Brotherhood of the Twisted Iron: Beggars and Gods - Chapter 2

[seymoure]

Booty

 

It took the Wizard less than a minute to kill each and every one of the advancing soldiers. The old man slumped against a pillar in exhaustion.

He slowly raised his hand to gesture to send a scouting spell to see if he had finished his job.

During the space of time between his leaning against the pylon and his attempt to summon the spirits of discovery the Brotherhood made their move.

They had planned this when they were informed that they would not be included in the assault. If they held carefully back, out of sight in preparation.

Meni-am had gestured over an arrow of Bizjon’s. The shot, of course, flew true and pierced the Wizard’s heart and lodged in the bone of his hack. The summoned spirit forms grew hazy and dissipated as his life trickled away.

Grath leaped up and rushed past the body of the dead magician, with the portal of the Treasure Rooms as his goal. Coming after him, and lagging only because he could not hope to match the giant’s strides, was the diminutive bowman Bizjon. The other pair was slower in their passage.

Meri-am stood over the body of the Wizard. Then she leaned down and relieved him of his pouch and its ensorcelled contents. She allowed Antac the chance to smell all the artifacts. Bringing all his mastodonian muscles to play, Grath tugged against the locked door. It was but a second before the lock whined and began to rupture under the enormous pull. As it finally ripped like over ripe fruit being divided by hungry children, Meri-am held out the key she had taken from the corpse.

Grath grimaced at the girl. “If you took smaller steps,” Bizjon chided, “You would have to strain yourself.”

Grath grimaced at the archer.

Grath pulled the door open and they saw a room stacked from stone tiled floor to the high beamed ceiling with hundreds of years of golden taxes and jeweled tribute.

Meri-am gestured in the language that they had created for the four.

Bizjon repeated her to Antac, “She says she wishes you could see it!”

“I can hear the three of you breathing,” the blind swordsman stated, “I have some idea.”

Then their breathing changed.

The gold and jewels and silver and tapestries slowly began to fade away. Within a minute it was gone. The stone walls were unadorned.

“Oh Great Chandrid,” Grath swore, “What have we done to earn you hatred?”

“Meri-am,” said Bizjon, “Says that they have hidden the loot somewhere else. This was just for show, in case the people wanted to know where their taxes went.”

“The Priests!” Antac exclaimed.

“Yes,” Bizjon agreed, “You can’t trust men in dresses!”

“It depends on how well they pull it off,” the swordsman mused.

Garth sighed heavily.

“Where do we find the Priests?” he asked.

Bizjon looked at the giant askance, “Maybe a CHURCH?”

“Let’s get to the church. Why would they end up with the booty?” Grath asked.

“They’re Priests,” Bizjon huffed, “Taking is what they do!”

Meri-am gestured. Grath interpreted for Antac.

“She says they have a Cathedral in the Valley of Bnne.”

“If we’re going to a Cathedral,” Antac thought aloud, “I wish I had my nicer tunic. You know, for appearances.”

Grath said as he set out, “Meri-am says you look fine. Nice even.”

“Really?”

Bizjon and Grath were on their way up the mountain and didn’t answer.

© C. Wayne Owens
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