The Broken Key (02) - Hunter of the Horde Page 6

  “As well as could be expected,” Bart replied. “The death mark is no more thank goodness.”

  Kevik grinned and nodded.

  “But I didn’t really come here to find out about your staff or how you had fared last night,” he admitted. He pulled his pack off and set it on the table before him. Reaching in, he removed the cloak that had been found in the treasure room beneath the Ruins of Algoth. “I think I know what this does but I would like you to do an identification on it if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Kevik took the cloak set it before him. “What is it you think it does?” he asked.

  Bart gazed at him a moment then said, “I think it’s a Cloak of Concealment.”

  “What gave you that idea?” asked Kevik. He was surprised. A Cloak of Concealment was a wondrous thing, very rare indeed.

  “Nothing in particular,” replied Bart.

  Kevik could tell Bart hadn’t told him everything, but he owed Bart for the times he had saved his life since their first meeting. “Very well,” he finally said. “As you know, my spell doesn’t yield a great deal of information.”

  “I understand,” Bart told him. Frankly, if he hadn’t spent all but a few silvers on the death mark, he would have bought a scroll for this instead of coming to him. But, seeing as how he was in the neighborhood and all…

  Kevik settled himself comfortably in the chair then placed a hand over the cloak. All of a sudden, the cloak began to glow blue and he turned inward as the scene played across his mind’s eye:

  His vision was slightly obscured as he watched a man passing by no more than a footin front of him. Then the scene changed…Two men fought. Their swords clanging asblows were blocked. Then one was skewered and fell. Once again the scene shifted and itfelt as if a century or more had passed. He looked up and saw the light go out as achest’s lid closed over him.

  Returning to the here and now, he opened his eyes and the blue glow that had enveloped the cloak faded away. He related to Bart what he had seen in the vision.

  “That first part sounded like it could mean that someone had been hidden in the cloak while another passed by,” Bart said. Taking the cloak, he stood up and placed it around his shoulders. “Once when I had this on, a friend of mine passed by without acknowledging me,” he explained. “Tell me what happens when I put the hood over my head.”

  “As you wish,” Kevik replied.

  Bart backed up to the wall behind him. When he felt his back touch it, he took the hood and placed it over his head.

  Kevik shook his head, “I can still see you.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Bart. “Do you have any idea how something like this would work?”

  “No,” Kevik told him. “I haven’t researched much in the way of enchanted items and their properties. Been too busy with my staff.” He saw how the front of the cloak was open and suggested that Bart pull that closed as well.

  As soon as Bart pulled the front together, the cloak changed and blended into the wall like a chameleon. “Anything?” asked Bart.

  “That did it,” he said. “If I didn’t know you were there, I would never even realize it.

  There is a faint outline, barely discernible to the eye. I doubt if anyone not looking for it would notice.” The cloak had not only disguised itself, but had somehow affected the parts of Bart, such as his legs, feet, and hands that were not covered by the cloak.

  From Bart’s point of view, nothing’s changed. He could still see himself well enough.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Kevik grinned. “Oh yes,” he replied. “It worked beautifully. That cloak would be worth a fortune to the right person. Want me to try so you can see what it looks like?” Bart opened the cloak back up and the effect vanished. “Yes, if you don’t mind?” He removed the cloak and handed it over to Kevik.

  Coming from the table, Kevik took the cloak and set it around his shoulders. He placed the hood over his head and brought together the front just as he had seen Bart do.

  “How’s this?” he asked.

  “No change,” Bart said. “I can still see you.”

  Kevik tried pulling the hood further over his face and worked to get as much of the cloak’s front together as he could, but still the effect didn’t materialize. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bart said. Then he came forward and retrieved his cloak. Once again, he donned it with the hood over his head. As soon as he pulled the front together, he disappeared.

  “You’re gone again,” Kevik told him.

  “Interesting,” Bart said.

  Kevik pointed to the small adjoining room with his bed and said, “I have a mirror in there if you want to see for yourself.” He was able to keep an eye on the outline surrounding Bart for half a second before losing him. Then he heard Bart’s voice coming from the other room. “It worked!” He was about ready to join him in the other room when Bart suddenly materialized in the doorway as he removed the cloak.

  “This is fantastic!” he exclaimed.

  “Should come in handy for someone in your profession,” Kevik observed.

  Bart nodded. “Thank you for your help,” he said. Once the cloak was off, he put it in the bottom of his pack under the other items he was carrying.

  “Certainly,” Kevik said. “Would you care to stay for awhile?”

  “Sorry,” Bart said. “There’s some information I need to dig up in town that Riyan needs. Be back later.”

  “Plenty of room in the estate,” Kevik said. “And it’s for free. May as well stay in the same room you did when we first arrived here.”

  “I’ll do that,” he replied. “Won’t be back until late.” Kevik nodded as he started to escort him back down to the door.

  “Why do you suppose it didn’t work for you?” Bart asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Maybe it’s keyed to work for only specific types of people.”

  “You mean thieves and such?” questioned Bart.

  “I’ve come across passages in old tomes that I’ve been researching for my staff which mentioned situations like that,” he explained. “Sometimes an item is commissioned not by an individual but by a Guild. So if the Thieves Guild were to commission a cloak such as the one you’re carrying, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t want it to fall in the hands of another Guild.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Bart said. “I don’t really care though so long as it works for me.” They arrived at the ground floor and Kevik opened the door for him. Outside, the sun had gone down but the sky wasn’t completely dark yet. “Be careful,” he said as Bart passed through the door.

  “Try not to stay cooped up in your tower all the time,” responded Bart.

  Kevik laughed, they said their goodbyes, and then he shut the door as Bart began heading back to Gilbeth.

  Chapter Four

  _______________________

  Two days later, another of the runners came to them just after their punishment drill and told them they had a visitor. After donning their swords, they went and found Bart waiting for them in the foyer.

  He watched them approach and could see their sweat drenched bodies. “Towel off or something next time,” he said as they sat down opposite him. “You look a sight.” They looked at each other as if for the first time and realized just how bad their appearance was. Then they glanced around and noticed several disapproving stares directed at them for appearing in the foyer that way. There was no specific rule about dress in the foyer, but obviously they were expected to have a suitable amount of decorum when there. After all, this was where outsiders and Guild members visited with each other.

  “You two aren’t going to get into trouble again are you?” Bart asked.

  “Lord I hope not,” Chad replied.

  Riyan did his best to ignore the glances that came their way and asked, “So, did you find out anything about Stryntner?”

  “Actually yes,” he replied. “Seems he’s got this thing for young men…” Riyan’s f
ace blanched as Bart trailed off.

  Then Bart suddenly laughed aloud and said, “Just kidding. He prefers women, he was married after all.”

  Chad joined in the laughter at Riyan’s expense. “Very funny,” he said, not smiling at all.

  “Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Bart said before getting his amusement under control.

  “I did find out something though.”

  “What?” Riyan asked.

  “He has a fascination with history,” he explained. “Probably why he’s in charge of the Archives.”

  “How is that going to help?” asked Riyan.

  Bart glanced around and produced a rather aged looking tome and handed it over to him. “This should do it,” he said.

  Riyan took the tome and glanced at it. The cover was leather and cracked with age.

  He opened it and very carefully flipped through the pages but couldn’t understand the writing. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Something Allar had in that library under Kevik’s workshop,” replied Bart. He called the third floor of Kevik’s tower his workshop seeing as how he spends so much time there ‘working’ on his staff. “Kevik said it detailed the history of some clan or other and didn’t mind parting with it. Especially after I explained to him what I needed it for.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a try,” Riyan said. “Tomorrow during the noon meal.” They usually were given an hour break after they ate so they wouldn’t get a cramp or pull anything while their bodies digested their food.

  “I’ll come back in two days to see if it went alright,” he told them.

  “What are you planning on doing in the meantime?” Chad asked.

  He moved his head closer to Riyan and Chad. Lowering his voice, he said, “Just south of here in Kemmet is where the buyer of the coins lives. I’m going to try and find him.”

  “Good luck,” Riyan said.

  “You too,” Bart said. Then he stood up. “Better get cleaned up.” Riyan grinned. “Planned on it,” he replied. “See you in two days.”

  “In two days,” Bart said. With a quick nod, he turned and headed for the door. Riyan and Chad left for their barrack even before he had left the building.

  “Think this is going to work?” Chad asked, referring to the book Riyan was carrying.

  “I hope so,” he replied. “Not sure what else we could do.” When they returned to their barrack, Riyan put the book in the chest at the foot of his bed and they each gathered a change of clothes. Then after a short stint in the communal baths that the Guild has, they went to the mess for a quick meal. Another hour was spent talking with their fellows after they finished eating, then it was to bed.

  The next day just after finishing his noon meal, Riyan hurried to his barrack and retrieved the tome he received from Bart the day before. Carrying it with him, he went up to the third floor of the Guild where the Archives was located.

  He had been thinking about this moment ever since Bart gave him the aged tome.

  How was he to start the conversation? How could he ask to look through the tomes and manuscripts located within? He still hadn’t come up with a good strategy by the time he reached the third floor and came to the door behind which lay the Guild Archives.

  Riyan took a deep breath to settle himself then went up to the door and knocked. He stood in front of the door in silence for several minutes and began thinking that maybe Stryntner wasn’t within. He reached up his hand and was about to knock again when the door opened.

  “Yes?” Stryntner asked when he pulled open the door and saw Riyan standing there.

  Riyan was speechless with nervousness. His tongue dried up and he forgot what he was going to say.

  “You got something to say boy?” the old man asked him. Then he noticed the tome in his hand and his mood subtly changed. “What do you have there?” He looked in curiosity at the tome.

  “I…ahem.” He cleared his throat then said, “I understand you have an interest in the history of things.”

  Stryntner just stood there. His gaze had moved from the book and was looking Riyan over.

  “I wanted to offer this to you,” he said. Raising the hand holding the tome, he held it out.

  “Just like that?” Stryntner asked. “You are going to simply hand it to me?” His eyes narrowed as he grew suspicious.

  Riyan nodded. “I too have an interest in such things,” he told him. “I was wondering if perhaps you needed someone to help you out? Organizing, moving things, that sort of things.”

  “Can you read?” Stryntner asked.

  Riyan began to relax as it seemed the man wasn’t immediately going to send him away. He nodded. “I can read,” he replied. “My village had a school of sorts. We all learned the basics in letters and numbers.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured. “You’re a Recruit aren’t you?”

  “Yes sir,” he answered. “My name is Riyan Beronson from the village of Quillim.”

  “Quillim you say?” he asked. Then he got a far off look as if he wasn’t really there for a moment. Then coming back to himself, his eyes once again focused on him. “Ever heard of Rythor the Fierce?”

  Riyan shook his head negatively.

  “He came from your village, years ago I think it was.” Then he nodded. “Yes, I believe he did. Brave man, but stupid. He thought that since he had won many battles that he was invulnerable. A black dragon killed him when he tried raiding its hoard.”

  “I never heard that,” commented Riyan.

  “Hmm?” Stryntner asked as if he forgot what Riyan was referring to. “Oh yes, right.” He reached out and took hold of the tome Riyan still held out to him. Opening it up, he scanned its pages and then looked back to Riyan. “Can you read this?” he asked.

  Riyan shook his head. “No. I am not familiar with the language.”

  “Not surprising,” Stryntner said. Closing the book, he tucked it under his left arm and said, “Thank you very much.” Then he turned, reentered the Archives and closed the door.

  Riyan stood there shocked at the sudden closing of the door. After a moment he brought his hand up to the door and almost knocked. He paused with his hand several inches away, then lowered his hand in indecision. A full minute he stood there, vacillating between whether to leave or knock on the door. Finally, he turned and left to return downstairs. At the landing of the stairs, he paused and glanced back to the Archives’ door. He felt a little put out that Stryntner didn’t accept him as some sort of helper. Shrugging to himself, he went downstairs.

  He found Chad relaxing in their room as they still had ten minutes left before they were required to return to the courtyard and resume their drills.

  “And?” Chad asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. He explained to Chad what happened and how the old man just up and closed the door on him.

  “He sounds like an odd sort of fellow,” Chad commented when he was through.

  “That he was,” agreed Riyan. They talked about it for several minutes. Then when the time for their drills to resume drew nigh, they hustled out to the courtyard for another session of sword technique instruction. That was the one thing they both liked the best.

  They could do without the sessions with the fat-uglies.

  It was midafternoon when Bart arrived in Kemmet. It had once bordered the Ki’ Gyrx Forest off to the east, but extensive foresting over the past decade had pushed its fringe back a mile or so. It was still one of the largest forests in Byrdlon and had a rather unpleasant history.

  Kemmet itself was still a small town, barely more than a village really. Its main export was lumber, both raw timber and the more manageable planks for construction.

  There were two master woodworkers who have taken up residence in town, and on the outskirts was a charcoal manufacturer who turned timber into charcoal that smiths used in their forges.

  The place Thyrr spoke of where he could find Durik was supposed to lie on the southern side of town. It was an estate a mile or so out in the hills. Th
yrr also said he could often be found at The Dunderdells, a local tavern where he would spend time drinking and socializing. Bart had decided to stay at the inn and await the coming of night to see if Durik would show at the tavern. If so, he could approach him then.

  There was but one inn and it was a rather plain two story structure with a sign depicting a solitary tree standing upon a hill. He pulled up to the post outside and dismounted. Securing his horse, he went through the front door and procured a room for himself and a stall for his horse.

  Behind the counter where he made the arrangements, he was surprised to see four of the coins bearing the King’s symbol nailed to the wall. “What are those?” he asked the proprietress.

  “You’ve never seen the coins of the King before?” she asked.

  He shook his head no.

  “They say there’s a cache of them somewhere that’s supposed to hold a king’s ransom,” she told him.

  “Do you mean the King’s Horde?” he asked in a manner that spoke of bewilderment and awe.

  She flashed him a grin and nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “If you’re interested in such things, you might try over at The Dunderdells an hour or so after dark. Durik at times shows up there. He’s the one who gave me these.”

  “He gave them to you?” asked Bart. “From my understanding, they are rare and worth a lot.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. They are a conversation starter though.” Then she handed him his key.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said then returned out front to where his horse was tied. He walked him around to the stable in the back and found the stable boy who helped him get his horse settled in. Once his horse was taken care of, he took his pack and went up to his room where he waited for night to come. Lying on his bed, he thought about what approach to use in wheedling any information out of Durik that he could. He didn’t want to let on that he was more than someone with idle curiosity.

  By the time it had grown dark, he had somewhat of a plan worked out. He then went down to the inn’s common room and had dinner. It was roasted venison with a side of spicy tubers and bread. The clientele was the usual sort one would find at an inn. Bart spent the duration of his meal quietly contemplating the different people there. When he was done, he got up, left a couple coppers on the table for the serving girl and headed over to The Dunderdells.