Preface
For the longest time, I had this idea of writing a story
about a couple of perpetually annoyed merchants supplying a never-ending conga
line of eccentric adventurers with everything they need. The original plan there was
to basically have Clerks in a fantasy setting.
But once I actually started writing this story, it
transformed into what I like to call The Naked Gun of fantasy adventures.
There's still a shop, its less than enthusiastic owner, and plenty of trope
ribbing. But since I just couldn't bring myself to write a story without a real
plot, the end result also has plenty of action, mysteries, and intrigue.
So, without further ado, here's the first chapter of A
Thief's Bargain:
This less than pleasant exercise made Gaius think back to just a few days ago when he was still calling himself Brother Greenleaf, a druid from a far-away land visiting Caladonia to learn all about their world-famous holy rituals.
Brother Greenleaf had a head full of unkempt hair and the beard of a master wizard who stopped shaving right after producing his first fireball as a way of projecting confidence in his mastery over collateral damage.
Gaius left Brother Greenleaf and all his easily identifiable features behind when setting out for the mountains. In his head, Gaius knew it was the smart thing to do. But outside of it, the chilly mountain air was doing a number on his freshly shaved dome.
His ride wasn’t feeling that hot either. The tough rocky ground was quite unpleasant for the creature used to delivering mail of dubious urgency across the dirt roads of the temperate valleys below.
When a single unsure step launched a small rockslide into a nearby ravine, the mare decided that enough was enough. She turned her head towards Gaius and snorted in protest.
“What do you have to complain about, Apples?” Gaius said in a nasal voice. “At least you still have your mane.”
The horse didn’t dignify that with a response. Her name was decidedly not Apples. But Gaius had no way of knowing that, seeing how he had stolen her not two days ago from a stable belonging to a roadside tavern.
Aside from the cloak, Gaius was wearing a simple leather tunic, a pair of tough pants adorned with a hole that wasn't a fashion statement, and the kind of boots even the most desperate of highwaymen wouldn't deem worthy of taking. His narrow belt had a thin coin pouch at the front and a ring around the back. A rusted handaxe was using the ring for a noose.
A gust of wind rolled down from the peaks and after toying with the cloak for a bit, tore it from Gaius’ numb fingers. This prompted him to launch into a litany of colorful curses that made it abundantly clear he hadn’t a pious bone in his body.
Still tender from a recent shave, dotted with a series of shallow cuts, his head begged for mercy. With another curse, Gaius turned towards the saddlebags and pulled out a shirt fashioned in a way that designated its owner as some variety of sailor. Before long, the shirt was turned into a piece of improvised headgear.
And since the bag was already open, Gaius reached inside and scooped out a few of the roasted walnuts he had for rations. With his mouth full, he dug through the bag until he found his only other change of clothes that consisted of a pair of woolen trousers and an aproned robe an arcane artisan would wear in the shop.
The robe’s many pockets were useful for storing all sorts of tools and reagents, and at the moment, one of them had a pair of paper-thin tablets tucked away inside.
Having made sure that the tablets were still there, Gaius rearranged the bag's contents to give them a more natural look and refocused on the road ahead that was now getting visibly wider and better maintained.
With each step, Not-Apples was taking the two of them closer to the border pass that separated Caladonia and the Kingdom of Mystlund.
The latter was Gaius’ homeland. A place of plentiful magics and a bastion of progress.
The former, on the other hand, was a land steeped in tradition, where harvests were bountiful, women passionate, and men quick to anger. It was also missing a couple of holy relics and a courier horse.
Just as Not-Apples was conquering another twist of the mountainous road, Gaius spotted a caravan spinning its wheels a ways ahead. The caravan’s black frame was decorated with a series of rather unsettling animalistic totems.
From what Gaius had heard, this was supposed to be a lively road frequented by tourists and merchants from both countries, yet during his ascent, his only traveling companions until that point were a family of curious mountain goats. And even those abandoned him hours ago for a patch of tasty lichen.
Gaius had no idea how he never noticed this peculiar caravan earlier. But now that he had, the only sensible course of action left for him was to introduce himself and let his friendly intentions be known.
The caravan was pulled by a couple of muscular black stallions that looked nearly identical. An old man in a crisp formal suit was holding the reins. A pointy beard that looked like it just had a date with a barber framed his face, streaking down straight from his horseshoe of a hairdo.
“Good day to you, friend,” Gaius said. A slight half-smile was plastered on his face. “And here I thought I was the only one suffering this pitiful excuse for a road.”
“Is not really so bad,” the old man replied after giving Gaius and his horse a quick once over. His words were drenched in a thick Slavian accent full of rolled rs and swallowed articles. “You just need a good hat,” he said. He then reached into the caravan and produced a fur hat. “Here, on the house,” he said after tossing the hat to Gaius.
Before putting the hat on, Gaius took some time to weigh the possibility of being asked for a return favor against the stabbing pain in his ears.
At least the caravan’s decorations made sense now. Some scholars theorized that Slavians had a closer bond with nature than even the elves who still stubbornly refused to climb down from their trees and live in proper houses like civilized people. And Slavians, as opportunistic as they were nature-loving, never missed a chance to play those stereotypes up when visiting the eastern continent.
“You mean free of charge?” Gaius asked with one eyebrow raised.
“Naturally,” the old man said with an understanding nod.
Before long, the shirt was back in the saddlebag, and Gaius' scalp was expressing all sorts of gratitude to the marvels of Slavian craftsmanship.
“I’m Vasily, by the way,” the old man introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you. And thanks for the gift.”
Ever since it came time for Brother Greenleaf to disappear in some Caladonian gutter, Gaius devoted plenty of thinking to what would come next.
“You can call me Gaius,” he said. It was a good, common name with roots in the Old Empire. There was scarcely a place in the world where you would be surprised to run into a Gaius.
For his last name, he had to go with something more local. Without a mess of hair and leaves to obscure it, his pale complexion, square jaw, and flat nose all betrayed his Mystlund origins.
“Chanter,” he added as if tasting the word in his mouth. This was the first time he actually said the name out loud. “Gaius Chanter. But you just call me Guy. It's easier for everyone that way,” Gaius said, getting a better feel for the new him. Afterward, he didn't hesitate to change the subject. “What brings you here, Vasily?”
The old man reached into the caravan again and produced a sash adorned with a row of crimson vials. “I’m just a merchant hauling goods to the nearby border town of Siembra. One hears all sorts of things about that place. Rumors attract adventurers. Adventurers provide for a cozy retirement. You don’t happen to be one of their ilk, son?” He winked, allowing Gaius to get a good look at the sash.
“Me? No way. I’m on my way back after delivering a package for my boss, Magister Ian over in Draksburg. He’s kind of a big deal. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, son,” Vasily shook his head as he was putting the sash away. “And what of those rumors then? Are any of them true? You must have passed through Siembra on your way to Caladonia.”
“You know how rumors are. Some old hag sees a mangy goblin, and by the time she rattles her bones over to the town square, that goblin is a horde of demons ready to strike at a moment’s notice. A crafty magistrate then makes sure the tavern’s patrons are all up to speed with the news. Before long, the town is bustling with commerce and tourism thanks to all the adventurers arriving daily in search of easy fortunes.”
There wasn’t a word of truth to this story. Gaius had never been to Siembra, had no idea what was going on there, and even if a Magister by the name of Ian resided in Draksburg, it would have been a mere coincidence. All that being the case, during his brief stay in Caladonia, he did hear that these mountains were a hotspot for all kinds of devilry.
“Still, any secluded road is a dangerous one for a merchant without an entourage of sellswords,” he noted.
“I manage,” the old man said, following a quick shrug.
I'd like to see you manage with a goblin's spear stuck between your ribs, Gaius wanted to say. Then he remembered that Gaius Chanter wasn't in the business of prying or being needlessly confrontational, so instead, he said, “You know what they say when running short on volunteers to go get eaten by a dragon? Two is a party. Want to join up for the final stretch?”
A rich merchant and his juicy caravan were the perfect smokescreen for a single shabby-looking horseman looking to get across the border unmolested. Caladonian constables were sure to be distracted by Vasily's wares, and Gaius was already sensing a saved bribe in his immediate future.
Vasily agreed, and the two spent the next mile or two riding side by side.
The Slavian merchant found some truth in what Gaius said earlier, and as such, he used their time together to monologue about how dragons were good for business, and how one could easily mix a stock of healing potions with a few common reagents to then sell them at a premium on account of their new fire-repelling properties.
Before Vasily got a chance to name those common ingredients, a raucous wail coming from Siembra’s direction pierced the air.
“What’s this now, Guy?” Vasily asked through gritted teeth.
“I’ve no clue,” Gaius admitted. “Caladonians and their relics. Who knows what half of them does.”
“What a horrible noise.” Vasily’s face turned most sour. He raised his arms like he was getting ready to start weaving a spell.
Gaius never had a chance to see a genuine Slavian arcane practitioner in action. He was expecting a spectacle.
Just as the old man opened his mouth, a wheezing noise overpowered the background wailing. With his peripheral vision, Gaius spotted a blur of metal whirl from the cliffside and past his eyes, slowing only to separate the old man’s head from his body.
For a brief moment, Gaius froze, staring at Vasily’s rolling head and his slumped headless frame still clutching the caravan’s reins. He expected there to be more blood, yet there were but a few drops of red painting the fresh wound.
The caravan’s horses reacted to their owner’s demise by stopping dead in their tracks. Not-Apples wasn’t quite as cool under pressure. The palfrey neighed, jerked to the side, kicked with her hind legs, and in general did everything in her power to leave Gaius in the dust before making a hasty retreat.
For Gaius, a horse was like this weird four-legged land boat. On a good day, he knew how to make it go and how to stop. His chances of staying in the saddle were rapidly approaching zero with every passing second, and he knew it.
A slight shift of his weight, a swift hand motion, and Gaius found himself on the ground with the saddlebags cushioning his fall, while Not-Apples went on galloping down the mountain back to the warmth of civilization where there were many carrots and not a lot of decapitated merchants and flying blades.
From his spot down low, Gaius noticed two things. One - his fancy new hat fell off during his struggle with Not-Apples. And two – some disfigured humanoid creatures were now clumsily dragging themselves up onto the road from the ravine below.
The creatures wore no clothes but lacked any parts that could be considered shameful. They had sickly grey skin and resembled a bunch of corpses some unhinged necromancer decided to reinforce with metal but abandoned that pursuit halfway through. Some of the creatures had metal plates covering their fleshy bits, others had extra joints extending their limbs. A few of them were holding jagged discs in their three-fingered palms.
“What the shit even are you lot? State your business, now,” Gaius shouted just in case the creatures possessed a higher level of intelligence than the first impression suggested.
In response to that, the creatures locked their idle gazes on Gaius and made a few shambling steps forward. Away from the cliff and closer to him.
Avoiding any sudden movements, Gaius got up and started to think really really fast.
With the creatures almost upon him and Vasily, his only semblance of an ally there, sitting headless, Gaius didn’t much like his chances of making a clean exit.
Interrupting his train of thought, one of the creatures leaned forward and rushed towards Gaius with alacrity one wouldn't expect from such a misshapen mess of flesh and metal. At the same time, another creature tossed its blade with the strength of a giant.
During the split second it took Gaius to raise his saddlebag and use it as an improvised shield, he wondered if the bags had enough padding to withstand the incoming hit.
Just to be on the safe side, Gaius took a half step back and put some spin on his hips. This move allowed him to deflect the blade to the side instead of meeting it head-on. He paid for that with his shoulder feeling like it was about to pop from its socket.
There wasn’t any time to waste thinking about what just happened or even be paralyzed by terror. Despite the stabbing pain in his shoulder, Gaius darted for the caravan and out of the creatures’ direct line of sight. Now it occurred to him that his reckless act of self-preservation may have damaged the tablets, and that put a sour twist on his lips.
He reached for the axe on his belt. The sorry thing looked like it wouldn’t cut through a block of butter on a sunny day, but as soon as Gaius touched the chipped edge, it started emitting a pale green glow.
Out of options and with his back pressed against the caravan, Gaius met the first charging specimen of transmutation gone wrong with a sideways chop to where a humanoid’s heart would be. The creature was apparently too stupid to know it needed a heart to function or realize there was now a hole sizzling with acid in its chest. It shrugged the blow off and tried to claw Gaius with its knotted arms.
By that point in his life, Gaius had been a member of three different thieves’ guilds in Mystlund, plundered the burial caves of the barbarian tribes up North, disappeared for a while in the expansive steppes of the East, posed as a necromancer baron on his visit to the undead Isle of Plenty, and had gone through a dozen of names.
In short, he knew to always expect the unexpected. He started dodging almost before his axe had found its mark. The creature’s arms flailed at empty air, while Gaius was already sending another chop its way. This time to the top of its skull.
The skull split, splashing viscous silvery fluid all over the place. And once again not wasting any time, Gaius kicked the creature’s body away to unstuck his axe.
The limp torso fell backward, but the creature's bare heels stubbornly dug in. Its legs did a short hop forward, and the rest of it dangled along.
Gaius wasn't sure whether to be impressed or horrified. He landed somewhere in-between, freezing momentarily with his mouth agape and his eyes wide open. This was when the creature's knees popped with a loud crack, and some inner force spun its upper body at Gaius using the knees as an axis.
There’s a limit to how much unexpected one can expect. For Gaius, the creature’s spinning trick went way past that limit. The body hit like an oversized club, slamming him against the caravan.
This time around, Gaius didn't have anything to soften the blow. His side felt every pebble scattered across the road as he hit the ground.
Slightly dazed, Gaius raised an arm towards the spinning monstrosity. He barked a quick, well-practiced incantation. Immediately, a puddle of thick dark oil materialized underneath the creature’s feet. Then, Gaius snapped his bruised fingers.
A single bright spark arced from his hand towards the puddle, engulfing the creature in a circle of noxious flames. This, together with the acid still eating through its innards, had finally put enough hurt on the monstrosity to make it stop.
Gaius rolled himself under the caravan and was relieved to see the remaining creatures mindlessly shambling about, folding and unfolding their segmented limbs. It was as if they were too busy exploring their own capabilities to either notice or care about what just happened to one of their kind.
Observing the creatures, Gaius realized that the insufferable wailing that preceded this whole mess wasn’t there anymore. Without it clouding his thoughts, he could see he needed to make a run for it, but yet he hesitated. The creatures were just too unpredictable. And while Gaius was no stranger to gambling, he always liked to have a set of loaded dice before sitting down at the table.
Just like every other citizen of Mystlund, Gaius learned some basics of spellweaving at a young age. But even though the last name he chose for himself wasn’t truly random, he was no full-fledged wizard. And since he was in no position to dig deep for exactly the right cantrip, he turned to a couple of tricks from his usual repertoire.
The first spell required a complex sequence of gestures, and performing them without messing anything up while stuck under a caravan was quite a challenge. In the end, Gaius had to cut some corners, but a shimmering figure that was a rough approximation of his shape appeared slightly down the road from the creatures.
Then, he whispered a few words, touched his lips, and created a mental link with that phantom. A loud, if slightly muffled voice, started yelling obscenities of the kind that got you arrested in the more civilized parts of the world.
Whether or not they understood the words, the insults attracted the creatures' attention, and a few of their blades flew towards the phantom, harmlessly passing through its incorporeal shell.
This worked the creatures into a frenzy. Producing a series of guttural yelps, they charged the phantom as fast as their mismatched limbs allowed.
Praising himself for not buying the creatures’ docile act, Gaius used that opening to climb onto the caravan.
“You sure knew how to pick obedient horses. May demons find someone else to eviscerate today,” Gaius whispered with the solemnity of prayer. He then introduced his boot to Vasily's lifeless body, kicking it out of the driver's seat.
“Move, you hay-munching buggers,” Gaius hissed, cracking the reins.
The horses, who until a moment ago didn’t seem at all perturbed by what was going on around them, responded with a pair of echoing whinnies and launched into a race-winning gallop.
When he felt he put enough distance between himself and the creatures, Gaius checked the saddlebags that were now sitting on his lap. The tablets were intact, saving him from having to add another employer to the list of people he needed to avoid for the rest of his life.
Trying hard to focus on his coming payday and nothing else, Gaius found himself regretting not checking Vasily’s pockets before disposing of the old man’s body.
And that reminded him that his new fur hat was now sitting in some ditch way down the road.
Gaius sneezed.
