The Keeper and The Dragons Ch. 28-30

Chapter 28

Northmarket District, Oldtown

Recent events had been a series of wonders for Klzyx's spotter, Clover. As they hid in his favorite spot, a dusty nook under a latticed porch of the cobblers' shop, the little Dryad was enthusiastically burbling away, "Sir, have you ever in your whole life tasted anything so wonderful as the treats?"

They'd had the same conversation at least ten times. She had not stopped talking about the little sack of treats that the big woodworker had given them. She was too new to realize that special things had to be saved and savored. The little greedy guts had gobbled all of hers and half of his after he relented and shared his with her. When they were all gone, she had carefully folded the little brown paper wrapper and put it in her magic pouch to preserve the memory. She was acting like talking about them would bring more. He indulged her excitement. He well knew how rare good days were on the streets and alleyways of Oldtown.

As usual, Klzyx kept a careful eye out for threats, from where he sat, he could see the lane clearly and no one could see in. He'd been too busy to think about his sister Roze's birth-day. He was thinking about a proper gift when heard a creak and turned around to see and prepared to run in case it was the cobbler. The old being was violently opposed to any "street filth" hanging around his shop. He was relieved to see it was his sister, Roze. She stuck her head in.

"He's in there all right, just like I said he would be. Give me my coppers like you say you would."

A rumble of voices sounded. Then a thick fingers grabbed the lattice work and ripped it open. A tattooed warrior orc peered in. Klzyx recognized their clan immediately. Thorn Mountain Clan. They served the guild master, Silverbirch. The clan was recently emerged from the Desolate. They already had a reputation for extreme brutality. These were the very beings that the woodworker had been searching for.

He felt sudden numbness slide into his belly. His sister Roze had sold him out.

The shock made him wait a beat too long to respond. A hairy muscular arm reached in and snared his leg.

"Run Clover. Run."

Too late.

Clover yelped as another of the orcs reached in and snatched her before she could move.

Klzyx grabbed a length of scrapwood and slapped at the big hand that held her. He scored. The orc cursed and let her go. Clover was off in a flash. The other beast slapped him. Hard.

Blackness.

Klzyx regained consciousness in a courtyard that he recognized was behind Silverbirch's building. Three mountain trolls towered over him, but his eyes were on the old Asrai halfling and his son whose arm was in a sling. Rage twisted the old elf's mouth.

Pure terror froze him.

"Tell me, O clanless thief, do you care about this young female?" The old wood-elf held Clover effortlessly by her long, blond hair. The little girl hung boneless, unconscious. A large bruise marred the left side of her little face.

"Yes, master I do," he hated that his voice wavered. "Are you going to hurt her? Please don't hurt her."

"Yes, I am going to hurt her. I'm going to have my servants here flay the skin right off her pretty face. Unless thief, unless you tell me where the woodworker is. You two seem thick as thieves. You are common gutter scum, so it won't be hard at all to tell me. Tell me quick before I lose patience."

The elf casually slapped the little female again.

The goblin felt stricken. His little spotter looked so small and helpless.

"Please Master, she is a little. She knows nothing of this."

"That is just the beginning, thief. Now tell me. I need to have a conversation with that human. He will not forget our meeting."

He dithered. He did not know where the woodworker was. Clover's eyes caught his. She was awake. She must have been shaming unconsciousness.

His mind raced. She was eel quick. If he could just get her free, she could go for help. He remembered the man telling the both of them to go to Edie, the Healer, if they had trouble. How to get her free. He could tell the elf was getting impatient with his delaying. He felt the weight of his stabbing dagger.

They hadn't disarmed him.

He winked at Clover, palmed his dagger, leaned close to the old elf and slashed the hand holding Clover's hair.

The elf screamed in pain and dropped Clover."

"Go to the big white doggie, Clover," he shouted.

She was off in a flash. He tried desperately to get away, but the biggest troll caught him with ease.

And beat him. He felt bones break, a sharp pain in his head, then a merciful blackness came.

Silverbirch winced in pain as he and his son looked with fascinated horror at the blood dripping from his wounded hand. "Toss that garbage aside and go fetch my healer," he snapped.

The big troll obediently tossed the corpse of small goblin creature into the gutter and went to fetch the healer.

Chapter 29

Eastmarket District, Oldtown

Goldeneyes woke suddenly. Something was amiss. The window that overlooked the street was open. She stiffened in her cot. Had she left it open? Or was it the Shadow walker? Superstitious dread had dogged the edge of her mind ever since her watcher had brought news about him walking the streets of Oldtown.

"You are jumping at shadows. Control yourself," she muttered.

A voice came to her out of the dark. "Be at ease, goblin. I mean you no harm."

For the first time since she was a cub, Goldeneyes squealed in pure terror.

A figure stepped out into the light. Her mind went blank with disbelieving irony when she saw the stained worker's clothes and the red kerchief. She had sent a team out to capture the one being that terrified her. Had she been able, she would have strangled old Silverbirch on the spot. She moaned in despair. This was what came from ambition. She had killed her entire clan with her poor decisions. Her grandmother's sister had given her counsel when street gossip filtered down about the Leprechaun's demise.

"The Shadow Walker now involves himself in Oldtown's affairs. Beware, he is not like any being you might have met. He has no desire for power or status or wealth. Do not test him if you value the clan. He will have no desire or reason to harm us unless we cross him. If you give him reason, he will not stop until every one of us is in a renderer's vat. Even the Sidhe walk carefully around him."

"Have you come for me?" She hated how her voice wavered.

At least die with some dignity, she thought. Then realized that her fore-mothers would have cut her throat had they known she possessed such fanciful notions—dignity be damned, survival was everything.

"Not unless you are stupid. I mean no harm to you or your sisters and grandmothers. I want information, that is all."

His quiet voice shifted her mood from panic to resignation with a bright sliver of hope. She allowed herself to foster it. It made no difference if he was playing a cruel trick. If he meant her dead, she was dead.

"Very well. What do you need to know?" She leaned back against her pillow. Her hand slipped under the quilt feeling for the dagger strapped to her leg.

It was gone from its sheath.

Of course, he had taken it. A giggle of hysteria erupted before she could bite it down. That it was gone, more than anything else, cemented the fact of her helplessness.

"I am searching for a certain pure-bred Daoine, a renegade sorcerer. He has a thing I want."

She gained a bit more hope. "He is under the protection of Silverbirch. I dispatched two of my sisters to tend to his needs. But I do not know where the guild master has hidden him. The old guild-master keeps his secrets close."

He nodded, apparently deep in thought. "I have another question, Mistress. You seem a sane being. Goblin-kind have ever been conservative. Why have you taken up against the old dragon banker?"

The question was so beyond her understanding that she couldn't get a grasp on it. "What do you mean, taken up against the dragon banker? No being is that foolish or foolhardy."

"Someone has cast a hex on the bank. I suspect that someone is the guild master. You and your clan are in the plot up to your necks."

Goldeneye had thought herself numb from the shocks that mounted this night. She had known Silverbirch was up to something, but never in a thousand years would she have imagined he was stupid enough to attempt moving against the dragon bank.

Her agile mind raced to the logical conclusion of his outrageous statement. She moaned again. Her clan would be the obvious scapegoat if he failed and fail, he would. The old dragon's vengeance would be truly horrific. The very deviousness of the trap was magnificent. Then she thought there was no way the guild-master was smart enough to come up with it. Other beings were hidden behind the scenes. That thought frightened her even more. Her quick, agile mind raced for a solution. She needed an ally. The obvious choice was standing in her bedroom.

"Master, to my shame, I did not know any of this. How can I work myself and my clan free from the snare that my ignorance has gotten me into?"

"Well, Goblin, fair trade. I will make a bargain with you."

Her curiosity surfaced through her terror. "What do you want?"

"First, when this is over, I want you to adopt a friend of mine into your clan. Second, tell me everything you know about this fiasco from start to finish and third, lend me one of your sisters to guide me."

Chapter 30

Eastmarket District, Oldtown

The goblin, Asaqi, was alive with curiosity when her sister Goldeneyes tasked her with aiding the old woodworker. She didn't ask questions. Mistress was in a mood, she had learned long ago it was safest just to obey. She assembled a team comprised three of her sisters and two white mountain trolls who her usual leg breakers. They led him the human across Oldtown to one of Silverbirch's warehouses.

Human-kind in Oldtown were generally regarded with scorn. They didn't possess the cunning intelligence of goblin-kind, the maker skills of dwarven-kind, or the fighting ability of trolls or orcs. So she was more than a bit curious why her sister had shown such respect to the old human. The others in her team did not mask their disdain for the old woodworker even as they ignored him. It was a straightforward job compared to their usual. Easy money. They sauntered along, greeting acquaintances and joking among themselves.

As a matter of course, Asaqi kept her eye on the cutpurses that infested the streets. She gradually noticed that they were behaving oddly. They seemed to be covertly signing in what she recognized as the thieves' secret language. With shock, she realized it was the old woodworker that they were directing their attention to. Did he know thieves cant?

Meg, the female troll, grew impatient with their slow pace, cursed and shoved the old man to get him to move faster. Somehow, unbelievably, he adroitly dodged her shove, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it and forced her to her knees. The troll eight feet tall and over five hundred pounds grunted in pain and anger that disappeared when she stared fixedly at a small tattoo on the inside of the human's right wrist. Her face went pale as milk. She grunted something in trollish. The human nodded. She leaped to her feet and leaped back from him like he was a deadly viper.

He growled out a command in trollish. The two trolls bowed their heads respectfully.

The human ignored the show of deference and walked on. The trolls followed, practically stepping on his heels in their anxiety to anticipate and obey whatever command he would give them.

The goblins looked at each other uneasily and followed. The disdain her team had shown now morphed into a cautious wariness. Something had shifted. Asaqi felt she had lost control of her team and she couldn't quite figure out why she felt that way. She cursed her blind stupidity when she saw the facade of age was gone from the woodworker. He moved differently. She slanted her eyes at him and what she saw made the hair on her neck stand. His green eyes were flickering from green to black. His former easygoing manner had disappeared. Now he was all cold steel. Deadly.

She had a terrible suspicion and drifted over to the female troll, Meg. She was pale, still shocked.

"What's going on? Who is this being?"

Meg looked at her like she was a cub. She whispered, "He is the Shadow Walker, Mistress."

Now it was her turn to pale.

The human looked over at her and growled, "How much further is this place, goblin?".

Thoroughly cowed now, she answered. "Two blocks ahead, master."

When the group arrived in the alley behind the warehouse, the first thing Asaqi saw was the crumpled form of a small goblin up against the wall. Someone had beaten the little male severely, but she saw he still lived. Goblin-kind were far tougher than most beings realized. Both she and the human knelt to check on the small male. His left arm was twisted out of the socket and broken. The right still clutched a bloody dagger. He had sustained a massive blow to the chest. Ribs were sure to be broken.

"Master, I hurt." The little goblin's voice was barely a whisper.

"I know, my friend," the woodworker said. "We will get you to a healer. First, let's get your arm back in place and that will relieve some of your pain. Then we will get you to a healer to fix you up."

Asaqi watched the human adroitly set the arm back in its socket and noted how he expertly checked the goblin's eyes and felt for a pulse.

"Clanless, I am. I never had a friend, Master." He closed his eyes.

And died.

She was shocked when she saw the anguish in his eyes. Goblins saved their emotions for members of their clan. Outsiders were either to be feared or exploited.

"Master?" Asaqi asked fearfully. The being before her had changed into something else, it looked at her and froze her to immobility.

"Go, Mistress."

The woodworker casually walked up to the door and delivered a kick that took the door completely off the hinges.

Despite herself, she followed into the courtyard behind the building. She wrinkled her nose at the redolent odor of death. The yard looked and smelled like one of the slaughtering pits down in the Shambles district. Blood spattered everywhere. In one corner lay the bodies of two young dwarven girls. She could see that someone had tortured them, then slit their throats. They weren't alone. Two Asrai half-bloods who were sprawled next to them had suffered a similar fate.

She looked at the tall human to see his reaction and stepped away hastily. His eyes were now purest black. There was a shriek and a glowing whip-like shape wove around his body. Wide-eyed, she and her team backed away slowly.

The being looked at her and whistle clicked in low alfar, "The lordling has taken his revenge. I will take mine." His ebon eyes caught hers. "I have need of your sword, Mistress. I offer two hundred coppers for the loan."

Thoroughly cowed now, she licked her lips, then belatedly nodded her acceptance of the deal. The human reached into his bag and handed her four paper wrapped in cylinders. She slipped them into her pouch without checking. Counting might cause offense. She meekly handed over her sword.

"Go."

Asaqi and her team backed away and ran. Utterly relieved to escape.

After the goblin team left, Quinn's eyes swept the yard again, cataloging detail after detail. He cursed bitterly when he picked up a faint brimstone trace of the ripper's magic. The last time he'd seen it was in Niamh's hands.

He stood still as stone, listening to the metronomic beat of his heart, trying to control the flaring rage that threatened to overwhelm him. The Other urged him to cry havoc. As some centering breaths, he was able to bank the heat until all that was left was ice. Finally, he could think.

Niamh would never let go of the ripper willingly. Katie and Niamh working together were a recipe for disaster. Neither of them had a lick of common sense when it came to doing what they thought was right. They would charge the gates of hell with a cup of ice water, egging each other on to run faster. Now it looked like they had got their butts captured. Only the Mother knew where.

Things about this job just kept getting better and better. He cursed again, this time at himself. Told himself to quit whining and get his shit together. He had no room to judge. This day, he was no poster boy for competence.

It was time to have a talk with the guild master. He slipped through the back door and found the first floor empty, save for three of the mindless who sat perched on chairs in a corner, staring at each other. Quinn grimaced in pity and proceeded up the stairway to the second floor moving silent as a winter fog.

There he saw three battle orcs crouched playing one of the dicing games that their race seemed to be addicted to. A female troll sat behind a battered desk, sharpening a dagger on a whetstone.

None of them heard his silent entrance.

"I believe the guild master is looking for me," he sang out in low alfar.

The sound of his voice splashed into the room like a stone on a still pond.

All four beings jumped into action, tripping and shoving to get to him. The orcs soon sorted themselves. They spread out and advanced toward him. Quinn was impressed. These beings were fighters of high order. Fully trained and, judging from the scars they wore, battle-tested, probably in the fighting pits down in Southmarket.

He only needed one. The whip flashed, two calculated blows, and two fell unconscious.

The third, the eldest, kept advancing. As he shuffled forward, he huffed, working himself into a combat rage.

"Stand fast, battle leader," he growled in orcish. "And maybe your wives won't have to tear their hair and mourn this day."

Given that sliver of hope, the orc stood fast.

Quinn turned to the female troll, who looked stunned by the quick turn of events. "What is your name, Mistress?"

She paled. The tall being spoke trollish. She had a sudden insight into just who this being was.

"I am called Toolie of the Ruby River Clan," she said faintly. Her eyes were modestly downcast, as was proper in the presence of this being.

"Mistress Toolie, do you know where to find the being that is next in line for the leadership of the guild?"

"His name is Ironhand."

"Go fetch him here, please. Quick as you can. Tell him Silverbirch needs him."

"Yes, Master." She hurried out of the room.

Quinn turned to the orc. "Where is Silverbirch?"

Thoroughly cowed, the orc wordlessly pointed his finger up to the next floor.

"Let us go up and visit him. I am sure he will want to talk to me." Quinn motioned the orc to proceed him and both of them started up the stairway to the top floor, leaving the unconscious beings behind.