The Currents of Magic

Chapter Six

Eventually they emerged from the escape tunnel into the fading afternoon light. Meyer was still bound and gagged, slung over Sarn's shoulder, and with a grunt, his captor kneeled, rolling him on to the ground. Meyer saw branches and green leaves above him, and from the corner of his vision, Sarn walking away. He squirmed onto his side to keep his captor in sight, and as he rolled over, a tiny man entered his vision. He was lean and wiry, and stood no more than four feet tall, but otherwise was proportioned like a fully grown man. He had a pointed goatee, and wore a sparkling bracelet on each wrist.

"What's with the ropes?" he said nodding towards Meyer.

"Seems to be a natural with ethereal magic," said Sarn. "Resisted my sleeping charm, so I had to tie him up."

"A Greenie like him resist a sleeping charm? If I didn't know better, I'd have thought no one ever taught you how to cast an ethereal spell."

"I trudge five miles through a tunnel carrying the weight of man on my back, and I get greeted with insults about my spell casting. Wonderful."

"Now I don't want to add insult to injury, but there is such thing as a weight-reducing enchantment..."

Sarn shook his head. "Enough. Let's get this boy untied. Just be ready to cast a sound absorption charm if he starts yelling."

The Halfling sauntered over to Meyer, and slid a hand behind his head. After a few quick tugs, Meyer felt the cloth in his mouth slacken.

"Now you heard Sarn," he said. "You're not going to start screaming like a lunatic when I take this rag out?"

Meyer shook his head frantically.

"Good," said the Halfling, pulling away the cloth. Then he started to undo the ropes around Meyer's body. As he finished, Meyer rose to a crouched position, peering hesitantly at his two captors.

"We're not going to hurt you," said Sarn.

Meyer didn't say anything. He could feel his heart pounding, and his legs were trembling. He was confident that he could sprint the distance of an entire conditioning run and still not be tired. Even so, he fought the urge to flee. He couldn't afford to make a rash decision.

"Sarn's telling the truth," said the Halfling. "There is a clause in our contract that states we only get paid in full if we deliver you undamaged."

Meyer hardly processed the words. He glanced around at his surroundings. He was in a lightly wooded grove, and two packs, one larger than the other rested on the ground a few yards away. His focus returned to his captors. There was no sympathy in their eyes, but neither was there malice.

"Who are you?" he said, the words sticking to his throat.

"Well, I'm Gibbeneverial Quickfoot," said the Halfling, "Though you can and should call me Gibb, even if my mother, may she rest in peace, was thoroughly convinced that all of her fourteen children should have traditional Halfling names. And, that's Sarn, short for—"

"Short for Sarn."

"Oh right, he's kind of moody about his full name. Rather secretive."

"Given our trade, Gibb, I'd think you'd be more understanding."

"He can also be a bit grumpy, but that's us," said Gibb stretching out his arms and striking a frivolous pose.

The humorous gesture did anything but alleviate Meyer's panic as his mind raced to make sense of the situation. He didn't think Sarn was an inhabitant of Vanroc, and yet the larger of his two captors seemed to have known Lorant... And then there was the Halfling—he clearly was not from Vanroc, and worse, his impish behavior seemed liable to turn temperamental without warning.