Chapter 11: The Sorcerer’s Scroll

Alcar had expected Master Maluhk’s study to be a small, pokey and dusty room, dominated by a desk and perhaps some scrolls and piles of quills.

He was therefore surprised to find a room almost as large as the downstairs lounge. It did have a huge oaken desk, but otherwise looked more like a kitchen than a study; there were cupboard doors around the side and back walls, bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a large fireplace to their right, currently unlit, with a cooking pot suspended over it and neat piles of cut logs on either side. Two further comfortable-looking chairs sat by a window to their left, with a round table in between.

There were also relatively few books; unlike the lounge downstairs, there were no bookshelves at all, though the back of the desk was lined with books, and there were further volumes lying around here and there. The desk also had a notebook and a journal.

“This is cozy,” said Etienne, strolling in and breaking wind simultaneously. “I guess this is where he would hang out to study his magic.”

“Yep,” said Alcar, tentatively trying one of the cupboards. It was full from top to bottom with jars of picked mushrooms and fungi of all sorts. “And where he cooked and ate too, by the looks of things.”

“Why cook when you have such a nice place as the Black Mackerel nearby?” asked Etienne. “That barmaid was delightful!”

“Perhaps he wasn’t one for taverns – who knows,” said Alcar, moving onto the next cabinet and finding multiple stoneware pots with an assortment of trinkets inside them. Listen – did you make any progress with the dwarf?”

“Only finding out that he is stubborn and unhelpful,” replied the halfling. ”Hey, listen – perhaps we could get some insight from looking through the orc’s journal?” As he spoke, Etienne opened the small leathered-bound diary on the desk, and began to flick through it from the back. “Ah – here’s the last entry...”

“Hang on,” said Alcar sharply, moving over. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“We need to rescue him, don’t we?”

“Yeah, but...” Alcar looked down at the desk. “It feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Etienne snickered to himself, then stepped back from the desk, folding his arms and looking Alcar up and down. “Alright, man. You tell me what we should do. Cause it seems to me that we have already invaded his privacy. We just picked one of the locks, set his lounge on fire, and puked on his floor.”

“You did most of that,” said Alcar hotly. “Not to mention pissing on the wall of the tower. But there’s a difference between bringing the prisoner here to interrogate him, and going through the guy’s personal papers. He might have all kinds of secrets and fantasies in...”

There was a loud bang from below, and Alcar didn’t finish speaking.

Both of them looked at each other, and slowly, very slowly, both pulled out their blades and moved towards the stairs.

Alcar took the lead as they moved stealthily down. Or at least, as stealthily as they could. He was very aware that the leather soles of his big boots – boots that his father had made – were clapping loudly against the stone stairs in a way that was surely audible to all. Etienne whispered “Shh!” from behind. But there was nothing for it but to press on.

When reaching the lower landing, Alcar found a stalemate in process. Golgrasanna had pulled out her thin dagger again, and was holding it at the throat of a lizardman in chainmail – Warlik. The warrior had one hand on the hilt of his sword, but had been forced to freeze where he stood, while a second lizard warrior stood at the open door of the tower with an arrow nocked to her bow and aiming at Golgrasanna. There was no sign of Olynka.

“Warlik!” cried Alcar. “Thank goodness you are here.”

Lox’aar – if indeed it was her – now moved her aim steadily round from Golgrasanna and towards the pair of companions on the stairs, while Warlik’s gaze only flickered in that direction.

“Do you know this man, Warlik?” said the archer in the distinctive hissing tones common to lizard folk.

“I do,” he said. “At least, I thought I did. We met a few days ago, which I assumed at the time was a chance encounter. But now I am wondering if he was sent by my enemies – or by Maluhk’s.”

“No, Warlik!” cried Alcar, raising his hands and moving a fraction closer. “Please, tell your friend to put the bow down. We are both here, Olynka and I. Not the other one, though – Sprigg. Adventuring is not for him. We are here to become sorcerer’s apprentices. We heard what you said, and when Olynka saw Maluhk, I went to speak to the guy. It’s the dwarves you want. They’re the ones that took your friend!”

Alcar fell silent, realising that he had been rambling, and what’s more that sweat was running down his temples and pooling on his cheeks.

“Put the dagger down, Golgrasanna,” said Etienne from behind him. “All of you. The apprentice is right – nobody here tried to harm Maluhk.”

“No,” said Olynka, suddenly appearing at the top of the lower flight of stairs. “We tried to stop him being held captive and taken off in a cart. And I think I know why.” She held up a scroll case.

“What’s that?” asked Alcar.

“Something that I thought might be in the master’s study. But I took a look downstairs. Along with an unfathomably large collection of wine and a small chests full of silver and gold coins, I found the papers to do with the half-orc’s accounts. This one in particular details a contract taken out with Xerxes of the Clan Ironrock.”

“Someone is willing to look through the guy’s papers,” murmured Etienne.

“That’s it then,” said Alcar, ignoring the halfling and looking back at the ferocious lizard warriors. “You see? It isn’t us. In fact, we captured one of the dwarves that kidnapped him, before the others got away on their cart.”

“Well then,” growled Golgrasanna, slowly lowering her dagger. “So, you are friends of my master? Then I will help you, of course. Now, if we want to get Master Maluhk back, we can trade the dwarf... ugh!”

Now it was Golgrasanna’s turn to fall silent, as the blond dwarf Trumore, free from his bonds, thumped past her, sending her sprawling forward into Olynka just as the latter woman was trying to grab at the escaped captive. Neither Alcar or Warlik reacted quickly enough, and although the lizard archer had an arrow to her bow, the dwarf ducked low and ran full force into her, knocking her backwards onto the outer balcony, where she tipped back and fell over the balcony and down towards the street...

And as she thumped down onto the stone ground below, Trumore dashed on down the exterior steps.

“After him!” shouted Alcar.

He sprinted past Warlik and made his way down the outer steps of the tower as quickly as he could. Looking up, he could see that the dwarf was already some distance ahead, making for the nearest street corner.

Alcar glanced around, and paused. The lizardwoman archer was lying to his left, and she did not look good. Her bow was snapped in half, and one of her legs was at a strange angle, too. There was blood around her snout.

“Lox’aar!” cried Warlik, rushing down the stairs just after Alcar. He moved over to his companion, cradling her head in his hands. But as he looked at Alcar, anger in his jade-green eyes, he just pointed towards the disappearing dwarf. “Get him!” he hissed.

Alcar didn’t need to be told twice. Turning his knife in his hand so that he was holding the blade close, he sprinted forward, and then turned the corner. The running figure of the dwarf could still be seen ahead, but the escapee was even further away than before now. With a determined yell, Alcar gritted his teeth and ran on, going as fast as he could, though he had to dodge past many pedestrians and street vendors on his way.

Ahead, the dwarf turned again, and then once more, with Alcar in pursuit. Trumore appeared to now be heading onto Royal Avenue, a vastly wide street lined with huge trees and with Duke Frage’s palace located at the end. The dwarf was weaving in and out, but Alcar was sure that he was gaining on his quarry.

That is, until a brawl broke out just ahead of him. Two bearded Khranulian warriors – barbarians from the north – had begun pushing and shoving each other while yelling in slurred voices, and soon fists were flying. As Alcar tried to dodge past one of the pair, he found himself being knocked hard on the back by a flying elbow. He staggered, trying to prevent himself from falling, but lost his footing and found himself flying towards the stone paving.

The next thing he knew, he was sliding forward along the smooth paved road on his belly. He came to a halt with his face mere inches away from a pile of horse dung, and then began to pull himself away from the stinking brown heap.

But at that moment, one of the fighting barbarian warriors staggered over and accidentally stamped on Alcar’s back, propelling his face downwards and deep into the horse shit.