Anthology - Untold Adventures - A Dungeons and Dragons Anthology

Behind him, his uncle sighed once and then gestured at the strangers. “It’s not far to the village,” he said. “We go slowly, the boy and I. Step ahead of us if you need to.”

“We’re happy for the company,” said Nerhaltan, pacing alongside Gustin. “Your lad seems very bright for his age.”

“My nephew,” grunted his uncle.

“I’m Gustin,” said Gustin. And then he proceeded to beguile the rest of the too-short journey with dozens of questions for the strangers: how far had they come, what type of sword had the fighter broken, did the dwarf carry a battleaxe, had they ever seen a dragon, did they know how far it was to Waterdeep?

The dwarf turned his bright eyes on Gustin when he mentioned Waterdeep.

“That’s a long way from here,” Tapper said. “What do you know about the City of Splendors, boy?”

Gustin paused, catching back his next question before it popped out of his mouth. His uncle had paced a little ahead of them, walking with the tall fighter, and the two were discussing the state of the weather and the possibility of a storm before moonrise.

“I have a book,” Gustin whispered, reaching into his tunic and pulling out his most precious possession so a corner showed. “A guidebook to Waterdeep.”

“Looks a bit chewed,” said the dandy on the other side of him. “Like the rats have been at it.”

“I found it in the barn,” Gustin admitted, “in a pile of rubbish my uncle meant to burn.” Papers and other items belonging to his mother, he didn’t add. His uncle once tossed everything into the bonfire pit after he caught Gustin snapping open the locks on her old trunk and rummaging through it. But then the widow had stopped his uncle from dousing the lot with oil and started a shouting match about respect for his dead sister. Eventually papers went safely from the bonfire pit to the barn, because his uncle insisted that he wouldn’t have “any of it in my house any longer. It will give the boy dreams! And you know what will happen then.”

Gustin still didn’t know what would happen, although he hoped it would take him far away from the farm like his long-lost mother. As for the dreams, they began the first night that he lay curled in his creaking bed and read the enchanting words “Waterdeep, a city of high adventures and dark dealings” by the light of a sputtering candle.

“Have you been to Waterdeep, saers?” he asked the dandy and the dwarf. Both shook their heads.

“Waterdeep is no destination for a poor man,” said Nerhaltan. “I won’t go there until I have gold in my pockets.”

“Yet some say it is the place for a dwarf or a man to find the gold to fill his pockets,” added his short companion.

“It takes gold to make gold,” the dandy said. “That is why we are here, after all.”

“Quiet,” said Tapper, with a glance at Gustin that the boy pretended not to see.

They rounded the bend in the road. “Look, saers, our village,” said Gustin.

Nerhaltan blinked at the collection of buildings circling a widening in the road. One large oak marked the center of the village, a brute of arboreal pride so big that none had ever figured out how to cut it down, and so the road split around it and the village circled it.

“Well,” remarked Nerhaltan, “I have seen smaller. Let’s hope the smith knows something about swords as well as farm tools.”

The evening grew late. Past sundown was past his uncle’s usual bedtime, but the three adventurers kept them talking at the tavern, insisting on buying them a meal and, for his uncle, a tankard of ale, in return for conversation about the village and the ruins up the road. Gustin did most of the talking and his uncle did most of the eating and drinking. Eventually Gustin’s uncle slumped in his chair, snoring lightly before the fire.

Gustin felt no urge to sleep. His brain was fizzing with the stories that the three strangers told in return, about stolen maps and lost treasures, risks taken and rewards won.

“Oh, I wish I could go adventuring,” he said, and then blushed at sounding so young. To cover his embarrassment, he reached for the slice of bread on his plate, crumbling it between his fingers and then making it disappear altogether in a shower of red sparks and a few tinkling notes of music.

Tapper’s head reared back. “Well, now,” said the dwarf. “That’s a neat trick. Most small boys just eat the loaf to make it disappear.”

Gustin shrugged. “It’s just something I do to entertain the little children,” he said, with all the pride of a lad who owned ten years of age. As far back as he could remember, he could make small things disappear or shift around. Such tricks made the widow laugh when she came to clean the farm and she’d taught him ways to twist his fingers and words to add sparks or dancing lights to the effect.

“Hmm,” said Nerhaltan, also staring intently at him. “Can you do other tricks?”

“A few,” Gustin admitted. “Like making my voice come from someplace else.” That sentence caused the fighter Wervyn to start in his corner, as Gustin’s voice sounded behind his head. Like Gustin’s uncle, the big fighter had been dozing in his chair.

The dandy and the dwarf laughed. “Oh, very good. Do another.”

“Do you have a cloth and a coin?” Gustin asked. This was a fairly new trick for him and he’d been practicing to impress the widow.

Nerhaltan pulled a handkerchief edged with lace out of a hidden pocket. Wervyn produced a well-worn copper coin.

With a few waves of his hand, Gustin passed the coin through the cloth. Then he crumpled up the handkerchief and shook it out empty.

“Humph,” said the fighter. “And where’s my money?”

“Why, in your pocket, saer, just where you had it,” said Gustin.

The big man slid his hand under his vest and produced the copper coin again.

“Quick fingers?” the dandy questioned his companions.

“The boy never came near me,” the fighter observed.

The trio stared hard at Gustin. “So, how did you do it?” Tapper said.

Gustin shrugged. “I’ve always been good at tricks,” he admitted.

“A boy like you, a brave boy,” began Nerhaltan, “could be a great help to us.”

Gustin slid forward on his chair, eager to hear what the dandy had to say.

“Leave him alone.” His uncle’s flat voice, harsh and loud, startled them all. The man was awake and scowling. “No more tales. No more tricks.”

His hand dropped hard on Gustin’s shoulder. He pulled the boy out of his chair with one yank. “We are going home now. Stay away from us. Stay away from the boy.”

“Uncle!”

“Saer,” said Nerhaltan, following them into the twilight gloom outside the tavern’s door. “It’s growing dark. Let us buy you a bed for the night. We meant no harm and could perhaps come to some prosperous…”

“No!” shouted Gustin’s uncle, lurching down the road, dragging a reddening Gustin after him. “No tales. No tricks. No more!”

Halfway back to the farm, his uncle’s hand finally loosened enough on his collar to let Gustin wiggle free.

“I wanted to hear what they had to say,” he protested, feeling very brave because the moonlight was dim and he could barely make out the deep frown scoring his uncle’s face.

His uncle wheeled around, grabbing his shoulders, and shook him the same way that the farm dog would shake a rat when it caught one.

“Stay out of the village until the strangers are gone. If they come near, do not speak to them. Do not look at them.”

“But…”

“And no more silly spells,” yelled his uncle. “How many times must I tell you! No magic at all!”

“I only do simple ones to make people laugh,” protested Gustin.

“No more!” roared his uncle. “And no more trips to the village. Not until you learn more sense.”