The Sceptre of Samnos

New Friends Part 6

     By the time they reached the road, the three of them looked like tramps. Their clothes, new when they'd left the University, were tattered and filthy, covered by a layer of grime that not all the washing in a clear forest stream could completely remove. They climbed up onto the road in relief and gratitude and tried not to think that they still had well over two hundred miles to go before the end of their journey. At least now the way was flat, smooth and easy. No more brambles, marshes, or rivers, which the road now crossed by means of sturdy stone bridges.

     The road had been built well over a thousand years before, by the Agglemonian Empire during its days of glory. It was twelve yards wide, wide enough for an army to march ten abreast, and six feet higher than the average surrounding ground level, although this varied as it cut through mounds and hillocks, which rose on either side of it, and crossed over shallow gulleys and streams. It was made of quarried rock and its foundations went six feet down into the ground, deeper in places. Every few miles there was a milepost, on which an eroded, barely legible, moss covered inscription told the distance to towns and cities that no longer existed.

     This part of the road was in a bad state of decay, since it was hardly ever used. To the east it went only to the dreaded Shadow which, in ages past, had been the very heart of the Agglemonian Empire. It went past a few widely scattered towns and villages, but they used only a narrow path about three or four yards wide along the middle. Along either side, centuries old trees had torn the road apart, and in places had reduced it to nothing more than a ridge of broken rock and rubble. Further west, however, nearer the main road connecting Ilandia and Callinia, it went through more heavily populated areas and was maintained in good condition. In places there were even ramps, five or six yards wide, leading down from the great road to ancient side roads that no longer existed, and it was usually in these places that new towns had sprung up.

     They reached this more populated area after a week or so of walking, and were greatly relieved to be able to sleep in a proper bed again. Lirenna was slowly coming out of the fugue she’d fallen into and was beginning to talk again, although there was still a guilty look in her eyes, and the others talked in soft, gently tones, tip toeing around her as if she were made of glass. Thomas found himself hating the woodsman for what he’d done to her, and wondered why he’d done it, why he’d attacked without warning. Some criminal, perhaps, driven out of his home town and forced to live alone until he’d been driven crazy by loneliness? They’d never know, but still he wondered, and hated him.

      They had no money, and the food Darris had given them had long since run out, leaving them foraging for whatever nuts and berries they could find in the forest. As they began passing through sizeable towns, though, they found themselves surrounded by people eating good, normal food and sleeping in comfy beds. Most of these towns had boarding houses which offered both to visitors with money, and so they decided to earn some by doing magical tricks to entertain the other guests. They hoped and prayed that the townspeople shared the same enlightened attitude as Darris and Miriam. The dried fruit stains on the wall behind the stage on which performers stood told of what happened to acts that failed to please, but they suspected that that would be the least of their worries if the townspeople took against them. Fortunately, however, many of the townspeople had seen wizards before, travelling with army patrols, and one of the larger towns even had a resident wizard who aided in its defence. These people saw wizards as protectors, therefore. Not as a threat.

     They were luckier still in that it was the very simplest spells they knew that had the greatest entertainment value, and Thomas and Lirenna were able to make the shows last for up to an hour, at the end of which Jerry would crown the performance with an illusion of a horribly fearsome monster conjured up from his own imagination. The only thing that spoiled it was the total lack of sound, since illusions that fooled more than one sense at a time were more than he could currently handle, but Thomas was able to compensate partly by shouting through a rolled up sheet of card, making a fairly realistic roaring sound. Their audiences loved it, and soon the three wizards found crowds waiting for them in every new town they came to.

     One evening, during their performance, as they were bringing their act to a fiery conclusion, they noticed three trogs standing at the back of the room, watching them with calculated interest. The tallest of them reached a little over five feet tall but was stocky and powerful, with a great barrel chest and a stance that reflected the confidence and arrogance of a man twice his height. His companions were shorter, only a little over four foot six, but were if anything even more fearsome looking. Proud and confident, giving every impression that they could easily lay out everyone in the room if they took it into their minds to do so.

     They were heavily swaddled in thick clothes that hid every part of their bodies except their eyes, which glared out from slits in the heavy helmets that covered their heads and faces. Helmets made of real steel that drew every eye in the room. Thomas’s eyes were drawn to their fingers, though, whose tips ended in stubby claws as thick as bullets but ending in sharp points. Thomas had seen members of their race at the University, but only members of the crafting caste. Stone and metal workers doing work and repairs to the University buildings. These people, on the other hand, looked to be members of the warrior caste, the first that he had ever seen.

     He had never spoken to a trog, but from his studies in the University he knew that they inhabited the mountainous regions of the continent. They were said to be almost totally hairless, lacking even eyebrows, and went about almost completely unclothed in the comfortable warmth of their huge subterranean cities. They felt the cold keenly whenever they ventured out into the world above, though, and wrapped themselves up in layer upon layer of clothing, their status and accomplishments denoted by banded ribbons hanging from their helmets, braided into thick cords and hanging down their backs and across their shoulders like dreadlocks.

     They were carrying heavy looking scimitars, short but broad, with deep notches in the real steel blades despite having been sharpened to razor keenness. Their shields, made of a soft wood designed to grab an enemy's sword that sank into it and hold it tight, were decorated with the coat of arms of a badger and a mole. They were ignoring the empty chairs beside them, preferring to stand in the company of humans to make the most of their height. The intense scrutiny they were giving them almost made Thomas lose concentration and spoil his spell, and he could only continue by putting them completely out of his mind, focusing his attention on a group of happy, clapping children standing at the front of the crowd. When they finished, however, and stooped to collect the scattering of copper coins thrown at their feet, the trogs were gone.

     "Well, we're now professional wizards," said Jerry later that evening as they sat around a small table in the public bar, eating a small meal and sipping free drinks given to them by the owner of the house. "Making our living with our magic. Tell you what, it feels pretty good."

     "And no-one's scared of us," agreed Lirenna. "They treat us just like ordinary people."

     "Don't speak too soon," said Thomas, however, and with a small nod of his head directed their attention towards the doorway, where the powerful, stocky humanoids had appeared again. They were eying the customers, glancing from one to another and dismissing them from their attention as if searching for someone in particular. The other patrons of the tavern paid them little attention, telling the wizards that their kind were not unknown in this area. Then they spotted the three wizards, and Thomas tensed up apprehensively as they came striding over, so intent upon their objective that a tall, thin coachdriver had to scurry out of their way or be bowled over like a skittle. "I wish to speak with you," declared the tallest trog in a deep, rumbling voice. His powerfully muscled arms were folded across his chest, and his feet were widely spaced as if he thought that a team of horses might try to pull him away.