Honest Brom was anything but honest. He was a man of smaller stature, though he had gained some weight in the past two years. His brown eyes, bowl-cut black hair, and a clean-shaven face did nothing for the naturally mischievous countenance. I imagined others viewed his arrival like a roll of the dice and wondered if they would lose or win big.

His guard, on the other hand, stood nearly six feet tall and had the same brutish body type as Meathead. They were almost matched to each other, except that the guard’s nose was a huge bulbous thing. I couldn’t see his hair under the leather cap he wore, but his chin bore a thick beard of grey and black hair.

Both Honest Brom and his guard stood in the shade of his garish wagon, away from the afternoon sun. The wagon itself was large, almost as big as the wagons used to deliver my stone. Though, in comparison to the stone hauling wagons, it made up for its smaller width and length in height. The thing, painted a bright yellow, stood about two and half times as tall as I did, and rolled on huge spoked wheels. Windows cut into the side of the wagon in simple square shapes were opened. I could see a variety of goods displayed within, from bolts of cloth to jars of spices.

As Eni and I approached the wagon, Honest Brom’s face lit up with a huge fake smile. My eyes darted towards the door of my tower, hoping for Mena and Chelsea to arrive so that I wouldn’t be stuck listening to the man. Unfortunately, they weren’t quick enough. Honest Brom had become a bit of a regular visit, stopping by every two months or so to share the latest gossip and sell sundries.

“Great lord wizard, I bring terrible tidings!” he called once we were within talking distance.

With resignation, I nodded in response to the worst greeting I could have ever imagined and bid Eni farewell. Not that my guard noticed as he directed his wolves into the kennel. The beasts didn’t even stop to sniff at the new arrivals, showing that they were very well trained.

“Aye, the worst of tidings. We are at war,” the man donned a solemn expression for just a moment.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as I took in a deep breath. My letter had reached Count Shielding two years ago, the letter that bid warning of the threat of Pestilence. When the threat of war between Kingdoms of Sena and Mirktal didn’t come to pass, I had hoped that meant that my warning was taken seriously. It seemed, rather, all I did was delay the inevitable.

After I breathed out, and returned my look to the man, he continued, “The slave armies of Mirktal have invaded Laxtoni, and General Niser rides to the kingdom’s defense. Messengers were sent out with warrants of conscription for each province. I ride ahead of the news.” The man’s head bobbed up and down as he spoke, like a bird pecking at a worm.

“Thank you for the message, merchant. I foresee you will be traveling far and fast to keep ahead of the messengers?” I asked it nicely, though I’m not sure I kept the hope of his departure from my eyes.

“Oh, ah, yes. Not today though. I’m headed back to Woodhoot in the morning and up to Iron Yard from there. The new road is quite the marvel,” he said, and I could tell he had more news he was eager to share.

I didn’t bother to contain my sigh this time, “What else?”

“Lady Lark makes preparations for a wedding. Songmaster Tek does not appear pleased with the matter,” he shared with the expression that this information was monumental. Maybe it would be to someone else. I simply waited for him to continue.

“Baron Froom continues to hire mages from Sena City. They say he’s working on a secret army,” his eyes lit up so brightly as he spoke, I would have assumed the sun was shining through his posterior if not for the clothes he wore. I waved him to continue.

“Baron Broole has offered to come out of retirement and assume the position of Marshall of the West,” His head went back to bobbing as he spoke. A very distracting habit.

“Baron Bushwah was killed in the night and his lands given to Count Lahal for stewardship until his daughters marry. Good riddance to the spy, I say!” Naturally, Honest Brom could not speak the words without the following forceful spit to support his opinion.

It was after that spit, we were both distracted by Mena’s yell, “Michael, is that you, you plump pheasant?! I thought you died of stupidity!”

Her call echoed across the bridge and through the gate, causing Honest Brom’s guard to stop his staring contest with Meathead to look.

“Mena! The heart of my foot and the heel of my heart! I hoped to never see you again!” the man cried, his expression completely at odds with his words.

Happily, she arrived and gave the man a great hug. Soon, they were off to the side of the gate discussing matters of little interest or import. I, though, used this opportunity to bid Honest Brom farewell. Or I tried to.

“Master Fargus,” Honest Brom said, this time his face entirely serious, “My mistress bids you a greeting and has a proposal for you, though not one that could be borne in writing.”

“Oh?” I asked, my interest close to being piqued.

His head bobbed again, “Yes, she’s found a tome, one written in a language no one speaks. She believes it hails from a past Age. She has heard of your purchases of gems, and would offer to sell it to you for a sum.”

“Hmmm,” I stroked my beard. I was definitely interested, if it were real. Though I wasn’t so foolish to admit that to the merchant. After I pretended to consider the matter long enough to make the man nervous, I answered, “I would need to see the tome to determine its worth.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, though by his smile he seemed to think that the deal was already struck.

“Farewell,” I declared before he could get another word in.

I hadn’t even made it to the stairwell, when Mena caught up to me, “Hey boss!”

I stopped and turned with a raised eyebrow. The woman was normally full of confidence, but her current demeanor spoke of a request about to be made that made her nervous. I waited for a few breaths before asking, “Yes?”

“Boss, Michael, that guard out there, is a friend of mine. A good man and he’s good with a sword. He said that his contract is only for another week and he’s got no other work afterwards. I was wondering if you could hire him? He’s in a bit of a rough spot and…” Her voice trailed off and she just looked at me.

I couldn’t remember the last time the woman had asked me for anything. Though, considering she was a reformed bandit and had only escaped death through my mercy, I had hoped to keep it that way. I considered her question.

Honest Brom worked for Baroness Nix as part of some shady organization, likely a thieves’ guild. He also functioned to gather information for her. That the guard travelled with the man led me to a suspicion that Michael might also be a catspaw of the Baroness. Not that having a spy would bother me. My magical secrets were far and above what even my guards were capable of finding, even if they spent their entire lives searching for them.

The man could also be a killer for hire. While I told my guards not to concern me with the corpses of assassins, there was a day last fall they felt inspired to show me that fifty men had attacked all on one night. This might be a ruse to allow one of the killers into my tower. I doubted the man could get past my personal wards, or even Kine’s for that matter, but it might put Chelsea and her son at risk.

Or, I could be imagining shadows into monsters. While I might regret it later, I decided to give Mena her boon, “Very well. But first he must meet with [Paladin] Adam in Lark and answer the same questions you did. He can return with a signed letter from the man. I will not have a dishonest man living with me under my roof.”

Mena didn’t seem all too pleased with my answer, but she smiled and thanked me all the same. I turned to head back upstairs, but stopped myself. I could smell the meal Chelsea was cooking, and it would be better to have dinner before I carried on.