The blackguard paced the floor of her new chambers. The personal effects of the previous lord of this castle still lay in disarray around the room. She kicked a dwarf's skull out of her way as she walked.
"Necromancers."
The door opened and a trio of men entered. Two wore black splintmail and helms. Between them was a third man wearing dark blue robes. His head was bare and shaved, his eyes open but unseeing-pearly white orbs that scanned the room but took in nothing. He carried his hands hidden inside his vestments, and his head rolled from side to side as he walked escorted by the armored figures.
The group stopped a few feet from the blackguard, and one of the warriors stepped forward.
"Do you have news of the recovery effort?" she asked.
"We do, Mistress," he said.
"Go on."
The man straightened himself as best he could, inhaled deeply, then said, "The mission is a failure. The bottle has been stolen and both the wizard and his umber hulks have been slain."
The blackguard screeched. Her sword whipped from its sheath and rang as it sliced through the man's armor. Blood sprayed across the floor where the body tumbled down.
The blackguard turned to the remaining armored man. "Is this true?"
The other warrior stepped forward without hesitation. "Yes, Mistress."
"And you, mage," she said, nodding at the robed man, "what do you know of this?"
The bald, sightless man withdrew his hands from his robes. "I know who has the bottle now."
The blackguard lowered her sword. "Show me."
The robed man knelt down and drew several sigils in the dust on the floor. He recited an incantation, and a white globe formed between his outstretched hands. On the surface of the globe pictures formed, and the pictures moved.
The blackguard leaned over and stared into the globe. A pair of fighters took shape-one dwarven, one human.
"Regdar," she said. "Well, well. Perhaps I have found a use for the wizard bitch after all."
1
The duke's estate rested squarely in the middle of an island that split the rushing waters of the River Delnir. Just as the river split the city of New Koratia in two, so did the island split the river. Bridges from both the east and west sides of the city rose over the flowing water to connect the island to the rest of New Koratia.
Night had fallen, and at the very center of the island, the ducal palace was lit up with several hundred torches. A band played on a stage at the middle of the festival. Tables had been set and a feast laid out in the center courtyard. Regdar sat next to Whitman and Tasca-uncomfortable in their shiny, if ineffective, dress uniforms-while they ate their meal.
"Hey, Regdar," said Tasca, looking across the courtyard, "I think you have an admirer."
Regdar looked to the elf "Where?"
Tasca pointed with his chin, and the big fighter followed with his eyes. Near the eastern wall, seated next to the duke, an attractive, young lass smiled.
Regdar forced a smile, then conscientiously focused on his food. "The duke's daughter," he said.
The elf elbowed Regdar in the ribs. "What are you waiting for? Go talk to her."
"I have no interest in talking about the politics of court with a pretentious, royal brat." The big fighter pushed another spoonful of stewed duck into his mouth. "Besides, I'm enjoying the music."
"Leave the poor boy alone," scolded Whitman. "You know Regdar's still blubbering over the one who got away." The old dwarf smiled and downed a big gulp of ale.
Regdar slammed his spoon to the table. "Naull didn't get away', all right? She's dead! Do you get it? Dead." He looked up at the other two and shook his head. "Can't either of you shut up for a few minutes?"
"It was the elf's fault," accused Whitman.
"Why is it my fault?" replied Tasca.
"Because it's always your fault, you overgrown wood sprite," Whitman mumbled.
Tasca turned back to his ale. "At least I'm not a tunneling rodent," he muttered.
"Will you two-" Regdar stopped when he noticed a gnome in ceremonial armor approaching. "Captain Gohem Masters." Regdar stood as he greeted the gnome. "Shouldn't you be guarding the duke?" he said with a grin as he shook the small man's tiny hand.
"From what I hear, you have enough trouble doing your own job, let alone mine, Captain Regdar," replied the gnome. "Besides, I am protecting him." He held up his hand, displaying an unobtrusive but heavy-looking golden ring.
"With expensive jewelry?" teased Regdar.
"Precisely." The gnome smiled. "With this ring I can cast a shield spell on the duke from anywhere. If he's in danger, I can protect him instantly."
"When did you become so fancy?" quipped Whitman.
The gnome stepped over and shook the dwarf's hand. "When I became the head of the duke's elite guard."
"Very fancy indeed," said Tasca, taking another bite of his meal while admiring the ring.
The gnome laughed. "If I didn't know you so well, Tasca, I might have thought I detected a hint of jealousy."
"Ah, you know elves, Gohem," interjected the dwarf. "If they're not looking at themselves in the mirror, they're coveting your coin sack."
"I see you two haven't changed," said the gnome. "If you're done with your meal, Regdar, the duke would like to have a word with you." He turned to Whitman and Tasca as they started getting up. "In private."
Regdar grinned at the other two, then turned to Captain Masters. "Lead the way."
Whitman and Tasca returned to their meals.
The gnome traversed the courtyard, dodging torches, dancing maidens, and drunken merchants. Regdar followed as closely as he could, but Gohem's small stature allowed him a much freer path through the crowd. Near the eastern wall, still seated, Duke Christo Ramas watched them approach.
As they drew closer, the duke waved his hand, and several people standing near him, his daughter included, moved away, leaving only a pair of armed guards in the duke's immediate vicinity.
"Regdar," he said as the two men came into earshot, "how are you enjoying the feast?"
Regdar lowered himself onto one knee and bowed. "As usual, the meat is exquisite, and the ale cool and frothy." He stood and smiled. "Please give my compliments to your chef."
"I'll do that." He turned to Captain Masters and nodded. The gnome made a whistling sound, and the soldiers guarding the duke disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two men alone.
"Please," said the duke, indicating a place at the bench with an open hand, "sit down."
Regdar did as he was told.
The duke took a sip of ale from an ornamental stone mug, then set it on the table with a resounding thud.
"You know, when I was in the military, I used to hate these parties," said the duke.
Regdar was surprised. "Why, my lord?"
"Because those damned dress uniforms are so itchy and stiff," replied the duke. "No matter how much ale I drank, I never got comfortable. I was always glad to take it off at the end of the night."
Both men laughed.
The relaxed demeanor of the duke put Regdar at ease. "May I ask you a question, Duke?"
"Of course."
"The bottle we retrieved. It felt so… unnatural… strange…"
The big fighter fished for the right words. "It was as if it was trying to speak to me," he blurted. He looked to the duke then shrugged. "What is-"
The duke cut him off with a stern look and a shake of his head. "Let's just say, it's important that it stays out of the wrong hands. It's best if we leave it at that."
Regdar nodded, a little irritated at being brushed off.
"Now can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, my lord," Regdar replied.
"Drop the formal crap for now, Regdar." The duke sat up straight. "Tonight we talk like soldiers, fighting men enjoying their ale together." He pushed a mug toward Regdar, who scooped it up.