[Thorsten]

Thorsten Stiele headed away from The Dragon's Inn at an easy pace. His short trip to the tailor earlier had given him a quick glimpse of one of Montfort's modest shopping districts and he thought he remembered a shop there where he could find a horse. He shook the pouch containing the remainder of his funds and shook his head. It would have to be a very inexpensive one.

His memory was true, the shop was right where he remembered it. The storefront was quite large, as shops go, and a wide path led back behind the building from where Thorsten could hear the whinnying of horses. He also heard the crisp ringing of steel striking steel coupled with some good-natured cheering. A creak from the sign swinging above the shop's door brought his attention back to the storefront. The sign said

THE MERC EXCHANGE

in large block letters with a picture of crossed swords beneath. It looked brand new. The window was covered from the inside by a large tapestry of a battle scene so that it was impossible to see within.

Thorsten entered the building.

He didn't know what he had expected to find inside, but this was not it.

The store was wall-to-wall weapons. The area in front of the window was a mass of stacked wooden boxes, nailed together and mounted to form a system of cubicles. Each was approximately two feet square and contained a different type of missiles; some were arrow or quarrel bundles, some were daggers and throwing knives, some were more exotic. The variety was astonishing. The left wall held rack upon rack of pole arms of every conceivable type: Long spears, pikes, staves, halberds, ranseurs, bardiches, and sickles, some Thorsten didn't even recognize. Barrels dotted the floor, containing other common weapons: swords of every length and weight, maces, morning stars, axes, long knives, hammers, and clubs. The right wall displayed various pieces of armor, ranging from individual greave and bracer sets to full suits of plate mail. Bows and crossbows were located on the rear wall. Thorsten was sure that a bow could be found to fit almost any taste.

The sheer magnitude of the shop's offering was startling, but even more so was the fact that every last weapon was USED.

A glass counter was located at the rear of the sales floor just in front of the bow display. A large man dressed in leather armor and graying slightly at the temples stood up from behind it. He had been crouching and had not seen Thorsten enter. He seemed surprised that Thorsten was standing there. That surprise turned quickly to anger.

"That mage told me the chime was in place! I paid him good coin...I'm gonna ring his scrawny little neck."

Thorsten said, "Well then, I'm glad I'm not him."

"Sorry," the man apologized, "don't know where my manners went. Welcome to The Merc Exchange! The name's Carl Hoffengar, owner and proprietor, at your service."

"I'm Thorsten Stiele. An interesting shop here, Carl."

"I'm rather proud of it. Came up with the idea myself. See, most common folk can't afford to buy them fancy new weapons as are found in some of my competitor's shops here abouts. But I says they got as much right to own one as the trained mercenaries do. So I gets this idea, see. Mercs are always trading up, when it comes to their weaponry. Most of them sell off their old weapons to one of them fancy shops I talked about. I says, 'Come to me. I'll give you a better price than them other places will.' Then I turn around and sell the same weapons back to the public for just a slight increase, lower than what they'd find in them other stores. My margins are low, but I more than make up for it in volume."

"You only deal in used weapons?"

Carl chuckled. "Yup. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few gems in here."

He gestured to the display case. Sure enough, Thorsten could see that the weapons in the case were of considerably higher quality than those elsewhere on the sales floor. "These came from my own private collection. They're more for show than for sale. I don't think the majority of my customers could afford these."

Thorsten was intrigued by the idea of a used weapon exchange. "Have you been successful?"

"Haven't had a lot of business yet, but we just opened a few days back. Already had some repeat business. Seems promising."

"Who are 'we'?"

"Oh, that'd be my partners and me. I got two of 'em. We're old adventuring pals. Adventuring got old.or rather, we got old and decided it was time to settle down. I run the shop, Gregor Richton manages the stable and Chem Coluha oversees our weapons training service."

"Ah, so you sell horses?"

"Sure, right out back. Let me take you out."

Carl led Thorsten out a back door. They passed through a short hallway and then exited to the rear of the building into a large courtyard area. The courtyard itself was fifty feet across and a hundred feet deep. The stables were in a building to the far back. Two middle-aged men who must have been Carl's partners were sparring on a raised platform that had been erected for the Exchange's weapon training service. Both men were dressed in leather armor and wielded bastard swords. The larger of the two stood about 6'3" with bulging muscles. The smaller was much slighter and stood at 5'9". Both had brown hair, streaked with gray, but their age didn't show in their fighting. Thorsten watched for a moment as the duelists exchanged blows. It was evident that the two ex-adventurers were very skilled. He felt for the money pouch at his belt and hefted it for a moment. Enough for a horse, maybe. But he was woefully short on equipment. A mischievous gleam came into his eyes.

He tossed the pouch to Carl.

"You figure this would cover any horse, plus tack, in your stables?"

Carl pealed inside the pouch. "Probably, but Gregor's the one who processes the horses."

"What's that you're saying?" asked the smaller of the two men on the platform. The combatants saluted each other and ended their duel, then approached Thorsten and Carl.

"This is Gregor. Chem is the big hunk of muscle there," said Carl. "Gentleman, this is Thorsten Stiele. He's interested in a horse."

Carl handed Thorsten's pouch to Gregor who emptied the contents into his palm.

"Thorsten wants to know if that'll cover any horse we got, plus tack," Carl continued.

Gregor shook his head slightly. "It might do for that old nag we got in yesterday, but that's about all. Need a few more gold for something better. Sorry." He poured the coins back into the pouch and handed it out toward Thorsten

Thorsten furrowed his brow, as if in thought, but made no move to take the purse.

"What if I fight Chem for the rest of the cost?"

"What, you beat me and I cover you?"

"Something like that."

"HA! You beat him and I'LL cover you," said Gregor.

"Deal!" said Chem. "You want a longer sword?"

He motioned to the short sword at Thorsten's hip.

"No thanks," Thosten responded, "this will do fine."

Chem climbed onto the platform. His muscles strained to burst his leather armor, but somehow the outfit remained in one piece. Thorsten followed him up.

"Rules are simple. We fight to first blood. If one of us leaves the platform, he loses. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

"Then, whenever you're ready."

Thorsten drew his short sword and nodded.

"En garde!"

[Chem]

The two combatants circled each other warily. Chem watched his opponent move. Thorsten gripped his sword somewhat gingerly, as if he were afraid it would bite him and nearly tripped over his own feet. Chem smiled to himself. This was going to be too easy.

Chem made a halfhearted swing to Thorsten's midsection. Thorsten brought his blade up slowly, almost too slowly. The short sword clanged off the Chem's bastard sword, deflecting it just enough to miss its target. Thorsten was forced to take a step backward to keep his balance. Chem had been right. This guy WAS an amateur.

Chem stepped into the opening and placed a massive hand on Thorsten's chest, intending to shove the man backward off of the platform. He was shocked when Thorsten suddenly spun along his extended arm, inside his guard. A flick of the short sword to Chem's exposed wrist caused the bastard sword to fly from his grasp..and drew a thin line of red across Chem's palm. The shock continued as Thorsten completed the spin full circle and stepped out in time to catch the flying sword in his free hand.

Chem stared at the blood on his hand and it dawned on him. He'd been suckered! His face grew flush with anger.

[Thorsten]

"Sorry 'bout that, friend. But I REALLY needed that horse."

Thorsten handed the sword back to Chem hilt first. The big man snatched it away as Carl laughed from below.

"Now THAT was worth the extra few gold pieces!" Gregor said with a grin.

"That was NOT a fair fight," Chem protested.

"I caused you to underestimate me, it's true," Thorsten agreed. "But now that you're forewarned, I'll give you a chance to get even. What say we fight again, double or nothing? I win, fairly this time, and I get my money 's worth of weapons plus the horse and tack. You win, you keep my pouch and satisfy your pride."

Chem looked hard at Carl and then back at Thorsten.

"A deal. But you fight both Carl and me. You must blood both of us."

"Leave me out of this, Chem."

"I'll do it," said Gregor. "If nothing else, it'll be a good work out."

---------------

[Carl]

Twenty minutes later the three ex-adventurers watched as Thorsten Stiele road off on his new bay gelding, complete with tack and a new complement of weapons including a bastard sword, hand axe, another short sword, three daggers and a double crossbow.

Chem and Gregor were not pleased.

"I've NEVER seen anybody move like that," Chem complained.

"I don't think we could have beaten him if all three of us had been up there," added Gregor.

"THAT is a fact," Carl stated firmly.

"Oh, and I suppose you knew that from the get-go," said Chem sarcastically.

"Sure did. I'm the weapons connoisseur, remember. The hilt may have been covered, but I recognized that sword. You guys never had a chance."

-------------------

[Drageon, Mist]

A young freckled-faced boy and his potbellied father discreetly exited through the rear door of the Dragon's Inn. Both heavily laden, the man with his tin cup and saddlebags, the boy with an oversized carpetbag, were nearly knocked down as a shaggy grey dog shot between their legs.

"Damn it, can't you control that mutt?" the boy complained irritably with an elder voice that didn't agree with his apparent youth.

"Mirro! Ice is not - "

"No names, _Pa_. You know that that by now." Suddenly the boy's voice sounded as an child's should, even though his words didn't.

"Then watch your tongue, _Son_, or I'll rip it from your throat."

"Sorry," the boy said sullenly after much internal debate. "Its hard to maintain his cover with all that dashing about, and his bark is near impossible to disguise. Could you keep him quiet?"

"He is what he is. Not even you can change that." Teren gulped down the remainder of an awful tasting lukewarm tea, a special mixture the gnome said would sober him quickly. If his throbbing head was an indicator, the concoction worked extremely well.

"At least help me strengthen the spell. I need more analogous material."

From a whistled call, discolored Ice ran back to his master. Teren patted his head and easily pulled a few dozen wavy white hairs from the thick of the dog's neck. He rubbed the loose hairs at the corner of Ice's mouth before he ran off to bully some other animal.

"Good enough, or will you require stool?" the potbellied man said sarcastically, dropping the sodden spell components into the boy's freckled palm.

"You're an ill-tempered drunk."

"I'm not drunk anymore, thanks to you, Son." Cloaked in illusion, Teren briefly exposed his hairy arse, then hitched his ratty breeks back in place as he ambled towards the stable.

"You're still ill-tempered, Pa, and profane," the boy muttered as he sat down in the dirt and began rummaging though the carpetbag.

* * *

By the time the disguised gnome entered the stable, his cart and mule were already hitched, and Teren was combing the mane of his saddled stallion. Ice, looking larger and darker, now had a black face, yet he retained those same cool blue eyes and that shrill bark as he established barnyard pecking order.

Mumbling words of magic, the illusionist altered his ornate gnomish cart to a rustic farming style the human peasants commonly use. Not yet satisfied, Mirro plucked a sliver and added it to a component mix in one of his now invisible doublet pockets. When he finished, aged wood split and faded, and the rustic cart became filled with seasoned manure, ready for the garden.

Drageon Mist had been a mostly successful, and profitable, partnership for a number of years. As a small mercenary group, much of it dealing with thievery, they had to strike a balance between notoriety and ambiguity. Maintaining that balance required misinformation and avoiding unwanted attention. Early in their partnership, Mirro established the rule of never arriving or leaving a town using the same skin you did business in.

Constant and ever-present dangers lead the two to develop an unspoken routine of convince and caution. So when Mirro, who didn't look like Mirro, approached Teren, who didn't look like Teren, his partner presented the horse comb without comment are even a sideways glance. The boy chose a few long black hairs and climbed into the seat of the manure cart. The scruffy pot-bellied man went back to caring for his magnificent jet-black stallion.

A moment later, the horse grew lean, then gaunt, beneath a shabby bay colored coat, encrusted with dried mud and insect bites. Its back swayed, hooves grew overlong and chipped. His treasured saddle and tack were withered and eaten with rot. With a sigh of regret, the ugly man stowed the comb and mounted his ugly horse.

"Ready?" At a nod from the illusionary boy, Teren whistled for Ice and lead the way out to the street. "I hope M'Tago doesn't make us wait long."

[Red Leaf Inn, Montfort - Harvey Goodfellow]

Harvey was drunk. This was nothing unusual for him. In fact, Harvey generally greeted the day with a good stiff drink and today was no exception. He had hit four different taverns before noon (he knew the ones that were open so early) and then moved on to several more before dinner. He'd taken his dinner (3 tankards of spiced ale) at the Red Leaf Inn where he was known by name.

One of the Inn's patrons had caught his eye - a perky young woman who was just passing through Montfort on the way to visit family. Harvey had made a reasonable (to him, at least) proposition to her that was met with a slap to the face.

Harvey took that as a good sign and followed the young lady up to her room.

Unfortunately for him, the girl had locked her door on him. The tramp! Didn't she know he was waiting here for her? He made to knock, but his stomach chose that exact moment to violently protest his treatment of it. He collapsed to the floor as the contents of his violated organ emptied themselves onto the hall floor.

Harvey heaved several more times and then wiped a hand across his chin and spit the lingering bile in his mouth against the wall.

"Whoa," he thought, "do I feel sick. It's this heat. Nobody could keep a dinner down in this weather."

Harvey took that moment to survey his surroundings. The upper hallway of the Red Leaf Inn was empty. The curtains framing the open window at the far end of the hall hung straight, not a hint of a breeze to lift the oppressing heat and humidity of Montfort's late afternoon. And yet?..

A figure appeared at the opposite end of the hall, ghosting up the stairs to the third floor. A powder blue cloak billowed around the slight form as it alit on the top step. Harvey's eyes told him that something about the picture wasn't right, but it took his alcohol clouded brain a few minutes to catch up.

The figure had advanced to stand before a door down the hall before Harvey realized what his eyes were trying to tell him. The air was still?and yet the person's robes continued to swirl about him as if caught in a light breeze.

The figure tried the door. It was locked. Harvey watched as a slender finger rose and touched the lock. The hand turned, as if holding a key. The figure tried the door again, and this time, it opened.

Harvey caught a glimpse of sharp, feminine elven features beneath the hood of the cloak, and then the figure was in the room, closing the door behind her.

"Well I'll be," Harvey slurred aloud. "She kin open locked doorsh! I'll jusht go right over there and ashk her for help with thish one."

Harvey heaved himself up off the floor and staggered down the hallway.

[Sephyr - pronounced 'SEH-fur']

Sephyr was in too much of a hurry to seriously concern herself with the drunk in the hallway. By the time he could raise an alarm she would be gone. She hastily conducted her search of the room.

It was hard to tell that the room was even occupied, but the man downstairs had accepted her gold without question and told her that the man she searched for was indeed staying in this room. A quick look under the bed revealed much. There beneath the smelly straw mattress, Sephyr found two items of interest. One was a very familiar weapons belt holding a long sword and two daggers. The second item was a worn leather backpack.

Sephyr dragged the backpack out from under the bed and opened it. Inside, she found an assortment of common clothing and a small rosewood box with falcons carved in bas-relief on the surface. She recognized the box immediately. She opened it with a little bit of trepidation. The inside of the box was lined with red velvet. Two rings nestled in the velvet cushioning. One was a plain silver band, slightly tarnished. The other was gold and bore a familiar falcon crest. Sephyr wore an identical ring on her left hand.

"Destich!" Sephyr swore in Elvish. This was NOT a good sign. Where was he? Why would he remove the ring??

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Hey lady, yoush gonna come outta there and help me?"

It was the drunk from the hallway. Sephyr slipped the rosewood box in a pouch on her belt and moved to the room's window. She threw open the shutters and pulled herself agilely up and out of the window. Her cloak billowed about her as she swooped to the ground, landing lightly at the last moment. A quick look around assured Sephyr that no one had witnessed her descent.

Without a backward glance, the lithe elf made her way down the alley, away from the Red Leaf Inn. Arturo would need to be notified immediately of this development.

---------

[M'Tago]

After leaving the Inn, M'Tago had collected his mount and two packhorses from where they had been stabled. A quick check of his baggage told him that nothing had been disturbed during his absence. He neglected to tip the stable boy for this. After all, the boy had merely done his job. Instead, he placed his left hand upon the boy's forehead and invoked the power of the citrine pinky ring, effectively erasing all memories of the past twenty-four hours from the boy's mind. When the lad came to after a moment's time, M'Tago was long gone.

He arrived in front of the Dragon's Inn a short time later to find the strange man with the platinum sitting out front. Funny, he thought, I never asked the man's name.

M'Tago dismounted and approached him

"It seems that you've decided to accompany me. So be it. I welcome you. Forgive my lapse in manners, but I've forgotten your name."

[Repeeknon]

Repeeknon looked up at the man. had it been an hour? He had been allowing his mind to wander. he had realized something usefull, anyway. It had a lot to do with alternetive elemental magic, derived from alchamey, and he had made a breakthrough in the application of his set of alternetive elements (decided opon due to some contemplations on good and evil) when applied to the Four Elements of Alchemy (in turn leading to the Six, the Lesser Four, and the Ones)... What had he been thinking about? ah, yes, his employer. While he had reflected, M'Tago had spoken.. he wanted to know his name? "I call myself Repeeknon for reasons easy enough to contemplate, if you know the fact that my magic is related to that of draconic nature. But I doubt you will try. Have you heard of the four elements?" Repeknon added hopefully, hoping for some porposefull conversation. He had a few comments he thought would be usefull to this man, if this path of conversation failed. Would they be leaving soon?

[M'Tago]

The artificer stared at this Repeeknon for a moment, unsure what to make of the man. What kind of person launched into philosophical discussions at the drop of a hat? He could think of only three: philosophers (often of the magic using variety), priests and the insane. M'Tago had had several deep, revealing conversations with the first, had an innate distrust of the second and generally avoided the last. The man before him certainly didn't resemble any philosopher he had previously met, though he claimed to be a mage of sorts. He also lacked the usually accoutrements of the clergy, though M'Tago had known clergy of several sects to travel incognito. He sincerely hoped that Repeeknon wasn't of the insane variety.

M'Tago wasn't really in the mood for a discussion of any sort, but his other guards hadn't arrived yet. Why not answer the man's question? He just might find out something more revealing about his strange companion.

"Hasn't everyone heard of the four elements? I believe you are referring to "Earth", "Air", "Water" and "Fire?"

M'Tago studied the man carefully as he awaited Repeeknon's response.

[Repeeknon]

"Yes, of course," Repeeknon answered," though I do not put them in that order. I always order them according to density: Fire, Air, Water, and Earth. Also, I prefer "Stone" to "Earth" oftentimes. Another way to describe the elements is thus: Energy, Space, Time, and Matter, in the same density order as I mentioned. This set gives the list the ability to describe anything, though less specifically. I also use the set of sixteen created by combining these two descriptions to form such things as "fire energy," "water energy," "air space," and "stone matter." I also apply the elements to the order of worlds: air above ground (ground is the element of stone) fire beneath ground, and water above air (so that it can rain.)Do you have any insights on why they arrange themselves regardless to density? Or do you apply the elements only to magic?"

[Drageon, Mist]

The resounding throb in Teren's head reverberated off the walls, echoing from building to building, steadily growing in intensity. The pounding his skull received was no less than any dwarven anvil, although Teren's smithy was either enraged, or inspired.

Finally, Ice alerted the illusion-cloaked duo of M'Tago's arrival. Messaging his temples, the scruffy pot-bellied man winched as the dog's bark stabbed his brain. Impatient for action, or anything help him forget his misery, Teren urged his enshrouded steed across the street.

"Excuse me, sir," Teren eyed Repeeknon apprehensively, hoping M'Tago was merely wasting time on the loon and not inviting him along. The sound of his own altered voice rang sharp in his ears and pained his head. "Master M'Tago, the two guards you hired will join you outside of town. Me, and my son there, are supposed to show you the way. Are you are ready to go, now?"

[M'Tago]

The artificer was thankful for the arrival of the pot-bellied man. While Repeeknon's insights into elemental theory were interesting and even revealing, M'Tago really wasn't in the right frame of mind for such a discussion. He made a mental note to resume the conversation at a more convenient time.

M'Tago's thoughts were drawn suddenly to the throbbing of his topaz. Magic was being used - of the illusion variety. He looked at the man more closely, then ran his eyes over the cart across the way. The young child there waved to him happily.

It was obvious to M'Tago that the man and child were illusions, designed to cover the identity of the gnome and his companion. He was impressed by the totality of the gnome's presentation. Every detail was accounted for. He inwardly congratulated himself on finding such a talented guard. At the same time, he hoped that the mage thief wouldn't turn into a problem later.

M'Tago decided to go along with the farce.

"That will be fine," he said to the man - Drageon wasn't it? - "we can leave as soon as our other guard arrives."

[Thorsten]

"Then we can leave now," Thorsten stated as he trotted his newly acquired horse up to the group. "Are these the other guards?"

Thorsten sincerely hoped not. The man seated on the ground was no fighter, that was certain. And who in his right mind employed an out of shape farmer and his son as caravan guards? Still, if his employer had chosen this crew, Thorsten was in no position to argue. He would just have to work a bit harder.

[M'Tago]

"This man is called Repeeknon. He is a mage, and yes, he is accompanying us. There are two others who will join us outside of town. This man and his son have volunteered to lead us to where they are waiting."

[Thorsten]

Thorsten nodded to Repeeknon and thrust out his hand in greeting.

"The name is Thorsten Stiele," he said. "I look forward to working with you."

[Repeeknon]

As Repeeknon shook the man's hand, the magic that ran in his blood seemed to go numb. He wasn't sure what would cause this, so he decided to ask: "Do use any any kinds of magic?" Repeeknon suspected some sort of method for supressing the effects of magic, probably used mainly against dragon fire, accounting for the clash with his own magic.

[Thorsten]

An odd question, thought Thorsten, though on further reflection he decided it would be natural for a mage to want to know the magical abilities of his party members.

"Nope," he replied, "Never have and never will. Magic has never made much sense to me - there are too many variables, too many things that can go wrong. Give me a nice, tangible, simple weapon any day. Those I understand."

[M'Tago]

M'Tago had had enough of the idle chatter. There would be plenty of time for that once they were on the road. The longer he spent here in Montfort, the better chance his pursuers would have to catch up to him.

M'Tago wanted the trail to be as cold as possible.

"We can continue our conversation later. Repeeknon, you can ride my extra pack horse, if you wish, or you can hop a ride with the old man and his boy there.

"Let's be on our way."

(to be continued...)