Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 11, part 1: Day 15 continued

Vrakschtek and his own knowledge warned Kleymin that the ninja would be watching for a young, lone traveller. Others, too, might be searching for him, even now. The girl he was talking to was travelling along the trade-route to the border fortresses to the west, although Kleymin had yet to learn the reason why. Possibly slightly less direct than if he made his own way but much less noticeable.

She was standing by two small dorvei, looking bored, when he found her. He had helped her to saddle one dorvei and put a pair of wicker panniers on the other, encouraging her to talk as they worked. That part was not difficult, the girl could certainly talk. Mostly about herself. Where she'd come from, where she was going, what she had done, what she was going to do. Much of it was contradictory. She certainly had grand ideas; many of her plans for the future revolved around marrying counts, dukes or even princes, all smitten by her great beauty. Privately, Kleymin didn't think much of her chances. She had mouse-brown hair, cropped short, a gawky, skinny body and pale, watery, blue eyes. The boy judged her to be about his own age, although she seemed much younger when compared against his fellow students.

Down the street, the noise of an argument began, with the volume rising rapidly. It seemed to be coming from the inn. The girl sighed a world-weary sigh, then slowly climbed onto her pony. Looking down on Kleymin, she came to a sudden decision. "Come on," she said, "Climb up behind if you do want to come with me. You're not to cause any trouble, mind. One trouble-maker in the party is quite enough." The boy took the offer of her hand and pulled himself up behind her, mystified by her words.

They rode slowly towards the inn, where the row seemed to be reaching epic proportions. Suddenly, a figure came hurtling through one of the walls, did a somersault in mid-air and crashed into the dust of the road. The walls, fortunately, were of paper, Kleymin noted. This region was famous for its volcanic activity.

The child that had been ejected from the inn regained its feet, cursing horribly. Then Kleymin revised his opinion; no child wore a bushy beard like the figure in front of him. Nor did any human child sport so prodigious a nose, a nose to rival even that of a tengu. It had to be a gnome! The boy hadn't realised that there were any gnomes in this area. He had heard tales about them, of course, but had never seen one before now.

The small figure shifted languages, still cursing from the sound of it. More noise began to erupt from within the tavern, raised voices now starting to change to cries of panic. A thick grey smoke or mist began to ooze out of the hole in the tavern wall. With an evil and satisfied grin, the gnome stopped his chanting, spat on his palms and drew his kodachi. He marched resolutely back into the inn. "Burrowwold, my master," explained the girl, "He belongs to the College of Illusions, although he's not a very good mage. His main talents lie in other directions, as you'll learn soon enough."

The cries of panic suddenly changed again, this time to sounds of terror. An awful howling scream tore the air. Men began to blunder out of the inn, onto the street. Suddenly, Burrowwold re-emerged, cackling horribly. Blood was running freely along his kodachi, whilst his left hand held a bag that bulged and clinked suspiciously. He leapt into the air, landing in one of the open panniers on the other dorvei. With a bleat, the beast raced off. It headed out of the village. Kleymin and the girl were hard behind, the girl kicking her heels hard into her mount's ribs. A few rocks were thrown at them as they made their escape, but the villagers were too stunned to do more.

Once they were safely away from immediate pursuit, Burrowwold drew rein, slowing the dorvei to a walk. "Who's this?" he asked the girl, bluntly, nodding towards Kleymin, as soon as they caught up with him. The gnome was wiping his blade clean with a rag. It was a steel blade, unusual for a mage. Kleymin knew that iron interfered with the flow of magic; most mages made do with bronze or eschewed blades completely. Burrowwold's sword, though, looked very sharp. He also looked more than ready to use it again. At the menace in the gnome's voice, Kleymin moved surreptitiously to loosen the cords binding Namarth. He stopped, though, halted by the look in the gnome's eyes. The girl spoke, apparently not noticing the tension, "Master Burrowwold, this is Klaydark," giving the name Kleymin had chosen for himself, "a traveller who wishes to go to the border. Klaydark, this is Burrowwold the Bold, traveller, mage and confidence trickster. I am named Lotus Blossom, his travelling companion." Burrowwold grinned wolfishly at this. "That wasn't your name yesterday, girlie," he said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, boy." He seemed to relax. Kleymin made himself appear to relax, too, although he remained as wary as he suspected the gnome was.

Burrowwold struck up a conversation with the boy, asking some probing questions and skillfully leading from one thing to another. Kleymin would have been in trouble had he been lying unprepared. As it was, he told a story of travelling to join his uncle at the border. He told it as the story of a runaway peasant, hoping for freedom in the Prussian lands that lay along the border with the tuigrahan-infested wildlands. A lie within a lie, one to be uncovered, one to remain intact, just as he had been trained.

In his training, he had enjoyed the mental gymnastics. Now, however, he found it much more arduous. By late afternoon, though, Burrowwold's questions had petered out and conversation was more general. To Kleymin's surprise, the girl was very subdued and said little. He wondered about how she and the gnome had met and exactly what their relationship was.

Throughout the afternoon, Kleymin noticed that Burrowwold kept glancing back along their trail, as if half-expecting pursuit. At last, he felt he had to mention it. "Did you steal much from the villagers, then, that you expect them to come after you?" he asked as he walked between the dorvei. "Eh?" Burrowwold said, looking uncomfortable and annoyed, "Steal, steal, is it? I stole nothing that was not mine by right, boy and I'll thank you to remember that. Yes, and to keep a civil tongue in your head!" He glared down at Kleymin from the pannier in which he rode. "By which my master means, he took back only what he'd won before the villagers caught him cheating at cards," explained the girl, pleasantly. "Hah! Is this the thanks I get for saving you from slavery, to be slandered in front of a guest? I've a good mind to give you a beating, girl! Lotus Blossom, indeed!" retorted the gnome.

"You mean you took me as your slave when my father sold his farm, and everything on it, to buy that fake magic sword from you and your companions!" the girl shrieked back, going red. Burrowwold was starting to lose his temper, too. "I took you to save you from an awful fate! I should have saved myself instead, you ungrateful little slut! What do you want, Klaydark, stop rocking my basket or I'll fetch you a clout around the ears. so help me! You're not too big for me, you know," snapped the gnome, turning on Kleymin who had been trying to attract his attention. "We have company," said the boy, "Look."