2.2 Tea For Two

The silence of another misty morning on Stonepeak was broken by the sudden pop of Silven’s arrival. He looked around and headed straight for the shabby wooden shacks of the village. He reached out and grabbed the first curious hunter who came to the door with his crossbow. “Where’s the visitors?” he puffed into the frosty air.

“Stonepeak!” growled the man, wrestling for control of his weapon.

“Aren’t I already there?” managed Silven, wrestling for control of himself.

The men looked at each other and relaxed. “Nay. Stonepeak was a proud town. Stonepeak was our grandfathers’ legacy,” exclaimed the peasant. “This is Shitpeak.”

Silven cursed and searched his map. The peasant shook his head. “Won’t find it on maps any more. It’s been lost to history.”

Silven was growing desperate. “But where? Someone there has something long owed to me. And I need it now.”

The peasant pointed further up the grassy hillside. “A little way up yet. Nice place. Cosy stone houses. Posh mansion. Lots of working fireplaces. Everyone’s treasure lying around in big chests. Cauldron safety certificate still current. It was abandoned years ago.”

Silven thanked the man, started up the slope, and turned. “Just what am I getting myself into, exactly? Why does no-one live there now?”

The hunter shrugged. “The earthworms ruined it. Big as your finger they are, these days. But we have to move on, don’t we?”

“Oh.” Silven paused, frowned, and continued the ascent.

Soon, he reached the broad curve of a corrie and beheld a majestic ring of sturdy buildings around a beautiful inner lake. If Oldeburgh didn’t have a tourist board, it was time they got their act together. Slowly, he paced up the cracked street, wary of the known and unknown alike. He knew what his vow had been, and he would insist on standing by it. This was for his benefit, and his benefit alone.

“Silven!” hissed a window off to the right. The warrior hurried up and the oaken door swung open at his approach. There before him stood a familiar man. A young man, in slightly less yellowed robes this time. He hesitated at the doorway and reluctantly accepted a hearty embrace from the merchant. “Olgred! You villain! Where’s my money?”

Olgred winced and looked around the edge of the corrie. “Shhhhh! Inside, now!” He dragged his guest into the comfy interior of the abode, and handed him a weighty satchel. “It’s all here for you. Fifty-nine silvers apiece. Alder be praised, it worked!”

“And the time?” insisted Silven, folding his arms sternly.

“You didn’t leave me your cursed name! Here I was, roaming the kingdom, asking if anyone had seen a man with a sword. That was all I knew about you. And then rumours came in about those Izrin blokes being seen off. It seemed like the sort of thing a bright spark like you would conjure up, and my luck was running out, so I took a chance and wrote to you.”

“And how did you know I’d be in that little place?”

Olgred laughed and took two cups from a marble counter. “What, you don’t know our mail system? All magic, my friend! Just write the name, and it’ll be wherever that person happens to be until they open it. Simple really. Why couldn’t you have just been a bit more nosy? I’ve been hiding out here for weeks! Oh, and I’ve put the kettle on. Bramble tea?”

Silven sighed. “With pleasure.” He took a seat at the round table, and looked out over the quiet street. “So, you’ve ruffled a few feathers, it seems?”

Olgred pointed a finger and grimaced. “No, we did. But it’ll be worth it. That’s if we escape with our lives. Which is something merchants challenging the Zapco Cartel have yet to achieve. But we’ve been the first for readymade maps, and we can be the first again!”

Silven watched smoke billow from the kettle on the stove, and snapped back to reality with his decision. “Okay, I’m going to go. I had the idea, you’ve done the work, and that’s it. You need to disappear for a while. Our fast-travel won’t work if the scouts are nearby. If you wait for nightfall and take the-”

A piercing shriek drowned out his words. It was the high, sing-song warble of a very happy kettle. “Tea for two! Tea for twooooooooooooo!” it whistled across the mountain. Olgred swore and swept the tin from the flame. It clanked along the floor and splattered boiling water across the merchant’s feet. “Jumping jackalkin!” he squealed, dancing about the room. “Too busy talking to you! I picked up the wrong one! The singing one!”

Silven was at the window in an instant. He ignored the curses and scanned the depression with worried eyes. That sound had reverberated through the enclosed village like the striking of a drum. And if this was supposed to be the domain of worms, the angered businessmen would think of one thing...

As in a nightmare, the thing happened as soon as he thought it. The not—quite-song of a not-quite-bird. The wave of a gloved hand. The creeping of a dozen hooded men along the far end of the lake. “Get out of here,” whispered Silven to the target. “Leave by the back door, and then we split. Divide the hunters.”

Olgred slumped on the table and put his head in his hands. “It’s over. I’ll never make it. I can only dawdle along at an infuriating pace, like any merchant worth his gold.”

Silven nodded sympathetically. “Oh well. Nice doing business. I may as well make use of your half too.”

Olgred looked up, alarmed. “What do you mean? I was just getting round to the way out.”

Silven glanced over at the advancing mercenaries. More and more seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork. He considered running, and brushed the thought aside, disgusted. He had tried to fight it, but deep down, he was warming to this Olgred chap. “Go on, but make it quick.”

“I need you to accept me as an eternal companion, pledged to serve you in any way I can, a faithful and loyal friend to the end of your quest,” replied the man without missing a beat.

Silven groaned. He hadn’t warmed to him all that much. Olgred went on. “Now we’ve developed a bond forged through our mutual struggle, our travel becomes linked. You make it out, and you can summon me away.”

Silven laughed. “Struggle? Profit, more like. But if that’s the best you’ve got....” He scowled. “Go on then. Companion away.”

Olgred beamed and puffed out his chest. “Thank you....master. Now quick. Escape for us both!”

“Okay, but less of the master. And this is only to save your skin, you hear me?” Silven drew his sword and ran for the door. He was rather surprised to see Olgred already in front, hovering nervously on the threshold.”What are you doing? Out of my way, then!” He stepped left. Olgred hopped to his right. He stepped right. Olgred followed. “What the snuk?” Silven roared.

“I’m trying, master!” squealed Olgred, floundering against the frame. Outside, all pretences of birds were up. The eager cries of the mercenaries grew closer, drawn by the argument within. Silven shoved Olgred hard in the ribs. The panicked man gasped yet stood rigid in his place, eyes shining with pain.

“Wait!” Silven instructed, and sprinted for the opposite door opening out towards the lake. Olgred barged past and froze gaping at the approaching figures. “I said wait!” roared his partner at his neck. “Sorry,” squeaked the merchant.

Silven tried to push past again, brushed against Olgred’s arm, and gave up. The man was like a stone obelisk, staring stupidly outwards at the exit. He was not to be roused, and not to be bypassed. The warrior gritted his teeth and snarled in his companion’s ear. “You see those men? They’ve got one purpose. To murder you. And they won’t rest ‘til they do it. And you know what you can do to stop them? Just step out of my bloody way!” He sensed something white bobbing in the distance, squinted, and groaned. It wasn’t a Master of Deathness, like he’d first thought. It was two. “Okay, they’re gonna murder us.” He looked round and noted a smart wooden staircase at the far corner of the room. “Go up there and hide.”

Olgred burst into hearty laughter. “Honestly? Oh, if only there was an actual way. You know, like a staircase or something.” Silven held his head in his hands and scrambled for the window. He covered his eyes as the pane shattered inwards and an eager sabre lashed out at his heart. He drew his sword, held it in the air as bloody blows rained down on him, and power-blasted his foes away. He lifted one leg through the broken opening. Then, he saw the seventeen other thugs trotting up to the house and decided otherwise. “Find something to fight with!” he screamed at Olgred.

The merchant beamed, scooped a hand beneath a cushion on the nearest chair, and drew up a child’s doll. “Here we are. We could sell this for about ten copper. Good value to weight ratio,” he replied dreamily.

Silven rounded the room in a few long strides. “Damn, we’re surrounded,” he growled, and rushed forward to meet a man coming through the lakeside door. His blade missed and he caught the wretch a dizzying blow with the pommel of his sword. “Hehe,” the man laughed, and swayed in the entrance as his fellows scurried behind him.”Hmm, there’s an idea,” muttered Silven. He dealt similar blows to the men crossing the windows and other door, and rounded furiously on the merchant, who was practising his epic fencing skills with a candlestick. “It’ll do. But now, for the love of the million gods, let’s find a way out. We’ve got little time.”

As the ambushers thrashed at their stunned companions, Silven turned the room upside down. “Aha!” he screeched triumphantly as he flung back the rug under the table to reveal a small trapdoor. At long last, he was beginning to get the hang of this place. There was always a secret passage where the seemingly innocent resident could store his ancestor’s treasures or conduct a summoning or hide a body. And luckily, this was unlocked.

“Arrrrgh!” boomed a hideous voice from outside. Then came the deafening rumble as the outer wall crumbled into a thousand pieces. In its place stood the two Masters, cruel maces in hand. “Now!” screamed Silven, ushering his ‘friend’ towards the descent.

“Oh good, I’ve always wanted to try out my aggressive side!” quipped Olgred. And then, he hefted his candlestick and waddled towards the waiting assassins. In any other situation, he would have looked adorable.

“Noooooo!” shouted Silven as the blows rained down on the merchant. He almost rose from the tunnel to charge his enemies, but then, the stunned thugs suddenly shook themselves and crowded into the house, baying for blood. As Olgred crumpled to the ground, still swinging the candlestick, Silven came to his senses and dived for cover, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. He clawed his way beyond the reach of grasping hands and pounded thoughtlessly down the stone passage. There was a chest full of something shiny in the room at the end, but Silven didn’t care. He drew out the FTS and flapped wearily at the parchment with his finger.

He found himself in the grey and sorrowful landscape of Snake Hill Outpost. A bitter wind pulled at his rags and stung his wounds, but he felt nothing. In his mind’s eye, he watched as the body dropped to the floor once more. Watched as the dripping maces were raised once more to –

“Bravo,” said Olgred at his side. He clapped his hands slowly and hopped back in surprise as Silven bolted up and stared wordlessly into his eyes. Then, the warrior shook his head and drew the merchant close in a mighty bear-hug. “But.... how?” Silven managed. He looked down at Olgred’s unscathed body in wonder.

Olgred wriggled free. “What did I tell you? If you made it, I’d make it. Which you did, in the nick of time, I may add. Good job you had the Fast Travel Supreme, with its itsy-bitsy enemy proximity threshold.”

Silven rubbed at his eyes impulsively and held out the map. “It’s yours. Take it. I’m sorry I stole it like that.”

Olgred moved back, alarmed. “But... master. What’s yours is yours, and what’s mine is yours,” he intoned with wide eyes. “I’ll carry it, if you like, but...”

Silven smiled and withdrew his offer. “You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you? Well, I’ll hang onto it, then. But, I just want to say, I’m glad you made it. Like, really glad.”

Olgred suddenly brightened. “Backrub, perhaps?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Olgred’s face fell. “I.... I don’t know where that came from. Master, I must apologise-”

Silven eyed his companion suspiciously. “Never mind. But we never speak of that again. Understand?”

Together, the pair stared out at the dreary scrub as the sun descended beneath the distant hills. Silven thought about his narrowing path, but now, it seemed less glum. He had found a hidden fork, it seemed, one that got wider and wider the further he trod into its future. He was fitting the pieces together, pieces of maps and pieces of money, and he liked the picture they made very much. If it all worked out, perhaps he’d have a way out of his mess after all.

He turned to Olgred, smiled, and lifted his tinkling satchel. “I think we have a few professional points to discuss. But before all that-”

“Yes, master?” urged Olgred eagerly.

“We have a couple of other matters at hand,” continued Silven with a silencing glare. “First off...”

They checked in at Stonepeak, and found it had already reverted to its silent beauty. Then, they paid a visit to its less polite counterpart.

“Yeah, I’m Mayor Shit, what business you ‘ave in my town?” grunted the portly sausage the loitering peasants led them to in order to deliver their news.

Silven did his best to look serious. The horrendous stench in this largest of hovels did its best to help. “I’ve come with glad tidings, Mister Mayor. The worms shan’t trouble your people any more. Go together up the mountain, and reclaim your heritage. Reclaim Stonepeak.”

The mayor narrowed his already tiny eyes. He put down his pork chop, an action that meant very big business in Shitpeak. “Yeah? Says you?”

“I..... am an adventurer,” declared Silven with twinkling eyes.

The Mayor’s ample jaw plopped open. Then, with a mighty heave, he wobbled to his feet. He looked expressionlessly at the peasants crowding his home and issued forth a jet of gravy with a roar of laughter. “Well, ‘ere we are! We’re saved! And by a real life adventurerer. Why, we can be one of the cool towns again! Cheers, mister-” But when he turned, Silven and his companion had vanished into thin air. “Oh, well. Light up the fires. Get a letter to the tourist board. We’re on the map again!”

In the bustling approach to the gates of Solmond City, Olgred was already asking his question. “What’s the second thing?” He cried out in pain as Silven clipped him forcefully on the ear. “That’s for the escape. It’s a desk job for you, as soon as we have one. Let’s go.”