The Dwarven Sorcerer

The Dwarven Sorcerer Ch 26

. . .

"Killing a wizard is not murder, it is the path to Asgardr," Mordin read from The Wizard's Hammer. He had gathered his most trusted inquisitors, twelve in all, one for each of the gods. Including Kargan, Girti, and Grundi. By paying homage to them in this way, Mordin knew that the gods would show favour in their journey. It was more than enough to hunt down and capture one missing wizard. "Only through purifying the land of magic can one hope to find true and everlasting glory from the gods." He closed his book and looked at the dwarves waiting for his command. "Come, glory awaits." he led them through the Red Gate.

Mordin didn't fully trust Grundi but he knew their quarry, which made him an asset. Henrik Krammsson had written: when hunting a wizard any tool can be used as a weapon; if a tool cannot be trusted, one must break off the cursed pieces until only the righteous remain. Mordin had no problem in breaking off what was useless.

They travelled quickly, only stopping when they had to, and they travelled light, taking with them only what was needed: weapons, dried food, sleeping rolls, and a few other lightweight essentials. They moved through the day, stopping only in the evening to eat and rest. The bloody wizard had over a week's head start on them and they had no idea where he was going. They had a lot of distance to make up.

They all wore the scarlet cloaks and runic armour; they were on official business after all. They arrived at Zwergberg on the evening of the second day. Many dwarves travel through the town regularly so finding just one would be nearly impossible. It was like trying to find a needle in a pile of needles.

"Boss," said Kargan. "I've got an idea." Mordin nodded. "Some fat dwarf left caves a while back and opened an inn on the edge of town, near the road. The wizard might have gone there, something familiar and all; maybe someone saw him leave that way. At least we'd know if we're on the right path. Worth checking it out, eh?"

Mordin thought of it for a moment. "Aye, let's go ask a few questions."

The people cleared out of the way as the stern-looking armed dwarves moved through the streets with determination. It didn't take them long to find the inn.

The inn fell silent as the inquisitors stepped into the common room. The change of mood was instantaneous; all cheer was ripped out the moment they closed the door behind them. Some of the customers left coins on their tables before quickly finding an exit.

Fat Throm looked up from behind his bar, "be with you in a —" he stopped when he saw the scarlet cloaks. "Oh bugger me," he said.

Mordin moved with slow determination across the room, people and dwarves clearing out of his way, as he stopped in front of Fat Throm.

"Get out," said the albino in a soft voice. The rest of the common room cleared in a hurry, many of them forgetting to pay in their haste. Mordin said nothing for a long time, even after the last customer left; he let his red eyes burrow into the fat dwarf. Fat Throm's cheeks quivered and his brow dotted with sweat under the albino's gaze.

"About a week ago, two dwarves came to your inn," said Mordin, his soft voice boomed in the empty room.

"Lots of dwarves come through here," started Fat Throm but stopped when he saw a flash of irritation on the albino's face.

"You'll remember these two," continued Mordin calmly as if Fat Thom didn't interrupt him. "They would have said they was hunting, maybe even had muskets with them." Mordin saw the recognition in the fat dwarf's eyes. "I just want to know where the younger of the two went, is all"

Fat Throm shook his head. "I don't know. He left in the middle of the night. I didn't see him leave, yeah?"

Mordin leaned in closer, holding the fat dwarf's gaze.