Wielder of the Flame (31 page)

Marc stood and drew the blade. The usual golden glow lit up
the sword and the camp.

“Never in my life did I think I would see such a thing.”
Cydas drew near to see the blade.

Marc did not offer it to him, nor did the man ask to hold
it, but seemed content to merely study it with his eyes. Since his experience
in Kolima he felt a closer connection to the blade and did not wish to just
hand it to whoever requested it.

“It is truly a remarkable work of craftsmanship,” Cydas
said, “But you are young, and need proper training with it for it to be more
than just a pretty magical thing.”

“Topar was teaching us swordplay,” Zildjin said from where
he sat by the campfire, “We got to mounted combat.”

“It guides me,” Marc said, “helps me know how to move in a
fight. Well, at least sometimes it does.”

“There are many legends about the sword,” Cydas offered,
“You will learn quickly with it to be sure, but you still have to learn. Show
me what you have learned so far, and I will do my best to instruct you further.
It is something we should do every night and morning before travel.”

Marc nodded.

“Well then, let us begin,” Cydas drew his own blade.

Whiteholt was a town almost large
enough to be called a city.

Found near the center of Independent Dominion it was
surrounded on one side by mountains and on the other by woods. The trees
nearest the town had white bark that had given the place its name. A fairly
sizable manor overlooked the town. From the manor the streets and buildings
could be seen to be laid out in a clear and consistent order near the middle
and generally losing coherence near the edges where several buildings had been
built next to the other as the populace needed.

Drake and Puck looked down on the town, grateful to be close
to civilization once again.

They had slept many nights on the road, under the stars,
since they spent what little coin they had on food rather than lodging. Drake
kept mostly to himself, which Puck did not mind, as it had given him a lot of
time to think to himself. Drake was a good companion to have though. After his
rest at their house he hardly seemed to tire, usually staying up to take watch.
Puck also did not mind this. Drake’s pace on the road was swift and
unrelenting, crossing distances from town to town in half the time it would
usually take. Puck went the extra mile physically to keep up, and he considered
himself to be in good shape. Every night he would eat whatever food they had,
experiment with shifting the quarterstaff into different forms, and then
quickly fall asleep from exhaustion. But he liked being pushed, he liked the
challenge, and he was also a bit prideful and didn’t want Drake to see him as
weak. Whatever Drake could do,
he
could do, he was sure of it. He
continued to use the quarterstaff  in its original form, it made for a great
walking stick. And when it wasn’t in use, or for nights, he reduced the
artifact to a metal wristband for easier carrying and for safekeeping.

After leaving Essoril they had traveled to all the nearby
villages and towns in the area. They had asked about travelers, journeymen who
seemed normal at first glance but when looked at more closely they would be
hiding something, their skin painted to look darker, they would struggle with
the common tongue, having thick Alborcium accents. They had had no luck at
first until finally they had met with a traveling merchant who, for the right
price, claimed to have seen just the kind of people they were looking for less
than a fortnight past. The merchant had specifically said, “Yes, I found it
odd, because they were dealing with Bloodcloaks, and I will tell you now, it is
a Refoveo day frozen over when you see Bloodcloaks this far down in Biarlin.”

The merchant told them he had last seen them heading to
Whiteholt. With no other leads, and quickly losing an already cold trail they
took a chance on the merchant’s word and began the journey to the large town.

Puck thought back to the other night on the road.

“We are at a severe disadvantage.”

“Say again?”

The firelight danced across the young man’s features,
bathing him in flickering light and dark. His eyes had an unnatural brightness
to them, especially in a night so dark. Puck found himself tired once again,
but Drake seemed wide awake as usual. Puck shifted his artifact from a dagger
back into a metal wristband and placed it around his arm, done for the night.

“These men are seeking your father, using you and your
family to weed him out if necessary.”

“I know,”

“It is sure to get around that two young men are asking
around as to the presence of these men. They will most likely hear of it before
we find them, and the element of surprise will no longer be on our side.”

Puck shrugged, “I do not know of any other way to go about
doing this. I must discover who is behind it all. My father said that the man
responsible for the hunt had already passed on and yet they hunt still.”

The crackling fire filled the silence.

“It could be the man’s son,” Drake offered.

“I did think of that,” Puck admitted, nodding.

More silence.

“What will you do when you meet up with them?”

“I do not know,” Puck said.

It was lie. Puck knew exactly what he was going to do. He
would allow himself to be captured. It was the only way to ensure he would make
it back to the leader behind it all. It had been his plan all along. He had not
said anything because he knew no one would have agreed to it. And he wasn’t
sure if Drake would go along with it if he knew also.

“What do you
think
you will do?” Drake prodded.

Puck thought for a moment, trying to make up a suitable
response without revealing his true plan. “I will find out why they are seeking
us out and tell them to stop.”

“What if they refuse to listen?”

“Then I will make them stop.”

This seemed to satisfy Drake because he only nodded.

“I will take watch,” he said then, standing up.

Puck nodded without saying anything. He did not have the
energy to stand guard anyway. He fell asleep holding on to the dark crystal
pendant his sister had given him.

It was the most words they had
exchanged in the last few days.

 They spent most of the day going from shop to shop and from
one Inn common room to the other asking about those that they were seeking. No
one seemed to have noticed a group like they described passing through
Whiteholt.

“I am beginning to think that merchant purposefully led us
astray,” Puck said after the double doors of yet another inn shut behind them.

“To what end, though?” Drake replied, his voice ever an even
tone.

Puck shrugged, not knowing how to answer.

“It is getting dark,” Drake said, matter-of-factly.

“I do not wish to spend another night on the ground, under
the stars. I have a little coin left, let us use it for a room with two beds to
rest.”

Drake nodded.

“We can continue the search tomorrow, perhaps find some work
to earn a days wages.”

Drake nodded again.

Puck withdrew his coin purse and turned it upside down in
his hand, the last few coins he owned fell into his palm.

“Best find a cheap room,” Drake said, looking at the coin.

This time Puck nodded in agreement.

The Majestic Guardian belied the
actual conditions and accommodations of the Inn, but its prices fell right in
line with the money Drake and Puck had.

The building sagged tiredly, leaning against the two
structures next to it as if without such support it would quickly topple. It
was dark but still warm. The glow of the lamps and windows from the Inn did not
feel too welcoming however. They were in a poor part of the town, a cramped and
dirty part. A heaviness hung in the air, a feeling of caution. Puck did not
know if it was just his own thoughts getting the better of him or not, but he
had a dark premonition of what was to come if they went inside.

The thought of a bed that was softer than hard ground urged
him forward. He imagined his head on a soft pillow and pushed away the negative
feelings. 

Inside, the cramped quarters of the common room was
overfilled with raucous laughter and drunken brawls over petty or even imagined
things.

It was a room filled with dangerous, armed men, mercenaries
looking for a cheap drink and a cheap bed whilst on their travels. Puck was
surprised to see a rovaar standing guard as they entered. The tall furry
creature looked over the room. Puck had heard of them but had never seen one
pass through his hometown, and since he had never really traveled out of Essoril
he had never had the chance to, until now. Now seeing one in person Puck
understood why they made good bodyguards. The rovaar was tall, broad
shouldered, and heavily muscled, more so than even the strongest patrons there.
It had thick golden fur and a great golden-colored mane flowing over its
shoulders.

A fist fight nearby was escalating and one of the combatants
drew a blade. The Rovaar quickly stomped over and with one powerful blow,
knocked the blade wielding man out cold. A cheer and a round of applause broke
out around the rovaar but the large creature simply returned to his post,
without recognizing the applause.

Looking around the room was making Puck realize just how
young he was and how dangerous and difficult his task really would be. He began
to understand his Mother’s apprehension of him leaving the house.

But there was one fact that brought him comfort and
confidence. He had something over every tall, strong, fierce-looking fighter
present.

His ability to wield magic.

He was counting on this fact for his plan to succeed.

Puck went up to the bar seeking the Innkeeper. After a
moment or two the bartender finally came around to them.

“What are you two little whelps doing around here this time
of night?”

The bartender was a large man, stocky shoulders, brown eyes,
long mangy dark brown hair hanging over his shoulders.

Puck bartered for a meal, two drinks, and a room with two
beds. They had only two small coins leftover afterwards.

They took the food and drinks up to their room, wanting to avoid
the noisy crowd downstairs.

The room was very small with only a single bed. They laid
out some extra bedding and Drake said he would take the floor, Puck did not
argue. A small table and a single chair and a small dresser filled up the rest
of the small room. Puck sat on the bed to eat. Drake sat at the table. A few
candles drooped in their holders atop the table, providing light for the room.

They ate in silence.

Puck thought of how he was to go about things. He needed
Drake to sleep so he could slip away and give himself up to the Bloodcloaks.
After hearing what Drake could do he did not want him and his two blades to
intervene on his plan.

Puck finished his meal and came out of his thoughts.

He looked over at Drake and knew immediately that something
was wrong.

The young man had his fists clenched tightly and he was
shaking.

“Drake?” Puck asked tentatively.

Drake trembled a bit more.

“Drake?” Puck asked again, a bit louder.

Drake mumbled and his fist flew sideways, knocking over his
cup.

It clattered to the floor, empty.

“What is going on?” Puck stood up quickly, spilling his near
empty plate of food on the floor. He reached for his traveling companion.

Drake suddenly slumped against the table with a thump.

Puck remained where he was, unsure of what to do.

His eyes drifted to the cup.
Poison?

He quickly realized he had drained his own cup.

He clutched his own throat and waited for the effects of the
poison to take him.

A moment or two passed.

But no, nothing happened.

He let out a breath of relief and lowered his arms.

He crossed the small space and put his hands on Drake’s
shoulders.

“Drake,” he whispered, “Drake?”

The young fighter was out cold, but still breathing.

Puck raised one of his eyebrows.

All his swordsmanship and he cannot hold his own against
a pint of ale.

 Puck grinned and shook his head.

Then he realized it was the perfect opportunity to leave and
act on his plan.

He carefully lifted his friend from the chair and laid him
on the bed.

Puck double checked to make sure he was still breathing, and
then quietly left the room.

He walked down the stairs, passing a few tough looking men
on the way, and entered the common room once more. The noise had died down
somewhat as patrons began to retire to their rooms for the night.

Puck realized he was still thirsty and pinched the two last
coins in his pocket between his fingers. He nodded and made the decision to
have one last drink with the money.

He was sipping something smooth and slightly tangy when a
man sat down next to him.

He looked to be in his mid-thirtieth cycle, a head taller
than Puck, very lean and fit. He had blue eyes, short brown hair and an angular
face. He sported a carefully trimmed goatee, and was dressed in modest dark
grey and deep red garments cut for a man more of high stature than a traveler
or mercenary. He had a broadsword strapped to his belt.

Puck eyed him suspiciously, his hand inching towards his
sword.

The man saw the action and slightly raised his hands to show
he did not want any trouble.

“My name is Jaeic, Rashath of Ironwald,” he said.

Puck felt a flare of anger swell up inside him. He wanted to
punch the man in the face for all the hurt he and the others hunters had caused
him and his friends and family. But he did not want to start a fight right
there at the bar.

“I will be honest with you,” Jaeic continued, “I am tired of
all the difficulty searching for your family has caused me, and my comrades
agree. Krynn Remos has wasted too many resources on this silly chase of his.
But I cannot return to my home without something to show for the effort
expended. That is why I have come here to talk to you face to face, see if we
can work something out.”

“You kidnapped my mother and my sister, and killed my
closest friend’s mother, give me one good reason not to draw my sword, finish
you off here and now.”

“I understand,” Jaeic said, “You have every right to be
angry, but your anger is misplaced. The Albrocan mercenaries disobeyed our
orders, no one was to be killed. They are no longer with us in any case. After
they saw the carnage your friend is capable of they decided it was not worth
the trouble and left. I was also against the idea my Captain proposed in the
capture of your innocent family members.”

Puck completely disbelieved everything the man was saying,
but continued to listen anyway. He wanted to be captured and it seemed his plan
was going to work out, but he saw no reason to lay all his cards on the table.