Anthology - The Search For Magic

“Wait here and be ready for anythin’,” Gnash said in low tones.

“In the rain? While you get to go inside with the food?” Yarl demanded.

“I’m the one walking into danger,” Gnash returned with a swagger. “You stay outside where it’s safe.”

“In the rain,” Yarl muttered, but under his breath.

Gnash marched up the steps and entered the back of the wagon. He maintained a grip on his blade, not knowing what to expect.

The inside of the wagon was lit by a lantern hanging from one of the spines holding up the canvas. The smoke came from a small field forge, such as the one an army blacksmith used on the battlefield to make weapons or repair armor.

“You some sort of weaponsmith, Old One?” Gnash asked. “Maybe serving with the Solamnic army?”

The old man struggled out of his cloak, hung it from another hook on the same spine as the lantern. The dwarf shook himself like a dog, raining water from his heavy beard.

“My name is Flannery. This is my associate Digger Cutterstone. We’re not with the army. We’re from Palanthas, and I assure you that we mean no harm to you or your friend.”

“Brother. Yarl’s my brother,” Gnash corrected. He grinned in a nasty sort of way. “We know you don’t mean us no harm, Old One. And we don’t mean you any harm, although we’re the ones with the swords. Swords in our hands,” he added quickly, thinking of all the swords in the box.

“Oh, he’s your brother.” Flannery said, with a significant glance at the dwarf. “We should have guessed. Should have seen the resemblance. Won’t you invite your brother in? We’ll eat soon. The beans are almost done.”

Gnash looked around the wagon. A pot of beans bubbled onto a steel plate that had been mounted over the top of the forge. To the side of the forge were bread loaf tins and two ladles. Some sort of strange machine stood at the back of the wagon. The machine looked like a leather punch, only much bigger, with a handle that pulled down a cylinder. On the other side of the wagon were two beds that had been covered with planks so that they turned into benches. At the back of the wagon stood a large chest with a heavy iron padlock. Gnash eyed the chest.

“All right, Old One. I guess I trust you. But no funny stuff. We’re sergeants with the army of the Knights of the Takhisis, so don’t you mess with us. We don’t take kindly to no messin’ from no one from Palanthas.”

Gnash backed up his warning with a threatening look. He stroked the hilt of his saber blade menacingly, then whistled to his brother.

“Come on in, Yarl. He’s going to give us some food,” Gnash said.

Yarl entered the wagon. He looked at Gnash, who winked. Yarl knew that wink from their childhood. It meant that there was going to be some fun later on.

The two sat down on the bench. The dwarf rolled over a large barrel for them to use as a table.

Flannery served four bowls of beans that had been flavored with a hint of cinnamon in a brown tomato sauce. He gave each of the brothers a small loaf of fresh-baked bread.

“Usually, Digger and I eat alone,” Flannery explained. “Tonight we’re happy to share our food with you.”

“Why are you out here digging graves?” Gnash asked, eyeing the food in his bowl, but not touching it yet. “Are you sure you don’t work for one of the armies?”

“No, I don’t work for any army-” Flannery began.

“Did you find any valuable jewels on the bodies?” Yarl interrupted, looking greedily at the chest with the iron padlock.

Flannery smiled. “No jewels. I’m not really looking for jewels. I look for armor and weapons.”

“Grave robbers, huh,” said Gnash.

“Dear me, no!” Flannery was shocked. “We don’t rob the dead. We make a pact with them. The standard contract.” He glanced at the dwarf, who shoveled beans in his mouth and nodded his agreement.

“Contract for what?” Gnash asked, after waiting what seemed like an eternity for the old wizard to continue.

“For their armor and their weapons. In exchange, we give them a proper burial. You see, we work this way: My associate and I search for battlefields, particularly those where the dead haven’t been properly buried in the afterhaste of battle-those where the bodies are just flung into a pit or maybe never buried at all. We dig up the bodies and remove their armor and weapons.”

“Grave robbers,” said Gnash indignantly.

“Not really,” Flannery argued. “The dead aren’t using their armor or their swords anymore. They don’t mind giving them to us, especially when we explain that we’re providing a service. Product given for services rendered.”

“Service for product,” said Digger, the first words the dwarf had uttered. Yarl’s eyes widened suspiciously.

“In return,” Flannery continued smoothly, “we bury the dead and perform the proper rituals so that they may rest in peace.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gnash, rolling his eyes. “Get to the interesting part. What do you do with the armor and the swords? Sell ‘em as souvenirs?”

Flannery reached into his pocket and pulled out two shiny steel coins. He handed one to Yarl and one to Gnash. Both examined them. The coins were marked LORD CITY PALANTHAS on one side and BANK OF PALAN-THAS on the other.

“Yeah, so?” Gnash said, fingering the coins. “You get a little money from selling old weapons.”

“Must be about twenty copper’s worth of old weapons out there,” said Yarl, disgusted.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Flannery said. “We don’t sell the armor for coin. We melt down the armor and the swords and use the steel to make coins. I minted both those coins you’re holding in your hand.”

Yarl gasped. “You… you make your own money? Can you do that?”

“We can, and we do,” said Flannery. “We work for the Bank of Palanthas.”

Gnash thought this over. “Then how come everyone’s not running around making their own money out of old armor?”

“Excellent question, my friend. The reason no one else does it is that steel is extremely difficult to work with. I have developed a magical powder that I add to the steel that causes it to melt at a much lower temperature than normal.”

Flannery pulled out a bag and opened it. Inside was a fine, gray powder. “I use just a pinch. Can’t waste any magic. Not these days. After the steel is melted, I pour the steel into sheets and then use that machine you see over there to punch out the coins. A good sword or piece of armor makes a surprising number of steel coins.”

Flannery motioned at the dwarf to open the iron padlock on the chest at the rear of the wagon. Digger frowned and looked at the old man questioningly, but Flannery gave him a reassuring nod. Shrugging, Digger opened the chest for the brothers to see.

Gnash and Yarl peered inside. The chest was full to the brim with steel coin, all gleaming and freshly minted.

Gnash stared at the man in disbelief. “Are you telling me that you have a wagonload of steel coins, and you’re all alone out here with nothin’ but a dwarf for a bodyguard? I don’t believe it.”

Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his sword hilt and looked about, as if expecting a huge warrior to leap out at him at any moment.

“I assure you, we are quite alone,” said Flannery.

“Then why tell us? We’re really bad guys, you know.” Gnash and Yarl both scowled ferociously. “You know we’re gonna have to kill you now and take all your money.”

“I’m afraid that’s a risk I have to take,” said Flannery with a hint of sadness. “You see, I tell you this because I need your help. I was trained as a cleric of Paladine-”

“We don’t think much of clerics,” growled Yarl, rattling his sword in its sheath.