Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

CHAPTER 6

  An hour and a half after the meeting at Graeak’s tower, Druzeel stood outside the Crying Lady. He had his traveling gear, his dark blue robes, a handful of daggers–each bearing an F in the pommel, standing for The Fount–and a silver staff that Graeak had given him long ago. With but a thought, he could call forth a trio of energy balls to send at his enemies. As long as he kept the staff charged with magic, he could continue to send the energy at his opponents without pause. It was not the most powerful staff he could have taken on his journey but it was one that he made a conscience decision to bring. He needed to show the others that he could be useful without the need for magical artifacts. His personal skills, not some magical trinket, are what he wanted to show them.

  He made sure to get to the Lady long before Dex, just in case the man showed up early. Though he disliked taking orders from Brask, he needed to show them that he could do as instructed and be a cooperative member of the group. Being able to take instruction would show that he wanted to get along, that he wanted to be looked at as one of them. It would be hard, he knew, but it was something he had to do. This journey would not just be about experiencing what the outside world had to offer. It would also serve to develop his social skills and, concerning Brask, teach him patience and tolerance. He knew they would ridicule him and berate him, make fun of his youth and inexperience, but he would take what they gave him to show that he could take it, to show that he was a man and not some fragile school boy. He would use what they sent at him to harden his nerves, build up his tolerance, and make him a better person.

  As time flowed by, as it got closer to the two-hour mark, Druzeel started to feel worried. Had Brask played yet another cruel prank on him? Was this another jab at the young wizard and a way to ditch him? Would they really leave and set off without him? The last few minutes seemed like hours, but true to his word, at exactly two hours since the meeting, Dex appeared down the street, walking towards him.

  “Been here long?” he asked when he reached Druzeel.

  “A few minutes,” Druzeel replied without care. He didn’t want Dex to see his apprehension. He did not want to show any weakness at all, even to the one person he saw as an ally in the group.

  “Good. Come on. Vistalas found our accomplice.”

  “So soon?” Druzeel asked, astonished. He could not believe that the Knights had done in a few hours what the Lances could not do in a day.

  “We are good at what we do,” Dex replied with a sly smile.

  The two walked north, heading toward the outskirts of the city. It was still early in Atlurul but the city was already showing signs of life. Merchants were opening their doors, tavern owners were polishing their goblets, and other citizens were going about their daily business. In just a few hours more, the streets would be abuzz with activity. Groups of Lances walked the streets, eyes open for mischief, but they were mostly relaxed, waiting for the crowds to thicken. Only then would the thieves attempt their trade. It was far easier to pick pockets in a crowd than an empty road.

  Druzeel looked to the horizon and saw Solaris slowly making his way skyward. He bit back a yawn, just now realizing how tired he was. In two days, he didn’t think he had more than four hours of sleep.

  “Tired?” Dex asked, looking back at him.

  “Not at all,” Druzeel lied. No weakness, he told himself.

  To his surprise, Dex stopped suddenly. Druzeel was so out of it that he almost walked right into him.

  “You will get further with all of us if you tell the truth,” he said in an honest tone. He wasn’t lecturing Druzeel, just offering the truth. “One thing we all respect, from anyone, is honesty. If you’re tired, say yes when asked. If sick, let us know. If wounded, don’t keep it to yourself. Keeping secrets, however small, is dangerous and can mean the difference between life and death.”

  “Sorry,” Druzeel said. “I just don’t want you to think I’m weak. I want you, all of you, to know I can hold my own.”

  “None of us think you’re weak,” Dex said. “Even though he’ll never admit it, Brask doesn’t even think you are weak.” That comment brought a surprised look from Druzeel. “If you were weak or couldn’t hold your own, Graeak would have turned you away a long time ago. The fact that you are his apprentice, his star pupil so it seems, says more than you know.”

  Druzeel lowered his head, feeling shame creep into his body. He should have had more confidence in himself. He should trust that people would see his potential, even if he had a hard time seeing it himself. Dex seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

  “Be more confident in yourself,” he said. “Be truthful to us and you will be accepted. Trust me.”

  “I will,” Druzeel said, Dex’s words lifting his spirits. “And I am tired.”

  “I know it,” Dex replied with a smile, walking once more. “You’d be a fool not to be. You’ve had quite the week.”

  The two walked in silence for a few more moments. After Druzeel had dismissed his shame and guilt, he asked Dex about who or what Vistalas had found.

  “His name is Gret,” Dex explained, “and he is a map collector. To no one’s surprise, Vistalas also discovered that he is a former stonemason. Still creates statues, in fact, and sells them to other merchants. His descendants, dating back a few centuries, were masons as well and had actually worked on the building of the city, and its roads. Masons of the past were notorious for keeping detailed maps of every street, building, and tunnel, specifically the sewer systems. Keeping records was the only way new stonemasons did not accidentally destroy the old systems or open up a sinkhole.”

  “And you think he had a map of the area underneath The Fount?”

  “Yes,” Dex replied. “If his descendants were as meticulous as we think, he would have maps dating back to when that tunnel was built. Now we have to find out if he truly was the man that assisted the thief in breaking into the tower.”

  “And if he was,” Druzeel said, “why he would do such a thing?” Dex turned around to look at him, almost coming to a stop again, but not quite.

  “The whys do not matter.”

  “They always matter,” Druzeel responded without thought. Graeak had always taught him to question things, to find out why they happened. It was an important part of being a wizard. If you did not understand why magic worked, why you were able to capture it and shape it to your will, you could not understand magic at all. He could not understand why Dex would not think the reasons behind Gret’s heinous act, if it were out of malice, would be important.

  Dex came to a stop one more. “We are not being paid to find out why,” he said, drawing a surprised look from Druzeel, but he continued before the young wizard could argue. “Our job is to find the thief and return him and your mentor’s belongings. That is all. That is what Graeak has hired us to do. If he wanted to know why, he would have told us to investigate further, but he did not. He said this quest is urgent and the thief is the target. Nothing else matters. Find and return. That is our mission.”

  Druzeel stared at Dex for many moments. Would Graeak truly not care about the motives of any of the thief’s accomplices? Did he even care about why the thief did what he did? Perhaps he would inquire later. Maybe he just wanted to get the items the man had stolen from the tower back. Perhaps he wanted justice first, justice for Vallia. Whatever his mentor’s reasons, he could not believe he did not care about the motives of the assassin and any of his associates.

  “Find and return,” Druzeel said with an agreeable voice. He still refused to believe his mentor would not want to know the reasons for what happen at the tower, but he was not going to argue. He would go along with Dex and the others, for now.

  They continued along the road in silence for another few minutes, passing an ever-growing crowd. Druzeel kept quiet, still trying to fathom why Graeak would not want to know everything from the thief and any of his conspirators. Dex also remained silent, content to leave his young companion to his thoughts. Those thoughts didn’t last long.
They reached their destination a few minutes later.

  They stood on a narrow street with hardly a soul in sight. Small buildings lined each side and many of them appeared in various states of disrepair. Druzeel looked around, not even realizing that they had traveled into a shadier part of the city. There was hardly a place in Atlurul that he did not feel safe, but in every city, there were areas that one tried to avoid. Where he stood now was not bad, but it was a place he usually wouldn’t have traveled. What was a former mason and map collector doing in this part of the city anyway? Had he fallen on bad luck? Perhaps this was the only place he could afford to live.

  Brask and the others stood before him, across from a small wooden building with a crooked roof, a smoking chimney, and windows blocked by thick wooden boards. As he approached, Brask took on an unsatisfied look.

  “Surprised you showed,” he said as Druzeel came to a stop before him.

  “Surprised or disappointed?” Druzeel asked with irritation.

  “What do you think?” Ristil asked as if Druzeel should know the answer. Druzeel just ignored him and turned toward the building. Take initiative, he told himself.

  “The thief’s accomplice is in there?” he asked.

  “Yup,” Jannda replied before either Brask or Ristil could respond to Druzeel with some snide remark. Though she didn’t mind the entertainment, all acts eventually became boring. “And has only just risen, so he should be nice a tired when we question him.”

  “Let’s go,” Brask said, and started toward the door. Before he had taken three steps, Druzeel walked in front of him.

  “May I try first?”

  “What?” Brask said, almost running him over, but he stopped at Druzeel’s question, an amazed look on his face.

  “I want to talk to him first,” Druzeel said. “After all, it was my home he broke into and I was the one who actually confronted the assassin.” Besides actually wanting to question the man, Druzeel thought he could get some more information from the man, information the others would not care about.

  “You’re just as crazy as your teacher,” Ristil said.

  “I say let him,” Jannda said with a smirk, amused at Druzeel’s courage. Or was it stupidity? “Only way he’ll learn.”

  Brask looked at Jannda with an irritated expression. Then he turned to Dex, who wore a smile, but nodded in agreement with their halfling companion. Brask didn’t think Druzeel had a chance and there was danger of him scaring off the mason with stupid questions, but if he failed, it would be a good way to put the annoying young wizard in his rightful place.

  “You really think you got the stones for this?” Brask asked, turning to Druzeel.

  “Yes,” he replied without question.

  “Be my guest,” Brask eventually responded with an amused smile. Druzeel’s face lit up, but the smile was wiped away when Brask told Vistalas to go with him. “I’ll give you a chance, but no way are you doing this without supervision.”

  That last comment sent a surge of irritation through Druzeel. He wasn’t some child! But he let it go. He had his chance and he was not going to waste it, so he turned and walked toward the mason’s shop. When Vistalas did not move, he stopped.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Shortly,” the thief replied. “And when I do come in, don’t talk to me” Druzeel looked at him in confusion, but turned away without a word and walked to the door.

  The building was small but looked to have two levels, the second level being much smaller. The way Jannda spoke suggested that this was both a shop and the man’s home. Druzeel knew of many merchants that made the building they owned both their place of business and their living quarters. It allowed them to save coin and made for a more homely environment. If this was Gret’s home, he didn’t announce it to those outside. The sign above the door said Stones and Shapes and he caught the scent of...clay? Fire? Perhaps he worked with more than just stone. Whatever the smell was, Druzeel opened the door and walked in, wondering what he would find.

  The inside looked like any normal shop, with shelving, display cases, and dozens of small tables set randomly around the room. For this business, those level surfaces were filled with stone figurines, hardened clay statues, and other works of art carved from various substances that Druzeel did not recognize, though they all appeared to be some type of rock. Many of them were quite elaborate and took someone with great skill to craft. Others were fairly simple, but still took some amount of skill to create.

  “May I help you?”

  The voice came from the back of the small building, were a small, older man stood behind a long wooden counter. He looked to be in his fifties, with short graying hair, a pointed nose, and thin spectacles. Druzeel walked toward him, meeting his kind blue eyes.

  “Greetings,” he said as he reached the counter. The man was setting down a small, unfinished statue of a dragon, complete with fanned out wings and a long, horn encrusted tail. The head and body was not yet finished but Druzeel could see them taking form. Various tools sat along the counter yet its surface was clean. It appeared the man did most of his work on that very counter, but had not yet started his work for the day. Jannda was correct in assuming he had just awakened. Druzeel could still see the sleep in his eyes. He also noticed that the man’s muscles were tone and his shoulders carried strength, though a bit diminished by his age. One would have to be strong to work with stone, the young wizard surmised.

  “A little early for shopping,” the man said in a calm voice, positioning the statue to where the head was in front of him.

  “My apologies,” Druzeel said. “Shall I come back later?” he asked, trying to be polite yet having no intention of leaving. He wanted the man calm and relaxed and he had learned being nice is the best way to accomplish that goal.

  “No, no,” the man replied. “It’s fine. What can I–”

  The door to the shop opened and a man wearing a thick gray cloak slowly walked in. He was hunched over, wearing a hood so his face was barely discernible. Druzeel looked a little more closely and thought he recognized the face beneath.

  “Vis–”

  His words caught in his throat as Vistalas met his eyes with a sharp glare, one that promised something unpleasant if he did not turn away immediately. Druzeel, swallowing the lump in his throat, averted his eyes and turned back to the owner of the shop.

  “Be right with you,” the man said, showing Druzeel that he had not heard his slip. “It seems that everyone is rising early these days,” he said, looking over the dragon. “Now, what can I help you with?’

  It took Druzeel a moment to realize he was talking to him. When he did, he quickly brought his questions to mind.

  “I see that you have many exquisite works of art,” Druzeel commented, wanting the man at ease before diving deeper. “I say that if I was a collector I would want many of these in my collection, but unfortunately, works of rock and stone are not the reason I have come here today.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Gret said, looking at Druzeel and bit more closely than before. “That is all I have to offer to the good people of Atlurul. If you are not here for stone then I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Perhaps you can,” Druzeel replied happily. “You see, I’m looking for a map and a good friend of mine has told me that you were the one to speak with.”

  “I deal in stone,” Gret replied, turning back to his statue, trying his best to avoid Druzeel’s eyes. “I don’t deal in maps. I know of many map makers in the city that you can visit if you require a recommendation, but I’m sorry to say your friend was mistaken.”

  “Are you sure?” Druzeel asked, pushing the issue.

  “Quite,” Gret replied, perhaps a bit too firmly, though Druzeel seemed to have missed it. “I work with stone, not quill and ink. Don’t have the patience for drawing maps.”

  “I guess Graeak was wrong.”

  “Graeak?” Gret asked. “Graeak Loyalar?” he said with an unsteady voice, but again, Druzeel seemed t
o miss it. “You’re saying that your friend is one of the most powerful wizards in Atlurul?”

  “Not just my friend,” Druzeel replied, “but my teacher and mentor. He is looking for a map of the area around his tower. He wants to expand and the only way he can do it is down, but he wants to make sure he doesn’t run into any of the old tunnels systems that may be beneath The Fount. He said you would have maps, many you may have inherited by your ancestors, which would show what lay underneath his home.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Gret said with a quick voice, not a second after Druzeel had finished talking. “I know Graeak is wise and powerful, but on this matter, he is mistaken. Some of my ancestors were stonemasons, like me, not map collectors or cartographers. I don’t have what your teacher is looking for.”

  “You must,” Druzeel said, finding himself becoming angry. Surely, Vistalas had not been mistaken. Could this be another cruel joke that he and his leader were playing? Could they have purposely set him up for failure? Brask seemed intent on going to question Gret before he had suggested that he go. Could Brask have known I would step forward? Druzeel asked himself. Perhaps Vistalas’s information had been wrong. That had to be it. The information was flawed.

  “Look,” Gret said in anger, his knuckles almost going white as he picked up some type of knife tool and pointed it in Druzeel’s direction, “I don’t deal in maps and don’t appreciate you insinuating that I am a liar.”

  “I didn’t mean to–” Druzeel began but Gret cut him off.

  “If you don’t intend to buy anything or speak with me about stone then I suggest you leave. As you can see, I have work to do and other customers to deal with.”

  Druzeel backed away, both angry at himself for calling the man a liar and angry at Brask for making a fool of him yet again. He turned and practically stomped out of the shop. He shot Vistalas an angry glare but the thief just ignored him. He was too busy pretending to be interested in a small statue of a unicorn. When he came outside, he found Brask and the others, save for Ristil, who was nowhere in sight, waiting for him.

  “That was fast,” Brask said with amusement in his voice. “You have all the details?” he said sarcastically. The berating continued. “You know everything about the thief, his plans, and the stonemason’s motives? You have all the answers, right? I can see by the look on your face you were as successful as we all knew you would be.”

  “Brask,” Dex said. “Give him a break.”

  “I did,” the big man said in irritation. “And it appeared he blew it, like even you knew he would.”

  “You’re information was wrong,” Druzeel finally said, finding the courage to speak and confront Brask. “Gret doesn’t collect maps. He knows nothing of the thief or what happened at the tower. He’s just a mason, trying to make a living selling statues.”

  “Is that so?” Brask asked, his words dripping disbelief. “We’ll see.”

  A few moments later, Vistalas came walking out of the shop, still in the gray cloak and hunched over. In his hand was the small unicorn statue, but as soon as he was clear of the building, he stood up straight and tossed the figurine into the gutter.

  “Our young wizard here seems to think Gret is innocent,” Brask said to Vistalas as he came over.

  “That’s because he’s an idiot,” the thief responded without pause. “The man knew exactly what he was talking about. He knows about the tower.”

  “But he said–” Druzeel began, but once again he was interrupted.

  “Shut it!” Brask said loudly and turned angry eyes to Druzeel. “Because of your foolishness, the man now knows other people have found out what he did. Right know he is probably packing as fast as he can to leave the city before others come looking for him. Know your damn place and let us do your job, or by the gods I’ll throw you all the way back to your precious tower, Graeak’s word be damned.”

  “Easy Brask,” Dex said. “He doesn’t have the same skills as Vistalas to deceive deception.”

  “And now he knows to shut his mouth and do as he’s told,” the leader of the band said forcefully. “Now he’ll stay out of the way and leave this to those who actually have the talents to get things done!”

  Druzeel looked away in anger and felt hatred creep into his body. At that moment, standing in front of Brask, being yelled at in front of the others, he wanted to send a fireball straight down Brask’s throat. Gods, he did not think it was possible, but that man was worse than his brother. Browen’s punishments were always physical in nature. Those wounds healed quickly, but Brask was all about emotional torment. That type of harm could take years to repair.

  “So what now?” Druzeel asked, his voice almost a whisper. He managed to quell his anger by focusing on finding the thief. That was more important than seething from a verbal bashing. If Gret was lying, shouldn’t they be running to stop him from escaping?

  “Now,” Brask said harshly, “you be silent, watch, and learn.”

  Brask walked toward the shop, the others following close behind. Druzeel almost leapt to keep up but was soon moving right beside Dex, who tried his best to offer a reassuring smile. Druzeel nodded back though it was only with half his heart. Dex may have tried to stand up for him, but his words, his description of Druzeel’s lack of skill, told Druzeel that the man still had less respect for him than Druzeel had originally thought.

  Brask threw the door open, almost tearing it from the hinges. He strode through the small building and in seconds was standing before the counter. Druzeel came in and moved to the side to get a better view. To his astonishment, there stood the old man, fear clearly displayed across his face, with Ristil standing right behind him.

  “Caught him trying to run out the back,” Ristil said, shooting Druzeel a mocking look. “Was in something of a rush.”

  Druzeel expected Brask to say something, but he remained silent and just stared the man down. Finally, after tense moments, letting Gret sweat under his piercing gaze, he leaned forward, coming within an inch of the man’s nose. Gret seemed to shrink. He took a step back but bumped into Ristil.

  “You know why we are here,” the large man said slowly and with the promise of future harm in his voice. “I’ll only ask once. Where is the thief?”

  Gret was visibly shaking, almost on the verge of tears. Druzeel would not be surprised if the man had wet himself. It was perfectly clear that he knew about the thief and what happened at the tower. Still, he remained silent. His mouth was clamped so tight that dozens of lines appeared around his lips.

  “Thorstar,” Brask said without turning around. Druzeel seemed confused, but slowly turned to look at the large man who was strangely standing away from the group, in the center of the room. He just stood as still as a statue.

  Suddenly, the giant sword he kept on his back was in his hands, smashing through the dozens of sculptures and figurines all around him as he turned in a single, vicious circle. The blade even cut through the display cases and shelving as if they were hollow logs. Thorstar’s reach, as well as his sword’s, was so long that the tip of the blade even sliced through the walls around him. If any of the party has been just inches closer, that sword would have sliced through them as well.

  The clay burst into powder, the glass into millions of shards, and the wood into tiny splinters. Gret let out a shout of anguish but remained still as all his hard work, every single piece, crashed to the floor. It had taken him years to create those marvelous pieces of art and in mere seconds, Thorstar had destroyed it all.

  “This is not right!” Druzeel blurted out as the last piece of shattered clay hit the floor. He really hadn’t thought about the words as he said them. They just came out. Gret may be guilty of working with the thief, but destroying the man’s livelihood, years of hard work and sacrifice, was wrong. It was not their place to judge the man’s guilt or innocence. That was the job of the magistrate, but they could gather information. They could also take his confession and have him arrested, but what Brask was doing almost amounted to tor
ture.

  Cold, hard eyes slowly turned and met Druzeel. Druzeel met Brask’s frightful gaze and tried to look defiant but quickly looked away, unable to hold the stare.

  “Be silent!” Vistalas growled through clenched teeth.

  “My statues!” Gret finally cried, almost bursting into tears. Brask turned back to him.

  “They are replaceable,” he said angrily, much of his anger coming from Druzeel’s outburst and not the little man’s refusal to answer. “But your hands are another matter.” The man looked confused, but only for a moment. His perplexed look soon turned to terror as Ristil grabbed his right wrist and forced his hand flat on the counter.

  “No,” Druzeel whispered and took a step to intervene. He could not let this happen. If he sat by and did nothing, he was no better than Brask, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him in place. He turned, expecting to see Vistalas or Thorstar, but to his surprise, it was Dex holding him back.

  “Do not,” he said forcefully.

  “How can you let–” he began, astonished that someone like Dex would let this happen, but his words cut off as Gret began to speak.

  “I swear,” the shivering man said, “I don’t–”

  His words turned into an agonizing scream as Brask rammed a dagger through the middle of his hand, pinning it to the counter. Blood quickly seeped from the puncture, seeping into the wood.

  “Stop!” Druzeel said, trying to tear Dex’s hand from his shoulder. He almost got free but Vistalas stepped in front of him, daggers out.

  “One more step,” he said, eyes flashing in both anger and malice. Druzeel swore the thief wanted him to try to get by him, but he remained where he was, hopeless to stop what was happening.

  “Still need your memory jogged?” Brask said, no longer acknowledging Druzeel’s pleas. He only nodded to Ristil, who grabbed Gret’s left wrist and forced his hand on the counter, like he had done to the other one. When his hand was in place, Brask raised the dagger, not bothering to ask Gret if he was willing to talk.

  “Pelartis!” Gret practically screamed, his words coming out with a high pitch, sounding almost like a little girl. “He’s heading...to Pelartis. That’s what I overheard him say after I sold him the map.”

  “Say to whom?” Brask asked. Gret started to say something but paused. Brask raised the dagger again, which was all the motivation the sculptor needed.

  “I don’t...I don’t know. His back was turned. He looked to be talking into his hand. He must have had some type of communication device. He thought I was out of earshot, but my hearing was always good.”

  “Lucky you,” Ristil said with a mocking smile.

  “Please,” Gret begged. “That’s all I know. I swear. He didn’t say anything else. He just wanted the map. I never knew what he intended to use it for. Please. That’s all I know.” The last sentence came out with a weep. Druzeel swore that if he could have dropped to his knees he would have. Instead, he just cried like a newborn babe, pleading for his life.

  Brask stared at him with those cold eyes for many moments, listening to the man’s cries. Finally, he reached for his dagger and tore it from the counter, none to gently. Gret screamed once more as the blade was ripped from his hand. Then he fell to the floor, holding his destroyed hand. He knew then that he might never be as good as a sculptor.

  Without a word, Brask turned and walked away, heading for the street. The others followed his lead, with the exception of two. Ristil, still standing behind the counter, leaned down, patted the man on the head, and jumped to the other side. Druzeel stood in silent shock and anger as Ristil walked right by him without so much as a shove or push, as Druzeel had expected. He would have preferred some type of physical taunt for that would have showed him that Ristil actually wanted to take the time to ridicule him. The lack of acknowledgment, the lack of a simple look, was much more disheartening. It told Druzeel that Ristil did not even think him worthy of his thoughts.

  He stood, rooted in place, for many moments, listening to the cries of the sculptor. The sound ripped through him and ate as his heart. He should have pushed by Vistalas. He should have been more forceful. He should have done...something. This should not happen in Atlurul. This should not happen in any city. Gret’s only crime was collecting maps. How could he know what would happen? He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. One thing was for sure: this was not going to happen again. He would confront Brask, damn the consequences, and remind him who he was working for. Graeak never would have approved of how Gret had been tortured, regardless of what the thief had stolen. Druzeel would tell his mentor what happened here. But first, Brask would know what he had just done was completely unacceptable.

  After listening to a few pain-filled sobs, Druzeel turned and walked out of the shop. He opened the door, expecting to see Brask and the others waiting for him. What he was not expecting was the strong hand that wrapped wound his throat and lifted from the floor as he walked outside.

  “You ignorant piece of useless garbage!”

  Before Druzeel saw who grabbed him, he found himself flying through the air, his staff falling from his hands. He hit the ground and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. Pain raced down his shoulder and into his chest. Luckily, his pack and thick robes had cushioned his landing, but it still hurt. He quickly turned his body to see who had tossed him and found Brask charging toward him with murder in his eyes.

  “I’m going to beat you until–”

  “Stop,” came Dex’s warning. Druzeel suddenly found the man standing between him and Brask. To his surprise, Jannda was also there, but be it to defend Druzeel from Brask or help Dex, he did not know. The others just stood back, content to watch how the confrontation would play out.

  “Move aside!” Brask said, coming to a stop, meeting Dex and Jannda’s eyes. “This boy needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “Indeed,” Dex said to Druzeel’s chagrin, “but I think it is one he has already learned. The mason’s confession has seen to that. I think he knows that though our methods may seem...coarse, they are effective.”

  “They are not–” Druzeel started to say, but one look from Jannda told him he had better be quiet.

  “Agreed,” the halfling said, looking back to Brask. “Besides, I think his outbursts actually helped the situation.”

  “Do tell,” Ristil said with an amused smile.

  “Clearly, Gret knew he was part of the group,” she explained. “Gret’s fear was only heightened when Druzeel asked Brask to stop. I mean, if one of the group is pleading for mercy, what does that say about Brask when he refuses to stop?”

  “That he’s a mean bastard,” Vistalas said with a smirk, actually seeing Jannda’s point. “And he won’t be swayed, no matter what.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Look, we know where the thief is headed and Gret will never even think about selling out anyone again. I think it worked out rather well. So let’s just all calm down and get on the road.”

  Druzeel looked from Jannda to Dex to Brask, who was staring at all three of them. He didn’t think the large man would buy Jannda’s explanation, however sound it was, but when the tension melted form his shoulders, everyone knew his rage had subsided. Still, he stood staring at Druzeel with hatred for a few moments longer. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he spoke.

  “Gather our belongings,” he said. “We ride for Pelartis within the hour. And you,” he said with hardened eyes, pointing at Druzeel. “If you ever do something like that again, I’ll pummel you until you can no longer walk.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, going to gather his things like the others. Jannda exhaled a sigh of relief, looked at Druzeel, and left, head shaking as she went. Druzeel looked from her to the helping hand being offered. He took it and Dex pulled him to his feet.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You got a lot to learn,” Dex said with a deep breath, “if you hope to get along with the others.”

  “I couldn’t just
let–” Druzeel began, but Dex held up a hand to silence him. It seemed the fighter was a bit annoyed as well.

  “Just gather your things and meet us at the Lady within the hour.”

  He turned and walked away. Druzeel watched him go, a little irritation creeping into his body. How could Dex be angry with him? How could he let the mason be tortured like that? I guess he is not the man I thought he was, the young wizard thought to himself. I truly am alone with this bunch. It was not a pleasing thought.