The Dragons Bane

The four of us, that being Mintock, Seldor, Nordok, and Clernon, each having an exceptional thirst for adventure, are headed north to CrossRoads Castle. We have each just recently completed our schooling, Mintock from the Mages School of White Magicians, Seldor and Nordok from the Fighters Training School of Solar, and Clernon from the god Shilo’s Church of the Mother Tree.

Having left Solar, the first leg of our journey was by ship, up the Great River north to the town of Three Forks. Here, we had to purchase horses and other gear for the next leg of our journey to fame and fortune.

We have scheduled our trip north to co-inside with the last of the winter caravans. We are traveling with the March caravan of trade goods from the town of Three Forks. We agreed to trade our services, if needed, in return for the honor of accompanying the traders. As this is a well-traveled road, we aren’t expecting much in the way of trouble beyond some rough road.

This caravan is the largest of this winter’s caravans to make the trip north to CrossRoads Castle from the town of Three Forks. As it is the last of the winter caravans, it will get us to CrossRoads Castle with enough time before the spring thaw to acquaint ourselves with the locals and gather the supplies for the trip north to the Ruins of Myth Dranor.

The last leg of our trip north to CrossRoads Castle is expected to take the better part of a month. We left bright and early on the morning of the third day of March. An early thaw has made the road a river of muddy ruts. The caravan master, a hard looking fellow by the name of Carmoon, has assured us that this is to be expected. He says this has been planned for, as evidenced by the four additional wagons of stone provided by the Town of Three Forks, whose job it is to maintain the road and protect the countryside nearest the town.

These wagons are leading the way, but they will turn back once their stone has been used up or we reach the end of the countryside controlled by the town. Thus our first few days pass uneventfully, if painfully slow at times. Seldor and Nordok, except for our dinner meal, generally reside with the caravan guards. Mintock, like most practitioners of magic, spends most of his time engrossed in his spellbooks. And Clernon, typical of a cleric, spends his days preaching and praying, except when he assists the cook with our meals, something that he seems to have taken an unexpected pleasure in.

“Are the fires fit to cook on yet?” asks Clernon. “The camp will be settled for the night and people will be looking for dinner soon.”

“No, the fires need a few more minutes before the coals are hot enough to cook on,” says Jadar, the cook’s assistant.

“Then get me some more pepper and break out two more loaves of mead for the bread. This is the last night before the road crew heads back and Carmoon means to see them well fed. He feels they did a good job with the road and wants to show them our thanks with a big farewell meal and full bellies.”

Hebron, the caravan cook, comes into the cooking tent. Seeing the look on Jadar’s face causes him to chuckle. “Are you badgering my assistant again, Clernon? Jadar, if Clernon pesters you too much, you have my permission to blow pepper at him until he can’t stop sneezing for a week!”

Jadar, with a smile, replies “I already have the pepper in my hand!”

“Only because I just asked you to get it!” responds Clernon with a laugh.

“Are these deer sections spitted properly? They look a little loose. We don’t want one of them falling off into a fire pit, now do we? Good thing Carmoon sent out some guards for fresh meat this morning, but then it wouldn’t be much of a goodbye feast for the road crew if all we had to feed them were cold trail rations, now would it?” comments Hebron.

“Yes, I spitted them myself”, says Clernon, “personally seasoned them, too!”

“Jadar, do me a favor and go check on the fires, come back when they are ready” orders Hebron. And Jadar, sensing that Hebron wants to be alone with Clernon for some reason, leaves to check on the fires for the umpteenth time.

“Now that he’s gone, I’ve got something to tell you, Clernon. The reason Carmoon sent for me was because he wanted me to tell you to be prepared for trouble tonight. The guards that shot the deer reported seeing a lot of wolf tracks in the area. He doesn’t want everyone in camp upset by the news, so he asked me to tell you quietly. The guards all know and every fire is to be kept high during the night. Hopefully we won’t need your healing services, but it is better to be prepared, just in case.”

“I wouldn’t have thought wolves would bother a camp this size,” reflects Clernon, “but I will be ready to assist in any way I can.”

“Good enough, let’s get these spits of meat on the fires. Jadar! Come and help carry the meat, those fires have to be good an’ hot by now!” yells Hebron.

“Nordok, explain to me again how we got the midnight to four watch,” asked Seldor.

“I traded watches with Pathos and Myrot because I heard that wolves attack after midnight and if they do, I would rather be up and ready than fast asleep. Besides, it’ll break up the boredom I’ve been feeling these last few days.”

“And just where did you get this information, from Pathos or Myrot?”

Blushing, Nordok replies, “Pathos, actually. Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. At least the guard is doubled tonight so we can keep each other company.”

“Sometimes I think the only reason you became a fighter was because you are too stupid for anything else. I ... shush, did you hear that?”

“Yes, it came from over there,” points Nordok, as he and Seldor unsheathe their swords.

“Who goes there?” yells Seldor.

Just then four wolves break from cover and attack. One of the wolves circles behind the two, one comes from the front, and the remaining two wolves split up to come at them from the sides. Nordok turns to meet the wolf on the left, while Seldor positions himself for the one in front.

As the wolves advance to attack, Nordok slashes at the one on the left and misses while Seldor connects with the shoulder of the one in front, driving it away howling in pain. The one on the right tries to bite Seldor’s leg, but the wolf’s teeth slide harmlessly of his armored leg.

Nordok then makes a stab at the chest of the one assailing him as it launches itself toward him. Luckily, he skewers it, delivering a solid blow that kills it. But the momentum of the dead wolf forces him backward, leaving him vulnerable. Now the one that had circled behind leaps at his unprotected back, knocking him down and pinning him face down in the snow.

Seldor, noticing Nordok’s plight, delivers a vicious downward slash at the ankle biter. His blade cuts deep, through the backbone, leaving the wolf to crawl away with only its two front feet still working.

Seldor then turns and rushes to Nordok’s rescue, yelling at the wolf to begone.

The wolf on Nordok’s back decides to make a hasty retreat before the approaching onslaught of Seldor, but not before taking a quick bite at the back of Nordok’s head. The bite succeeds in drawing blood and ripping skin, but doesn’t deliver the killing blow expected.

Just then an arrow pierces its side, dropping the wolf in its tracks, as more guards come running. Seldor helps the armor encumbered Nordok to roll over and sit up. “Hold still, you are losing a lot of blood.” Removing Nordok’s helm, he examines the wound. “Only two teeth marks? You are lucky. Let me put a bandage on this until Clernon can be summoned.” Taking a cloth out of his hip sack, Seldor puts it on Nordok’s wound and applies pressure in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

Killian, head of the caravan guard, is the first to reach them. Surveying the wounds on the back of Nordok’s head, he immediately sends for Clernon.

“The four of them came out of the bushes just after we came on duty,” says Seldor.

“And a good thing it was,” replies Killian, “another few minutes and we would have been in bed. From now on we stay closer to the caravan at night and I want the guards tripled. And I want every third guard to be armed with a bow.”

Clernon comes running up. “Who’s hurt? Let me through!”

“Nordok, but it’s just a slight scalp wound,” replies Killian.

“Let me see,” demands Clernon, beginning to examine the wound, “My, scalp wounds do bleed a lot, don’t they? Hold him still while I heal him.”

Clernon holds forth his medallion bearing the symbol of the Mother Tree in one hand while covering the wound with his other hand. He then starts to pray silently. The medallion begins to glow with a blueish white light, which then travels down Clernon’s arm, engulfing his body. The blueish white glow travels down his other arm to his hand, before encircling Nordok’s head. Miraculously, within moments the wounds close up and heal as if they were never there.

As the glow disappears from around Clernon and weariness sets in, Killian takes charge again. “Help them both to bed, they’ll be needing their rest now. And make sure someone cleans the blood off the back of Nordok’s head, we don’t want the scent of fresh blood attracting any more unwanted visitors tonight. Seldor, are you fit to stand the rest of your watch?”

“Yes, sir!” replies Seldor.

“Pathos, you take the rest of Nordok’s shift and Myrot, you stand third guard with the bow. And you two will also stay for the first half of the next watch. Any grumbling and I’ll be wondering why you two weren’t the ones standing this watch in the first place!”

“Yes, sir!” reply both Pathos and Myrot with swift, professional promptness.

After the rest leave and things calm down somewhat, Pathos is the first to speak about the attack with Seldor. “We really are sorry to have tricked Nordok like that. We honestly didn’t think anything would happen tonight,” he apologizes.

“Yes, and we really feel bad that he was hurt taking our place. It should have been us out here when the wolves attacked,” adds Myrot.

“Well, no real harm done. Besides, maybe Nordok will learn some wisdom from this. Our teachers at school were always saying how only fools become adventurers. ‘Adventuring is ninety-nine percent boredom filled with hard work while the remaining one percent is spent fighting for your life, but the problem is that you never know when that one percent is going to take place.’ I’m beginning to see what they meant. Apology accepted. I’ll pass what you said on to Nordok. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your apology too.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the shift, like the night, passes uneventfully.

The morning dawns bright and crisp. The fresh scent of new fallen snow combined with the smell of the cooking fires and breakfast dominates the air. Jadar, ever curious, inquires of the missing Clernon. “Hebron, what has become of our cooking cleric this morning?”

“He was called to work in the middle of the night. Seems one of our adventurers had a run in with a wolf. Killian asked that I let him sleep in this morning.”

“Then I only have one master this morning!” returns Jadar, jokingly.

Clernon, coming up behind Jadar, startles him, “and a lucky break it is for you, but I’ll make up for it at dinner tonight!”

To which Jadar, with a fake groan, replies “Another peaceful breakfast ruined before it’s begun! And a promise of a ruined dinner of over-spiced burnt meat, to boot!”

“I may not be helping with breakfast today, but mind your lunch preparations are done right, them wolves have the guards pulling triple duty at night. That’s sure to make them a little grouchy for the next few days.”

“Lucky for us to have you along this trip. I heard that scalp wound was pretty serious,” says Hebron.

“Fortunately for him, his helm blocked part of the bite. But yes, it took most of my healing ability to fix. Which is why I won’t be helping with breakfast, I’ve got a patient to check on and some thankful prayers to say this morning.”

“Say one for me.”

“Me, too!” chimes in Jadar, as Clernon departs.

Nordok is awakened by the approach of Killian, who has come to check on him. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“A little tired, but otherwise strangely refreshed. I take it the wolves are dead?”

“Yes, we tracked down the two wounded ones and killed them at first light this morning. I have a question for you. I asked Seldor, but he declined to comment. How come you and Seldor were standing watch instead of Pathos and Myrot?”

“It was my doing, I volunteered us to take their place. If some wolves did attack, I was hoping to get a little experience fighting wolves and maybe some excitement out of it. Besides, I figured I would stand a better chance of not being hurt if I was awake and ready for them,” replies Nordok sheepishly.

“Well, I don’t think you got quite the experience that you anticipated, but hopefully you learned something from this. From now on stand your own watch, I assign people to certain watches for a reason.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then Clernon enters the tent and comes to stand behind Killian. “So, now that you have been properly chastised, how are you doing this morning? I hope this won’t become a habit. Just because I can heal you doesn’t mean you’re allowed to go getting yourself hurt whenever it pleases you. A god’s gifts are not to be taken lightly.”

Nordok’s reply is accompanied by a warm smile, “thanks for being there when I needed you. I owe you one.”

“Yes, you do. And I mean to collect after breakfast. I need about fifty pounds of taters peeled, ten pounds of onions, and several dozen bundles of carrots. We are having stew for dinner, seems we have a lot of deer scraps left that aren’t fit for anything else.”

“On that note, I think I’d best be going before I get put to work, too!” laughs Killian as he leaves the tent.

“Well, it could be a worse punishment. Seldor, Pathos, and Myrot are cleaning the traveling pots for the whole caravan. Killian told them he wants them clean enough to eat out of by breakfast’s end or he’ll have the three of them cleaning the pots until we reach the castle. Your punishment he left up to me, to be determined based on your health.”

“I guess I can’t complain, then. Cleaning onions can be pretty smelly, but it’s nowhere near as smelly as chamber pot detail!”

Clernon laughs. “Now for part two of your punishment, you must join me in prayer for your healing. And I don’t mean a simple thankyou.”

Nordok lets out a mock groan. “Somehow I just knew I wasn’t going to get off lucky today.”

Another week of thankfully uneventful travel has brought us to within a few days of the blacksmith. The blacksmith is our only scheduled stop along the route to the castle. The mountains have surrounded us in all their majesty. The snow, while still in abundance a few hundred feet above us, has begun to recede with the encroachment of spring.

The Great River of the North, alongside of which we have been traveling, is fast and furious with snowmelt. The past week’s travel has been hard going. The shallow gullies that have been created by the many snow-fed streams as they rush to meet the mighty river have made travel difficult. We have had to use extreme care when crossing them; fortunately we have only suffered damage to two wagons so far.

We are all looking forward to our brief stop at the blacksmiths.

We shall be stopping at the blacksmith’s soon, maybe by midday on the morrow. His cabin lies opposite from where the river from Dragon Mountain meets the Great River of the North. The sky is clear today and we are within sight of Dragon Mountain, so called because its snow-clad top is shaped like a giant White Dragon.

It is said that in ancient times dwarves chiseled the tall mountaintop into the shape of a great white dragon named Garthnemrod in return for rescuing the dwarven king Mythril Hammershod from the lair of an evil red dragon. It is also said that white dragons still gather there and that at least one white dragon is always in residence within the great caverns located beneath the wings.

It is mid-afternoon and Nordok and Seldor are riding point. Noticing a fast moving shape near the top of Dragon Mountain, Seldor draws Nordok’s attention to it. “Nordok, what do you make of that?”

To which Nordok, never having seen a dragon in flight either, replies “I don’t know, but it must be big for us to see it from here. Better report it.”

“I agree.”

The two turn their horses and race back towards the caravan. The lead wagon master abruptly halts the caravan when he notices their quick return. Killian and Carmoon, alerted to the possibility of trouble by the sudden halt, ride towards the front of the caravan. The two, noticing where Nordok and Seldor are pointing, scan the sky around Dragon Mountain quickly.

They then ride forward, meeting Seldor and Nordok before the two make it halfway back to the caravan. Killian and Carmoon dismount. “You two take our horses back to the caravan and warn everyone to stay back and try to keep the horses calm. The dragon fear may cause some to try to bolt, even at this distance.”

“Yes, sir!”

With that the two fighters take the other horses’ tethers and ride quickly back to the rest of the caravan to spread the warning. By now everyone is watching the majestic approach of the great white dragon, even our reclusive magic-user, Mintock.

The dragon settles down to earth in front of Killian and Carmoon with an easeful grace that seems out of place for something so large. Everyone watches as the dragon speaks with the two puny humans. The dragon then gracefully lifts off and heads back towards the mountaintop from which it came. Killian motions for Nordok and Seldor to return with the two mounts.

As they approach, Killian begins to yell out orders. “We must take a small party and escort Clernon to the blacksmith. It seems he was seriously injured a few days ago in a fall and is in dire need of a Cleric’s services.” With that the four of us rush back to camp.

“We need five fresh horses. Clernon! The blacksmith needs you. And I want four fresh guards to accompany him to the blacksmith’s.”

While Clernon and four caravan guards ready their mounts and gear, Carmoon comes out of his wagon and approaches Clernon. “Clernon, I fear this may be needed. The scroll contains a powerful healing spell. Darvon, the blacksmith, may be gravely hurt. Use your best judgement.”

Surprised, Clernon takes the valuable scroll. “I will do what is needed.”

“Darvon has been an extremely valuable asset to the caravans over the years and I don’t want to lose him. He is a fair and honest man and one whom I am glad to call a friend. Do whatever it takes to fix him up. I would go with you, but my place is here with the caravan, as is Killian’s.” Nodding his understanding, Clernon mounts his horse and rides north with the four guards to the blacksmith’s cabin.

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The blacksmith’s home is a simple stone structure similar to a cabin with an attached stable and blacksmith shop. A plume of smoke rises from the chimney, indicative of a warm fire. A large supply of wood is stacked behind the cabin, almost as big as the cabin itself. Except for a trail of blood leading into the front door, everything appears normal. We dismount and approach the door. Receiving no reply to either our hail or our pounding on the door, we try the door and discover it is unlocked.

The inside is neat and tidy, as if the occupant had a lot of free time on his hands. Iron artwork decorates all the available free space on the walls and even covers much of the ceiling. We find Darvon unconscious on a bed in the corner. He is alive, but only barely. He has a severely broken leg, the bone, sticking out, is clearly visible and the smell of gangrene predominates the room.

Clernon, upon examining the wound carefully but quickly, realizes that it is far beyond his current ability to fix. Mumbling to himself, he produces the scroll given to him by Carmoon. Spreading it open, he begins to read its contents.

The guards, looking on with interest, can clearly see the scroll as it obtains a blueish white glow. The blueish white glow then traverses up Clernon’s arms and spreads over his entire body as he completes the reading of the scroll. They watch with rapt attention as Clernon, setting the scroll aside, bends to touch the wounded leg. With one hand to either side of the wound, he pulls the leg so that the bone disappears back into the flesh of the leg, while the green glow transfers itself from Clernon to cover the unconscious blacksmith. After a few seconds, the flesh heals on the leg and the blueish white glow slowly dissipates.

Darvon, while still unconscious, begins to breathe normally. Two of the guards help Clernon, visibly weak from the ordeal, into a chair by a table in the center of the room, where he immediately falls into a light stupor. The other two throw more wood in the fireplace. Soon the room is nicely warm and toasty, and the smell of gangrene has been sucked up the chimney, leaving the room with the fresh, healthy fragrance of the outside mountain air.

A short while later, Clernon awakens from his nap and goes over to check on his patient. “He seems to be resting peacefully and the leg appears normal. Please get some water in the big kettle and begin boiling it, about halfway should do. Then help me find some meat and vegetables for a stew, I’m sure we could all do with some food.”

“Aye, that we will all soon be in need of. I’ll fetch the water, Freller, you find the meat an’ such” replies one of the guards.

After a while, the smell of the stew cooking begins to make everyone’s stomach begin to growl. The guards, meanwhile, have been examining the artwork adorning the walls and ceiling. “Have you ever seen the like of some of this stuff?” asks one of the guards.

“It’s beautiful. I wonder why someone who can make such things as these stays out here by himself, with no-one for miles to keep him company?” replies another.

Just then, Darvon, awakening, sits up. “’Tis the isolation that gives me the freedom to create these things. I lived in a city once, but the constant interruptions kept me from creating the things that I wanted to make. Everyone wanted something special, but they wanted their creations made with my skill. Now I make my own and they can either buy them, or find someone else to make what they choose.”

Startled, the guard turns toward Darvon. “Sorry to be sounding critical of you, didn’t realize you was awake. But your words make sense to me. I see the truth of it.”

Darvon replies with a smile. “To whom do I owe my good health to? I thought to never see tomorrow.”

“Yonder cleric ’tis responsible” replies another guard.

“Nay, I was only one of several, good smith. The dragon gave us the word of your plight. And it was Carmoon‘s scroll of healing that preserved you for another day, combined with the help and grace of the Mother Tree. Your injury was well beyond my humble skills.”

“Then who would I be beholden to for some of that stew I smell cooking?”

“None but yourself. And it is us that should be beholden to you for that. The food is yours, we but cooked it,” replies Clernon. At which the six, after a prayer of thanks, sit and eat and talk of things gone by at home and abroad since the last caravan passed through.

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“I need some fresh air, I think I will get some firewood before it gets dark,” states Clernon.

“I’ll give you a hand,” says Freller.

“No, that’s alright. I kind of want to be alone for a minute.”

“But it might be dangerous to go out alone.”

“My god will protect me.”

“Ok, but give a loud yell if you get into trouble out there.”

With a nod, Clernon dons his coat and heads out into the cold twilight for some fresh air and an armload of firewood. After admiring the first few stars and the majesty of the mountains for a few minutes, he heads towards the back of the cabin and the firewood stacked there.

Just as he rounds the back wall of the cabin, a beautiful woman with hair that is as white as her alabaster skin steps out from behind a high stack of firewood. Startled, Clernon stops dead before finding himself captivated by the woman’s beauty.

Smiling at his obvious loss for words and knowing full well her effect on men, the woman comes close to him and kisses him gently on the cheek, breaking her spell on him.

“That is for saving Darvon’s life today. I think I would rather perish than be without him.”

“It was my pleasure, my lady. Besides, it is all part of my calling and my duty.”

“Still, I feel I owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing for saving him. If you wish to feel beholden to someone, then thank the Mother Tree, my lady. For without her help and blessing today, I could not have saved him. My own skills were far from what was required.”

“Yes, but I suspect that it was your honesty and devotion to the Mother Tree that caused her to grant your prayer and heal him.”

“That may be true, but by the same token, it was his worthiness that may also have been why she chose to save him.”

“Just the same, I thank you. And I wish to repay you should the opportunity present itself. If you ever find yourself in mortal danger, call my name into the wind and I will come. My name is Chrysanthalbus, in your tongue it means White Flower.”

The effect of her name on Clernon is startling, for he realizes that her name is that of a dragon, which means that she is a dragon.

Smiling at the look of dawning comprehension of his face, White Flower turns and takes three rapid steps into the air. Her arms go out, the gossamer robes flowing in the light breeze as her body then transforms ever so gracefully into a white dragon. Clernon is still admiring her beauty as she flies up and away.

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About mid-afternoon of the following day a hail can be heard as the caravan approaches the blacksmith’s home. As the caravan stops, Darvon leads the rest of us out to greet Carmoon and Killian and the rest.

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Darvon. I’ve got some work for you and can’t afford any further delays,” claims a jovial Carmoon.

“Then I guess ’twas in your best interest to send someone ahead to fix me up,” smiles back Darvon. “I really owe you this trip, my thanks can’t be said enough. I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“Well, after all that you have done for the caravans over the years, it was the least I could do. It isn’t many that would stay out here year round where the services of a blacksmith are needed most direly. Consider it a repayment for that service.”

“Nay, I will fix your wagons freely this trip and give you something special that I made just this winter. Come in and warm your bones while I show you my latest piece.” With that the two old friends adjourn to the warmth of the fire inside.

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About midway from the blacksmiths to CrossRoads Castle, the two guards that are riding point in front of the caravan are surprised to find the body of a man in a robe a short distance from the side of the road. A staff is still clutched in one frozen hand, and a satchel lies next to the body. No armor adorns the body, indicating that he may have been a mage.

Wary of the always possible, if not probable, dangers associated with mages and their possessions, the two guards wisely refrain from touching the body or its possessions. They signal to the caravan, which immediately halts while Killian and two other guards come to investigate. “What have we here?”

“We think it is the body of a mage, sir. Thought it would be best not to touch anything till our mage took a look.”

“Wise choice, I’ll send for him.” Killian sends one of his accompanying guards to fetch Mintock.

Mintock, at first disgruntled over having his studies disrupted, is soon eager to discover what the dead mage may have been carrying. Using one of the few saddled and every-ready horses that Killian insists are necessary, Mintock rides to the others waiting further up the trail. He immediately dismounts by the body and begins examining the corpse and the few possessions on and around the body.

“He was definitely a mage. His spellbooks indicate he was either a third or fourth degree practitioner of the arts. The staff is ornate and probably magical. He has a few rings, but I can’t tell if they are magical. I suggest we place his body in one of the empty wagons and his possessions in my wagon until I can determine what is magical and what is not.”

“In either case, we must bring him and his belongings to the castle to determine if there are any next of kin that may lay claim to him,” states Killian. “There will be no plundering of the man’s things till then. And even then, they belong to Carmoon, since it was the guards that discovered the man. Is that clearly understood, Mintock?”

Mintock, a little crestfallen, replies, “Yes, I understand. But know this, I expect some reward for my services in discovering and identifying any magical possessions he may have.”

“That is something you can discuss with Carmoon. But for now, ready the body, when the caravan catches up I don’t want a big delay loading it into one of the wagons.”

Mintock then strips the body and places all the items on a blanket for Carmoon’s inventory of the man’s possessions. This way he insures that there can be no discrepancy over what has been found with the body. Our caravan makes a brief stop while the body is loaded and Carmoon writes down an inventory of the man’s belongings. The caravan then continues on until the usual stopping time.

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Over dinner, Mintock broaches the question of payment for determining and identifying any magical items the man may have had. “Carmoon, while I agree that my services as a mage were traded for passage on this trip, I feel that identifying anything magical among this man’s possessions exceeds that obligation. And since it is in your best interests that I do so, I feel I deserve some compensation. But only in the event that nobody at CrossRoads Castle claims the body and his possessions.”

Pondering the question, and considering the possible sale value of any magical items, Carmoon deliberates for a moment before replying. “And what, pray tell, would you be considering fair payment in the matter?”

“His spellbooks, for starters. As you probably well know, we mages are always searching to increase our knowledge by acquiring new spells. Beyond that, I would consider ten percent of the selling price of the items to be a fair price.”

And Carmoon, glad that Mintock didn’t want more and not wanting to create any problems this close to their destination, decides to agree. “Yes, I can live with that price. I will bring the items to your tent tonight so you can begin your examination. About how long will it take?”

“Two days. As you know I am only a beginner mage, and am therefore limited in my abilities. The spells I will require are within my ability, but as per your request, I currently have only a combat spell at my command, thus the delay.”

“Fair enough. We still have several days before we reach our destination.”

“Now on to other business. Hebron, how is our food holding out? If the weather holds as it is, we should make the castle in four to five days.”

“Then we should have plenty. I have about two weeks of stocks left. One, maybe two, more hunting trips for fresh meat will be needed, but otherwise we have plenty of food.”

“Good. Is anyone having any problems with their wagons that I need to know about?” The wagon drivers all shake their heads, indicating that all the wagons are in good shape. “Well then, unless anyone has anything else that I need to know about, I suggest we ready ourselves for the night and get some sleep.”

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Over the course of the next two days, Mintock carefully transcribes the unknown mage’s spells into his own spellbooks. He also determines that one of the three rings is a magical +1 ring of armoring and that the staff is a +1 staff. Other than that, the rest of the man’s possessions are non-magical. It is during the midday meal, consumed while still traveling, that Carmoon rides to Mintock’s wagon to inquire of his progress.

“Mintock, what news has you concerning the dead mage’s items?”

“The staff, just as suspected, is magical. It is a +1 weapon worth maybe 2000 gold pieces. Two of the rings are just that, simple rings worn to conceal the third ring, which is a +1 ring of armoring, worth about 10000 gold pieces, maybe more. Otherwise, nothing else showed any magical properties. Not surprising, since he was only a third or fourth degree practitioner of the art.”

“Still, a tidy sum. Maybe we shall get lucky and none will lay claim to it at the castle. I will put all the man’s stuff in the strong box in my wagon tonight after dinner, except for the staff. It is too big. Perhaps you should carry that for now. If none lays claim to the man or his possessions, and if you are agreeable, that can be your cut.” To which Mintock, obviously happy, agrees.

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That night after dinner, Clernon, Nordok, and Seldor, having noticed that Mintock ate dinner with the new staff nestled in the crook of his arm and has yet to set it down, decide to have a little fun. Nordok, coming up behind Mintock, asks “you gonna put that piece of firewood you been hugging all day in the fire, or can Clernon use it as a spit for tomorrow’s deer?”

Clernon chimes in with “yes, it looks about the right thickness and length for a spit over a fire!”

“You’re both wrong, I think it’s about the right size to pry the wagon wheels out of the mud with!”

Mintock, realizing that they are teasing, replies, “Just because I’m the first of us to acquire a magic weapon doesn’t mean that you three need to be jealous.”

“Oh, we’re not jealous. We’re just having a good laugh over the way you are acting now that you got your first magic item! Seems like you’re afraid it’ll disappear the moment you set it down!” says Seldor as the three burst into laughter. Finding their laughter contagious, Mintock joins in and sends the staff spinning into the air with a loud whoop and deftly catches it as it comes down.

The four continue to celebrate loudly until Killian comes over, attracted by the noise. “I wouldn’t become too attached to that staff just yet. Someone at the castle may lay claim to the body and anything found with it.”

“Yes, but for the moment it belongs to me,” says an exuberant Mintock, as the four continue to celebrate loudly.

“Just keep the roar low enough so as not to wake the dead. He might want his staff back,” laughs Killian before leaving to check on the rest of the caravan.