get it to Randolphus here.  He and I will discuss the idea and will decide its merit.”

Beyan opened his mouth to protest again, most likely to argue that once the Magic Core was used, then there wouldn’t be any point to talking about the Cauldron anymore.  Richter just held up his hand to forestall the argument and told the gnome to have faith.  Looking over, Richter saw Krom with an overly smug expression on his face.  Seeing that smarmy grin, Richter couldn’t help responding to that as well.  “And Krom, I’ll thank you to let me speak for myself.  If you are so obsessed with what I have to say, then you can give up your position as village smith and become my secretary!”  Richter raised his voice to a yell at the end.  Not because he was actually angry mind you, but because Krom seemed to respond better to it. 

With a pull on his beard, a chastised Krom bowed his head slightly, “Of course yer Lordship!  Didn’t mean to speak on your behalf.”

Feeling that everything was right with the world again, Richter looked to Beyan one more time, “Please find me after the evening meal.   I believe you are our most senior potion maker, and I will need your help with a project.” 

Beyan nodded his head in near pantomime of Krom, but then corrected Richter, “Er, alchemist, my Lord.”