Smith and The Bone Reaver ⏐Book 1

Chapter Fourteen: Rest and Semi-Relaxation

Walking back down the dirt track, treacherous treasures in hand, Smith wandered back through the hamlet, towards the trees and the hedge. The people were in an uproar, pitchforks, and farming implements in hand, scouring the buildings for the intruder while the Forged Soul led them, bolstering the people into a baying mob, hungry for elf blood. Letting them enjoy their hunt, Smith continued to the hedge and, arriving there, waited. It was only a matter of time before Elon, emerged from the mists, face flushed, lips curled defiantly.

"You stroll too slowly," said Elon, reaching Smith as he brushed away hay and leaves from his chest, "I was growing bored."

"You didn't hurt anyone, did you?" asked Smith, pushing through the hedge and back to the other side.

"No, these people are victims, nothing more. I avoided them as best able, however, several bore contracts, insisting they would allow me to live should I merely sign and ignore the fine print."

"Ah, you met the Deal Breakers. They're like that."

"They were...rabid. Infuriatingly insistent on striking a deal."

"Yep. Those guys have the job of cutting deals with people for...whatever they can get away with. As far as I see, it's better you didn't sign. They're the final step that causes people to be stuck in debt forever."

"I see...on a related note, I would ask that next time, warn me of possible magical surveillance. These hovels are better guarded than they show."

"Did you have a lot of trouble then?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You look a bit..."

"No."

"Alright then. Good to hear..."

"And you? What of your findings? I was too preoccupied to watch, and your Far Ear was disabled."

"Rotgum told them about it," explained Smith, reaching the sunlight, hot and welcome after the grim darkness of the swamp, "she's still a hag after all. Frankly, I think we got off lucky."

"...indeed...and you bring gifts?" asked Elon, gesturing to the sword strapped to Smith's side, and the belt around his waist. Smartly, Smith had absorbed the feather into himself before leaving the farmhouse. It was too suspicious to let Elon see.

"They insisted on it" shrugged Smith, walking beside Elon as they made their way back to the phone booth, "and as a heads up, they're willing to help hunt down The Bone Reaver. They'll have a contact waiting for us in The Scrapyard tomorrow at nine."

"One moment," cut in Elon, "you are changing the subject. These items...what are they?"

"Does it matter? They might be useful."

"Yes, they may. What are they?"

"...you don't want to be surprised later? It might be..."

"Warlock. Explain." Sighing, Smith nodded. Pulling off the belt, Smith gave it a flick, transforming it into a crowbar, then a spoon, and then a broom.

"This one, The Mimic, it's nothing special. It just turns into other objects."

"...I see. May I?" Hesitating, Smith handed it over, letting Elon examine the item. No words were spoken again until Elon handed The Mimic back. "I can find no curses upon it. It appears to be as you say."

"Still don't trust me then?"

"No. What of the blade?"

"Yer, about that, I don't know" admitted Smith.