From his vantage point, Berek watched Renard as he left Gilliam's tent and strode, rather smug, towards his own pavilion. The fighter kept himself busy sharpening his sword, watching the man with a sardonic smile. Renard would most likely be trying to learn what Berek's plans were, or to turn his uncle against him, or both. Such a shame his master wasn't as adept at manipulation as he believed. Berek knew his uncle well enough that he was certain he'd try to save the young man's soul. Too bad, he thought, that Renard couldn't understand the importance of such things in people's lives.
Berek's own beliefs were strengthened when Gilliam left his tent shortly afterwards. With a smile, the young fighter sheathed his sword and inspected the knife he kept in his boot for emergencies. Satisfied both were sharp enough, he put the dagger back and slid from his perch in a tree just above the stalls along Main Street. He left the tent city an hour earlier so he and Gilliam wouldn't be seen leaving together, though he was sure it was a useless precaution as Renard's pet Fech had to be somewhere watching them. At least, he saw the Nursk Brothers leave twenty minutes earlier to set up their ambush. He toyed with the idea of ambushing them instead, but quickly dismissed it. Even at his best, and with surprise on his side, he wouldn't survive. At least this way, he knew they were out there waiting for him, allowing him to prepare for what was to come. Those thoughts finished working through his mind as he landed, with perfect timing, in front of his uncle. A second's hesitation and they would've collided.
Berek's sudden appearance was nearly his last as Gilliam's mace missed his head by inches, and that was only due to Gilliam recognizing his nephew in time. "Damn it! What in blazes do you think you're doing?
Gilliam's agitation was apparent while he reshouldered his mace and smoothed his robes, but his red face only deepened. In response, Berek shrugged, "Just wanted to make sure you're not distracted."
"Not distracted?" Gilliam eyed his nephew with a look capable of killing. "Cause me to have a heart attack and I'll show you a distraction!" After a moment, he realized there had to be a reason for his nephew's action. It could only be two things: either he wasn't ready or he hoped Gilliam's strike would've... No, he refused to finish his thought, deciding instead on the alternative. "You know something."
The only hint he was right came as a subtle nod from Berek, a motion causing the cleric to thank Fallor for his reflexes. "I saw the Nursk Brothers leave a while back. They'll have an ambush in place for me once we're beyond the market place."
Without a wasted motion or hint of what he was doing, Berek started walking towards the market place. Gilliam hurried to catch up, his robes proving to be a hindrance to speed or stealth. "Wouldn't it be wiser to remain here, then?" As soon as he asked, Gilliam feared the answer.
"Renard came to see you. What do you think?" Berek spoke without a pause in his step.
Gilliam's heart fell into a bottomless pit. "It'd be safe for the night."
Berek nodded. "But tomorrow, their weapons will be coated in poison or some other scheme of his. Better to meet my fate than wait for it."
Gilliam remained silent as they continued on their way. It wasn't until a voice hailed them towards the end of the market place that they paused. "Nice night for an ambush." The cleric tried to see the voice's owner, but all he could make out was the occasional red glowing ember.
"Nice and cool tonight. Been out long, Galin?" Berek recognized the Dwarven smith's voice. On more than a few occasions, the fighter brought his damaged armor or weapons to him to be repaired or traded. Over the years, the two had developed a friendship.
The Dwarf chuckled, sitting forward and allowing the light from the moon to light his face, more for the cleric's benefit than Berek's. "Not too long. Nice night for a smoke."
"And an ambush?" Gilliam asked, then swallowed hard at seeing the Dwarf nod.
"About twenty minutes ago. They were trying to sneak out, but between the smell and noise you couldn't miss them." Galin chuckled at the memory.
Berek nodded. Gilliam thought they were being too casual about the situation, but before he could say anything Galin emptied his pipe and placed it in an inner pocket of his vest. "Begging your forgiveness, but they are better armed than you."
Berek couldn't help but chuckle. "Better weapons never won out over a better man, last I checked."
Galin nodded. "But it makes it a bit easier, lad." He stood to his full four feet, stretched, then picked up his hammer. "We best get moving, then."
Try as he might, Gilliam couldn't believe his eyes; it seemed they had picked up another member. His surprise doubled when Berek spoke. "We?"
Galin shrugged. "Humans are ten to a copper piece, good ones are ten to a silver piece, and--"
"Friends are worth a hundred gold pieces." Gilliam finished the proverb.
Galin looked at him a moment before shrugging. "I was going to say customers, but we can go with that." His eyes sparkled. It was one of the rare moments he showed his emotions in front of humans.
Berek understood and clapped the Dwarf on his shoulder. "Welcome to our band."
"What about your shop?" Gilliam never saw anyone walk away from their livelihood so easily.
Galin shrugged again. "Nothing there. Sent the others home with the money after everything sold. Besides," he tossed his hammer in the air and caught it; an action the cleric was sure would've taken his own arm off, "a little fun keeps one young, lad." Without another word, two fighters and an astounded cleric continued on their way out of Renard's camp.
*****
"Finished!" Viola couldn't believe her elation at completing her punishment. She laid the quill down and rubbed her sore hand. In front of her, lecotah was written two hundred times on a piece of parchment. To her surprise, the last hundred glowed; the last of them written were the brightest of all. Most important, she could feel the magic swell in her like a rising tide. She had learned the spell!
Mern glanced at the parchment and smiled. "You take instruction well." He set it aside. "I hope you understand the importance of every detail, child."
Viola nodded. "Yes, thank you, Master. But there's something I still don't understand... how, or why, do I feel like this." Words escaped her when she tried to describe the feeling of power and ecstasy that threatened to overwhelm her when she studied and used the magic.
Mern smiled at her, knowing what caused her struggle. "It's something all magic users feel when they work their art. Each of us are vessels of incredible power the likes of which only the Gods had known at one time. It's nothing to fear, but remember, you must control the magic. If you allow it to control you, then your death will be horrible."
Viola nodded. She had heard the same thing many times at the magic school, but until then, she had never truly understood how much meaning master Poumous' words held. She felt the power surge before, but nothing like it was just then. Now that she felt the power flowing inside of her, she wanted more. Mern saw the hunger in Viola's eyes, realizing what he started. "As you know, you'll grow physically weaker after each spell. The higher difficulty the spell, the more strength it'll consume and the longer you'll need to recover." He paused a moment before continuing, "I tell you this, not to insult you, but to caution you. For ambitious mages such as yourself, the temptation to learn faster and use more powerful magic is only natural. But if you cast a spell far beyond your abilities it won't work, but sometimes magic has a will of its own. It may allow you to cast the spell, but it would mean your death and a tortured existence after that."
Mern paused long enough to let his lecture be absorbed. When he was certain it had, he continued by handing over a scroll case with thirty scrolls in it. Viola's eyes widened, then turned to her master. In answer, Mern nodded. "These are yours; they are all in the range of your abilities. Copy them into your spell book without altering them. It will take you a month, most likely two, to master all of these. Once you do, you will be tested. Understood? Good. That's all for this evening. You've done well so far, child. I trust you won't disappoint me."
Without seeing or witnessing a word or motion, Viola found herself back in the hallway, her arms full with the scroll set given to her. "Thank you, Master, you won't be disappointed." Excited, she made her way down the hall to her room. Wanting to get started with her studies, she barely remembered Janessa and their agreement. If there was a treasure to be found, she couldn't back out now, despite her feelings.
Viola put the scrolls in her room and was sure to seal them in an enchanted trunk she used to store her magical items. Thus far, her collection was lacking but it was growing, thanks to her master's contribution. Thinking it strange that she hadn't heard from Janessa for so many hours, she paused at the door after making sure everything was secure. She was concerned, but it wasn't the first time her friend went her own way when she had an interest in a man. Viola wasn't sure if she'd ever understand the Halfling. Living life so free was something she could never see herself doing. Viola had an idea where to look for her. Stang was a stable boy, after all.
*****
Grateful the other stable boys had their fair share of the work to do, Janessa closed the door to the stable boy's quarters and made her way through the hallway, finishing the adjustments to her shirt. Not a bad day, she thought. She had been intent on asserting herself and being more aggressive towards Stang, since being coy was her strong point. Janessa couldn't stop smiling; she'd gotten everything she wanted out of him. A creature enslaved to her passions, Janessa learned long ago to yield to them.
Now, she had business to complete. She was certain where the emergency entrance to the caves would be found, and as much as she appreciated her time with a man, the promise of gold proved to be far more alluring. If that handsome fighter hadn't lied, then they'd all be able to retire. If he tried to betray them, well, she hadn't planned for that. He seemed honest enough, and if the rumors about the various beasts and guardians charged with protecting the treasure were true, then he and his friend would be needed and welcomed. She had to admit that she doubted anything but vermin were in the tunnels after all those years. People made up the most interesting stories when they didn't want something searched.
Janessa wondered if Viola had heard those same stories when she turned a corner and ran into her — literally. The collision knocked both to the floor, causing both to offer their apologies to one another. Once they recognized each other's voice, they burst into laughter.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Viola was the first to speak. "I was looking for you."
Janessa held her sides against the pain of her laughter. "Looks like you found me." The two began laughing again, and that time, it lasted for several minutes. The laughter had a cleansing effect on them both, and for a time, all worries were forgotten and any fears as to what they would find in the tunnels disappeared.
Once their laughter faded, both friends got to their feet, each helping the other. Now in a more dignified position, Viola brushed out her robe as best she could. "How'd it go with Stang?"
Janessa flushed; she'd almost forgotten about him in the turmoil. "Good," she said, nodding with a shrug, "couldn't have gone any better." Seeing Viola's expression go from one of interest to shock, Janessa changed the topic. She often forgot how easily the young mage was embarrassed. "I think I found the entrance to the tunnels. Everyone I've talked to believes it's in the northeast corner, in the old Peasant's View."
Peasant's View was one of the oldest and least desirable sections of Hope. Long before the walls were built, the city of Hope existed as a small section of the kingdom of Gilmore. The ruler of the land, Baron Vlas, had a large, fortified tower built in what became the center of the city, where he lived comfortably on the backs of his people. Always one to overestimate his own wealth, he entertained his visitors on the large balcony near the top of the tower. From there, they could look down on the forty or so peasants working in the fields, leading to it eventually becoming known as Peasant's View.
Loathing their lord, but helpless to do anything, the people continued to work under the supervision of the baron's men. For nearly two decades, they had worked and suffered under his heavy hand, and some say his belt, until King Gilmore died in his sleep at a hundred years old. With the passing of the King, the region destabilized and the lords of the various lands fought among themselves for the right to take the throne. Gilmore never took a wife, leaving the land without any heirs and causing chaos to erupt throughout the countryside.
During that time, when the lords were at their most vulnerable, Baron Vlas' people rose against him. Led by a charismatic young leader named Beren Fleush, the peasants took the guard's weapons and attacked the tower. After a two week siege, the doors of the tower were broken in and the tower was burned to the ground. Baron Vlas was captured and hung from a tree in the center of Peasant's View. Under the guidance of Beren Fleush, the people began working on the wall to protect them from the other lords. During that time, another nobleman seeking a peaceful end to the constant warring, approached them. He had already quelled several parts of the former kingdom of Gilmore, and offered them the opportunity to govern themselves, provided they flew his standard and came when he called. Long weeks of discussion ended with Fleush and the villagers agreeing to the terms given them by the nobleman.
Once more, they had a lord in Prince Duncan, but unlike his predecessor, he allowed them to grow and gave them protection with mild taxes. By the time the Reign of Duncan came to an end and another power struggle began, the city of Hope sat secure behind a wall with a large garrison and could sustain itself. It remained one of the few survivors from the Dark Times; how it had never been razed to the ground is still in question. Many believe the spirit of Baron Vlas remains in Peasant's View and that he does in death what he couldn't do in life — protect what was his.
The story made its way through Viola's mind when Janessa mentioned the name. "Peasant's View? Are you sure?"
Janessa smiled. "That's what everyone says." She leaned in close, her smile changed to one of mischief. "You're not scared of ghosts, are you?"
Viola flushed, but her embarrassment changed to one of anger, though it wasn't genuine. "No, not at all. Besides, it's only a story."
After watching her for a moment, Janessa didn't believe her. "Uh huh. Then why is it abandoned and always cold? What better place to hide the entrance?" Her logic seemed sound; perception was far more important than truth in most cases. People believed what they wanted to, plain and simple.
Viola's anger turned real, but only to a point. She hated being scared, and Janessa knew it. Serve her right if I turn her into a frog, Viola thought. The idea, however brief, did have some merit to it. "If it's there. Have you checked to make sure?"
That time Janessa's expression changed while she chewed her lip. "No, but that doesn't mean anything."
Viola smiled. She took a small victory in the exchange. "You'll be happy to know I've mastered a locator spell." She shrugged. "So when you're wrong, I'll find it."
"What do you mean, 'when I'm wrong?' I have as much chance of being right as that spell of yours." Janessa glared at her.
Not wanting to get pulled into one of her friend's bets, Viola shrugged, turning on her heel. "We'll see."
Janessa followed her towards the stairs. "We will. Now, hurry up or we'll be late in meeting them."
Viola's smile broadened. She loved her friend dearly, but oh, it would feel so good to prove her wrong.