After that, he reluctantly took his leave, returning to Raven’s Bluff in a Norwood coach as the afternoon gave way to evening. He enjoyed a quiet supper, gave the day’s correspondence a passing glance, and retired at nine bells-he was expected at the Smoke Wyrm early.
The next day the weather reverted to a typical Ravenaar spring, with blustery winds and light showers that threatened to linger all day. Jack arose shortly after dawn and dressed himself with great care. Instead of the elegant tunics and fine capes he’d favored since coming into money, he pulled on a quilted leather jerkin sewn with small steel rings and a long, hooded cloak. He sheathed one dagger in his right boot and another at his right hip, while hanging his fine rapier in a plain wood-and-leather scabbard on his left. He slung a roomy pack over his shoulder, and set out while the cool shadows of morning were still long and dark in the streets.
He found the cellar door of the Smoke Wyrm unlocked, and let himself in with a sharp rap on the lintel. “Hello,” he called.
Tharzon appeared in the hallway, leaning heavily on his cane. “Ah, there you are, Jack,” he said. “I was afraid you’d sleep away half the day before remembering your work this morning. Well, come on in, you’re the last to arrive.”
Jack followed Tharzon into the common room. Kurzen stood by one table, checking a large pack of his own; he wore a coat of worn, blackened steel scales, and a kite-shaped shield was strapped over his shoulder. By the large stone hearth a tall, burly half-orc in a hauberk of chainmail fiddled with the straps of the iron greaves on his shins, while a halfling woman with russet hair tied back in a braid worked on a large dagger with a whetstone. A lean human with long, shaggy braids of red hair and a W-shaped patch of red stubble on his chin sat in a chair by the window. He wore the robes of a mage and smoked a long clay pipe while nursing a mug of steaming tea.
“The company’s complete,” Tharzon announced. “It seems some introductions are in order. Kurzen you all know, of course. Jack, these three are the remaining members of the Blue Wyvern Company. The tall fellow in the mail is Narm; he’s a stout hand in a fight. Next to him, the young lady with the knife is Arlith. And the fellow by the window is Halamar, who’s known as a master of fire magic.” The old dwarf pointed to the half-orc, halfling, and mage as he named them. “Wyverns, this is Jack Ravenwild, a very resourceful thief and sorcerer back in his day. You might have heard some talk of Lady Norwood’s rescue from enslavement in the dark elf realm below Sarbreen; he was the man responsible for that. Today’s work is Jack’s scheme.”
Narm looked Jack up and down and shrugged. “Right, then. What’s the prize today?”
“A book of spells named the Sarkonagael,” Jack answered. “There is a hefty reward offered for its recovery; we’re going to retrieve it from Sarbreen.”
“You know where the Sarkonagael is?” Arlith asked. “Half the sellswords and freebooters in this town have been turning the place upside down looking for it. Five thousand crowns is a handsome pile of coin.”
“Ah, but unlike all those other amateurs, I’ve actually seen the book before. I know what I am looking for.”
“What sort of spells does the book contain?” the sorcerer Halamar asked from his seat by the window.
“Shadow magic, mostly,” Jack answered. “I have no objection to your professional interest and I’ll be happy to let you have a look, but the disposition of the book is not negotiable; I keep it. Well, at least until I am ready to turn it in for the reward.”
Halamar took a draw on his pipe. “If it’s really full of nothing but shadow magic, then it’s not of much interest to me. As good Tharzon observed, most of my magic is in fire.”
“Now for the terms,” Jack said. “It’s my job, so I claim half the reward. The rest you can split four ways-” Tharzon cleared his throat, so Jack amended his split-“er, five ways, because Tharzon of course is owed a share as expediter. That makes five hundred crowns for each of you. And I’ve got good reason to think there’s more to find down there. Whatever else we find besides the Sarkonagael, we’ll divide into six equal shares, one for each of us and one for Tharzon. Is that agreeable to all?”
“It seems a little optimistic to divide loot we don’t have yet,” Narm muttered.
“In my experience, leaving these things to the last leads to hard words and hurt feelings. Better to set reasonable expectations right at the start, I believe.”
“Full shares for survivors and kin if one of us doesn’t come back?” Arlith asked. She gave Jack a small smile. “In my experience, we don’t want to give anyone a reason to think about improving their cut.”
“Fair enough,” Jack decided. He had no intention of engaging in any such dealings, but it was good to know that she didn’t, either, and that sort of understanding might serve as a check on anyone who did harbor such designs.
The halfling nodded. “Then I agree to the terms.”
“I agree,” Narm said. “And I,” Halamar added.
“Agreed,” said Kurzen. The younger dwarf looked around at the company, then back to Jack. “Have you got everything you need?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jack answered. “Where’s the nearest entrance to Sarbreen?”
Kurzen pointed at a doorway behind the bar. “Right here.”
“That seems a little dangerous, keeping a door to a monster-filled dungeon in your place of business,” Jack remarked.
Kurzen motioned for the small band to follow him, and then led the way into the Smoke Wyrm’s storeroom. Dozens of kegs of ale lined the walls; there were no other exits. Jack was just about to speak again when Kurzen grasped a stack of kegs and pulled it clear of the wall. Instead of toppling over, the whole stack slid together on hidden rollers, revealing a very sturdy-looking door of iron plate secured by heavy bars and padlocks. The dwarf undid the mechanisms one by one, until he pushed the door open, revealing a dark corridor. Water gurgled in the darkness beyond, and a strong whiff of dank air filled the room. “Not the dungeon,” the dwarf barkeep replied. “The city sewers. It’s handy to have a way to get in and out of the Smoke Wyrm without being seen, after all. We’ll find passageways leading down to Sarbreen proper just a little ways in.”
“Charming,” Jack muttered. “A stroll in the sewers to begin the day. Well, lead on.”
Kurzen simply turned right and set off at once. Halamar whispered a word of magic, and a dim golden light began to shine from his staff, illuminating the tunnel. A dry walkway ran along the right-hand side of the sewer, which now ran fast and relatively clear with the runoff from the morning’s rain. Jack glanced once behind him; Tharzon gave him a nod, then pulled the hidden door closed. It blended perfectly with the brickwork of the tunnel. The company marched perhaps two blocks under the city streets until they came to a doorway off the sewer. Several steps up led to a dry chamber of strikingly different stonework. On the opposite wall, a wide, shallow staircase descended into darkness beneath an archway flanked by the carven images of two dwarf smiths.
“This was one of the old guardrooms of Sarbreen,” Kurzen explained. “The stair was one of the city’s main entrances.”
“Wouldn’t the sewer flood it?” Arlith asked.
Kurzen snorted. “My forefathers knew what they were about. You’re standing on the roof of Sarbreen; of course it’s designed to shed water away from the living spaces below. When the humans came along later and laid out their city above old Sarbreen, they used these channels as their city’s sewer system.”
The dwarf barkeep advanced to the archway and peered down the stairs beyond for a moment, then gave the rest of the party a nod and started down. The passage was wide enough for four people to walk abreast, its walls decorated with long, continuous friezes showing scenes of dwarves engaged in all sorts of trades and work. They went on for the better part of a hundred yards until they finally emerged in a wide hall marked by towering columns. A great fountain stood in the center of the hall, but its waters were black and stagnant. Rubble, debris, and dust littered the floor.