by Daniel J. Elliot
in Issue 97, February 2020
They weren’t the best sort of people. The Drifters spent most of the year traveling by caravan from city to town, town to village, and back up again. They brought goods, gossip, mail, and the odd passenger. They also engaged in less savory work, though not as much as their clientele liked to think.
The caravan was presently encamped several miles outside Colonia Hayle, whose residents were quite firm that their little burg was a city-in-the-making. The Drifters, who had wintered in the grand metropolis of Emperor’s Throne, found this notion laughable.
Today was the last day of the Festival of Communal Divinity. A quasi-religious affair that was part worship of the ideals of Empire, part celebration of spring, and all revelry. A grand outdoor festival of food, drink, music, and games.
The town center was filled with long wooden tables and benches for public use. Four Drifters sat at one end of one table, although in practice they took up the whole thing. They ate the food, watched the entertainment, and kept up a steady stream of quips about the quality of both.
“Decent beer, though,” said Decius, tilting his wooden mug to peer at the dregs. “Anyone want another?”
“I’ll take one,” said Rufus, pushing his own empty towards the center of the table. Tipsy and forgetting his own strength, the big man nearly sent the cup into his friend’s lap.
“Appreciate it,” Decius replied smoothly, sliding both mugs back towards the lighter-skinned man. “Get me the cloudy stuff this time, would you?”
A silent standoff ensued, each man resolutely looking anywhere but at each other as the tension rose.
“Oh, in the names of all the gods,” snapped Elys, once she couldn’t stand it anymore. The stocky woman snatched up the mugs as she stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, you lazy asses.”
“Hey, we work hard,” Decius said, leaning back and interlacing his hands behind his shaved head.
“And I don’t?” Elys called over her shoulder, but before Decius could answer, she had disappeared into the crowd.
“She’s going to spit in your beer,” said Rufus. “Hope she doesn’t spit in mine, too.”
The third man of the group let out a huff, and the other two turned to look at him. Despite the sunny day, Arthek was dressed in his customary black layers, rife with pockets perfect for stashing knives, lockpicks, and loot. Presently, he was playing with a dull black rod the length of a feather pen.
“What do you have there, my loyal laconic lackey?” Decius asked.
Arthek’s only response was a dirty look.
“My fine and furtive friend?” Decius tried, and was rewarded with a shrug. “Anyway, what is that thing? Toy wand?”
“Mm-hmm,” Arthek replied.
“Looks like a Magehunter’s stick,” Rufus said. “Dangerous artifacts, those are. Not real, is it?”
“Mm-hmm,” Arthek confirmed, twirling it around his fingers.
“Right,” Decius said, nodding slowly and exchanging a nervous glance with Rufus.
Elys returned, precariously holding two mugs in each hand. She was starting to sit when disaster nearly struck; a swarm of giggling children flowed around the table and Elys’s legs, a great deluge of snot-nosed merriment. Laughing, Elys raised her arms high, leaning away from the sloshing beverages.
“There’s a card sharp over there in the beer tent,” she remarked as she distributed the drinks. “Good, too. He’s got a pile of coin a foot high, and the marks aren’t even angry with him.”
One of the children was so bold as to sit at the other end of the bench, eating a meat pasty. Rufus cast a suspicious glare his way.
“Hey there, boy,” the big man growled. “What is that, beef? Where’d you get that?”
“Beef?” Decius chimed in, looking over with interest. Sure enough, the savory pie’s filling was unmistakably bovine. “Can’t find anything but fish round these parts.”
“The card game man in the tent,” the boy replied happily, around a huge mouthful. “Said I looked skinny—hey!”
The boy squawked indignantly as Rufus reached over and plucked the meal out of his hands. At Elys’s withering look, the pie-pilferer flipped a gold aureus coin over to the lad, who pocketed it and dashed off after his friends.
“Really didn’t think there was any meat here,” Decius said, leaning in to take a long, luxurious sniff. “Must be imported—hey!”
This new offense was taken as Arthek, without warning, poked his onyx wand directly into the food. A sudden chill fell over the table and then was gone just as fast, leaving naught but goosebumps in its wake. And in Rufus’s open palm now sat–
“A turnip?” Decius said, frowning. “Where’s the beef?”
“A glamor,” Elys replied, eyes narrowed. “An illusion.”
“It is a turnip,” Rufus said, sniffing it. Gingerly, he took a tiny bite, then spat. “I hate turnips. And I hate magic.”
“If that delectable delicacy was once a vile vegetable and has hence returned to such a state,” Decius pontificated. “Then that means that this so-called card game man is a—”
“Sorcerer,” Rufus muttered. “Magicked up a turnip, of all things.”
The table fell silent as the Drifters processed this information. Each of them tried not to stare too obviously in the direction of the beer tent. Except for Decius, who was so blatant that Elys felt obliged to deliver a swift kick to the leg.
“What?” he yelped, rubbing at the spot.
“Sorcerers are dangerous,” Rufus said. “And illegal.”
“Only in the Empire,” Decius replied with a shrug.
“Which is where we is,” Rufus snapped. “Did you hear what happened in Esther’s Hollow when one cropped up there?”
“Ain’t no more Esther’s Hollow anymore,” Elys chipped in, nodding sagely. “That sorcerer hollowed it out.”
“Mm-hmm,” Arthek remarked.
“But what’s this one done?” Decius said, crossing his arms. “Just gave a child a treat, is all. I wouldn’t mind a nice pasty.”
“You know what else sorcerers are?” Rufus pressed on. “Valuable. The Magehunters pay a fine bounty for information leading to one. Even more if you manage to bring the freak in yourself.”
Silence fell once again.
“Mm-hmm,” Arthek agreed.
“Crowded place like this,” Elys said, indicating the festival. “We’ll not be the only ones who figure it out. Need to act fast.”
“And without spooking the man,” Decius added. “I know how it goes. These sorcerers come into their powers all at once, they don’t know how to handle it. Someone’s going to notice him, and then what?”
“Then he’ll go power-mad,” said Rufus. “Like they always do. We’d be doing this place a favor taking him out. But how?”
“First of all,” Decius said. “Let’s tone down the language. As for the how…”
He trailed off, blowing his cheeks out.
Arthek cleared his throat and held up the onyx wand.
“Oh,” Decius said. “Right. That thing is real, clearly. Where’d you get it?”
Arthek’s expression spoke volumes. Specifically, volumes about how much of an idiot he thought Decius was being. The thief simply thrust the base of the stick under Decius’s nose, who blinked once to focus on the inscription.
“Property of Saturnus Maelius Numonus, Captain and First Lord of–” he stopped short, reaching out to cover the words with his hand, as though some bystander might peek over his shoulder at any second. Arthek withdrew the artifact and slipped it back into a pocket, grinning viciously.
“This belongs to the head of the Magehunters?” Decius hissed. “What? Why? How did you even do that?”
Arthek shrugged, then pointed in the general direction of the capital city.
“Doesn’t matter how,” Elys said. “It’s a boon to us right now. That stick will disrupt any magic the sorcerer might spring.”
“Touch it to his skin and he won’t be able to cast at all,” Rufus rumbled. “Saw it happen once. Very exciting to watch a Magehunter at work. They find magic by smell, you know.”
“By smell?” Elys asked, eyebrows raised.
“Sniffed that sorcerer right out. Poked him with the stick, and down he went. No fuss, muss, or fireballs.” Rufus finished, grinning.
“Right,” Decius said. “Well, this is certainly going to come back to bite us later. We’re hardly in good graces with the law, to begin with.”
“All is forgiven if you’ve got a sorcerer in tow,” Rufus said. “So, we doing this? He’s not going to stay at that card game forever.”
“We are,” Decius replied quickly. “Here’s the plan.”
Caelus was having a lovely day at the Festival. Since leaving Emperor’s Throne, he had seen so many things, met so many people. Getting out in the world was the best decision he had ever made. He was standing on his own two feet for the first time, and it was all thanks to his own gumption, wit, and natural talent for con-artistry.
The magical powers didn’t hurt, of course.
“Ah, bad luck, sir,” he said, furrowing his brow in sympathy.
The old man seated before him didn’t respond. His mouth hung open as he stared down at the cards. Caelus expected the man was counting them, trying to figure out how he could have made such a grave error.
“Have a drink on me, sir,” Caelus said with a gentle smile, sliding over a few Aureus. “Happy Festival to you.”
“Not as happy as yours,” the man muttered, but took the money and retreated to the bar without further comment.
Caelus waved him off with a smile and more wishes of good fortune, and then breathed out heavily as he collected the cards, shuffling them in his hands.
If one were watching over his shoulder, they might have noticed the card faces shifting and blurring. Twos became fives, sevens became ones, and one particular King became a three. When Caelus was done, he closed his eyes, massaging them with one hand. He would be happier with his sorcery if not for the headaches it brought.
“I wish I could do that,” said a high voice. Smiling despite the pain, Caelus looked down at the small boy.
“Do you, young sir?” he said, grabbing a generous helping of coins. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”
The child stared open-mouthed at Caelus’s hand, and the sorcerer amused himself by waving it back and forth in front of him, watching as his eyes tracked it.
“You have to be very good at keeping secrets,” he continued.
“I am,” the boy replied. “You know I am. Someone took my pasty.”
“What villainy,” Caelus remarked, and relented, allowing the boy to take the money. “I’m sorry, Jory, but I’m too tired to make another. Go buy something else to eat.”
“Can I give it to my mum?” Jory asked, wide-eyed. “She always says she needs money for the doctor, for my sister.”
Caelus blinked.
“Yes. You may give it to your mum, for the doctor, for your sister,” he said. “Just keep quiet about where it came from.”
After the child left, Caelus took a moment to rest his eyes again. One more mark, he decided, then he’d stop for the day.
“I hear you’ve got the best game in town,” said a new voice before him. Caelus looked up to see a short, dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a big smile.
“I do indeed, sir,” Caelus said, returning the grin. “Have a seat, and let’s play a round.”
Arthek moved through the crowd. Not quickly, for he had to pick his way through hundreds of people. Not especially silently either, for sneaking about would only draw attention in the middle of the festival. In fact, he took time as he went to chat with the vendors, inspecting a selection of knives at one of the stalls, sampling a bit of jerky at another.
But stealth wasn’t all rooftops and alleys, and although the Magehunters would soon comb the entire town, they would find that no one could provide a precise description of the man in black.
At length, he entered the beer tent. Decius was already there, seated across from the sorcerer.
Several games later, Decius was down quite a few Aureus, and he and his opponent were both tired and irritable. Even the crowd had dissipated, heading off to partake of other amusements than watching the strange Drifter throw good money after bad.
“Playing again, sir?” Caelus asked. “It seems that Lady Luck is not with you today. Perhaps—”
“Just deal, friend,” Decius interrupted. The plan depended on Caelus being distracted until Arthek showed up. He couldn’t imagine what was taking the man so long.
With a resigned sigh, Caelus dealt another round. Decius barely looked at his cards. Knowing sorcery was involved, it was obvious what Caelus was doing. Whatever cards he dealt, by the time they reached Decius, they would ensure a loss.
“And that is a bust, sir,” Caelus said, wearily collecting his latest winnings. “Ah, are you—”
“Caelus,” Decius said, leaning forward and resting his chin on one hand. “We’re friends, right? I mean, we’ve been playing this game for quite a while now. I think I’ve gotten to know you. Just a couple of city men, enjoying a quaint country fair.”
“Okay,” Caelus responded uncertainly, shuffling the cards.
“You’ve clearly rigged the game,” Decius continued.
Caelus stopped cold, just for an instant, then set the cards down.
“All right, you got me,” he said, regaining his easy manner. “So, I’m scamming people. As though you’ve never done the same, caravan man.”
Decius could detect a subtle tremor in the sorcerer’s hands, a twitch of the eye and the lip. He was nervous. Decius would have to be careful. But not for long, for he could also detect someone sneaking up behind Caelus.
“I have,” he admitted. “But then, my methods are a bit more ordinary.”
Caelus licked his lips, glanced at the cards and back up. Decius took a deep breath and struck.
“I’m not a sorcerer, is what I mean,” he said. “Like you are.”
Caelus shot to his feet, hands raising before him. Decius instinctively cringed, hiding behind his own hands in a futile defense. The air crackled with a static charge, and the hairs on his arms stood straight up. His eyes squeezed shut as his life flashed before him, and–
“Uh-uh,” Arthek muttered from behind the sorcerer. Decius peeked out between his fingers, then relaxed.
The sorcerer stood stock-still other than his eyes, which flicked back and forth, and his hands, which spread open and shut several times, like a sea anemone caught outside its tide pool. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a strained squeak. A few patrons gave them a brief, bored look, satisfied that someone was finally having a long-overdue conversation with the card sharp.
Slowly, Decius stood and leaned in close to Caelus, peering into his eyes.
“He’s breathing,” he said, then reached out and poked him. “Are you in there, Caelus?”
The sorcerer’s eyes widened just a hair, and a wheezing breath escaped his lips.
“Paralyzed, I suppose,” Decius continued. “All right, let’s get him out of here.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The Drifters emerged from the tent, holding Caelus between them. To a casual observer, it would look as though the Drifters were helping an over-inebriated comrade get home. Good riddance, most would say.
“That him?” Rufus asked, jogging up. “Gate’s this way. I sent Elys ahead to ready the wagon.”
At this, Caelus began to breathe harder, sweat beading on his brow. His lips moved ever slightly, and he managed to speak.
“Don’t do this,” he croaked. “Please, sir Magehunter, I swear I’m not dangerous. I can barely even do anything, just illusions.”
“Magehunters?” Rufus said. “Oh, we’re not Magehunters, boy.”
“Uh-uh,” Arthek agreed.
“Magehunters are duly appointed officers of the Emperor’s Law,” Decius said. “Which means they dress much nicer than this.”
“So, you really are caravan men?” asked Caelus, bouncing along. “What are you going to do with me?”
“We want you to join us!” Decius said.
“We want to sell you to the Magehunters!” said Rufus, simultaneously.
The two men stopped short, gawped at each other, and commenced a lively argument.
Caelus, still unable to move, had no choice but to allow himself to be carried along. Jory was following them, he noticed. The boy stayed close by, avoiding notice by blending into the crowd. With effort, Caelus made eye contact with him and tried to gesture for him to stay back. There was nothing the child could do for him.
“In conclusion, given that all he has done is ensorcel a root vegetable, I feel that condemnation to a painful death may be premature,” Decius said as they neared their destination.
“You don’t know that the Magehunters kill anyone,” Rufus shot back. “Nobody does. They take the sorcerers in, they keep them away from the populace, and that’s all we know. Maybe they send them to a lovely island to work on their powers.”
“A lovely island?” Decius began, but then Arthek raised a black-gloved hand, bringing the group to a halt. Decius’s face fell as he saw where the silent man was pointing.
A dozen soldiers were stationed near the gate. At their head, a tall man cloaked in fine furs. The pure white tunic underneath was intricately embroidered in the Imperial colors of red and gold, the silver medals on his chest polished to a blinding sheen.
“Magehunter,” whispered Decius, stepping in front of Caelus.
“They certainly do know how to dress,” Rufus replied, then started forward. “I’ll go negotiate.”
At that, Decius skipped after him and grabbed the big man’s elbow.
“Hold a moment, friend,” he said, though there was now a hard edge to his tone that belied the words.
Rufus spun around and slapped Decius’s hand away, then jabbed his finger into the man’s chest. “We are friends, and that is why I’m telling you you’re wrong. Say what you will about Magehunters, but they are the law here.”
“Citizens of Colonia Hayle,” the Magehunter called out, in the clear stentorian tones one would expect of a general, or a thespian. “I am Magehunter Oceanum, and I believe a sorcerer lurks in your fair town.”
Raising his face, Oceanum inhaled deeply and enthusiastically, smelling the air as though he were out for a stroll for the first time in years.
“In the name of the Emperor, I am authorized to pay a bounty for any information leading to the capture of the beast,” he continued. “Come forward and be rewarded.”
Caelus’s heart was pounding. His whole body felt like it might shake itself apart. The adrenaline coursing through his veins told him he must run, but his muscles would not obey.
“There ain’t no sorcerer here, sir,” called a small voice. The Magehunter looked around, and then down, as Jory pushed his way through the crowd.
Caelus’s legs kicked once.
“You know we have our ways,” Oceanum said, crouching down to the boy’s level. “I can tell if you’re lying.”
Abruptly, the Magehunter grabbed Jory’s shoulder, leaned forward, and took a long sniff. With his free hand, he jabbed Jory with an onyx rod. Jory shouted and twisted, struggling to get away.
“Not you then, and yet you stink of sorcery,” Oceanum said. “And butter. Take him to the garrison. If he’s not the sorcerer, then he’s clearly an associate.”
As he stood, one of the soldiers stepped forward and slung Jory over a shoulder.
“Oh no,” Rufus murmured, still standing next to Decius. “No, no, no.”
Caelus shifted his weight forward.
“We have to help him,” Rufus said, panic entering his voice.
“I don’t know how,” Decius said. “I—”
With a wrenching gasp, Caelus lurched forward. Pale and sweating, he lifted his hands before him. The air grew full and heavy, like the moments before a storm.
“Unhand the boy!” came a shout in the distance. Decius looked and saw Caelus standing clear across the square. He blinked, twisted around, and was shocked to find Caelus still behind him, too. Two of him?
“Do it now, and perhaps I’ll only roast half the town.” Striding forward, the other Caelus raised both hands to the sky and snapped his fingers. Great jets of flame shot from his arms, sending the crowd scattering with a cacophony of screams.
“That’s him,” Oceanum barked. “Charge!”
As the Drifters watched, slack-jawed, the other Caelus spun on his heels and ran, supernaturally fast. Oceanum and the soldiers pursued, leaving Jory sprawled on the road. A moment later, he scrambled to his feet, and was gone.
Caelus, the one who had been standing near the Drifters, swooned. Before he could fall to the ground, Rufus knelt and caught him.
“What did you do?” the big man said, staring at him with furrowed brow. “You were—”
“Illusion,” Caelus croaked. His eyes were watering, and his nose was bleeding. “Big one. Couldn’t let…”
He fell unconscious. Rufus glanced up at Decius, then jerked his head towards the gate.
“Let’s get to the wagon,” he said. “All of us.”
Caelus awoke in twilight. The cool night air felt good on his skin, and the stars were beautiful overhead. His headache was better. The sorcerer smacked his lips and sat up to find himself in a wagon.
“Glad you’re awake,” Rufus said, sitting above him. Caelus glared, then looked around at the others. Decius was there, and that silent one, and a woman in the driver’s seat.
“Are you?” he shot back.
“Yes,” Rufus said simply.
Caelus didn’t answer, instead staring out at the road.
“We’ll have to hurry to catch up with the caravan,” Decius said. “But we should be among friends by midnight. Safety in numbers, you know.”
“Safety?” Caelus said, crossing his arms. “You tricked me. Kidnapped me. And this big galumphus wanted to sell me to the Magehunters. I don’t think there’s safety in these numbers, and I’ll thank you to let me off right now.”
“I was wrong about you, sorcerer,” Rufus said, then sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You risked your life to save that child, and that’s not something I thought your kind had in you.”
“Caelus, allow me to be blunt,” said Decius. “You are very bad at what you do. You are far too obvious, and if we hadn’t noticed you, someone else would have. You need training, and you need friends. Especially now that you’ve shown your face to the Magehunters.”
“So now what?” Caelus asked. “You see that I’m useful, so you’ll keep me? Like a tool? A pet?”
“I said friends, and I meant it,” said Decius. “But if you prefer, we’ll drop you off at the next inn.”
“Yes, please,” Caelus replied, leaning back. “I’m hardly going to trust a pack of Drifters, am I?”
An awkward silence fell, broken when Arthek snorted once and spoke up.
“That’s the thing about friends,” he said, drawing several stares. “They don’t always start out as friendships. Sometimes you can’t stand a person, or you think they’re not a person at all. People hold their own preconceptions about others, and oftentimes that gets in the way of something strong, and powerful, and good. But only if you can get over that initial distrust, give each other a chance.”
He reached into a pocket and withdrew the Magehunter’s stick. Caelus’s eyes widened, and his fingers flexed. The air crackled with static once again.
In silence, Arthek took a long strip of leather and wound it around half the rod, layer after layer, like the hilt of a dagger. When he was done, he offered the wand to Caelus. Hesitantly, the sorcerer accepted, closing his fingers around the leather.
“That works,” he breathed. “I can hold it.”
“And we will not,” Decius said, clapping Arthek on the back. “A token of trust.”
They rode along for another few minutes, watching the road, and thinking.
“I suppose I can stay for a while,” Caelus said, tucking the stick away. “For a little while.”
“Good,” Elys called back. “Who’s hungry?”
“Starved,” the sorcerer admitted.
Rufus pulled aside a tarp, and the Drifters took up a chorus of disappointed moans at the fishy odor that emerged.
“That’s the problem with these narrow escapes,” Elys said. “Never have time to restock. I hope you don’t mind salted mackerel, Caelus.”
The sorcerer didn’t respond. Instead, he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and waved his hands over the food. The Drifters clapped appreciatively at the result. The meager repast had transformed into a royal feast of breads, meats, cheeses, and more.
Grinning, Decius reached forward and grabbed a beef pasty, then raised it in the air as though it were a glass of wine.
“A toast,” he said. “To our new friend, and the bounty he brings.”
And with a “hear, hear!”, they tucked in.
©February 2020, Daniel J. Elliot
Daniel J. Elliot’s interactive fiction “The Buttler Did It” is available through Hosted Games. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery Magazine.