XIV. HOOK AND CROOK
“No injuries?” asked Graddick. The half-orcs had pounced on them as they walked along the rocky ridge, not half a mile from their destination. The battle ended in seconds. Graddick cleaved the first of the bandits from heart to navel and killed the second in a less grisly but just as efficient fashion. An arrow from Vahaera’s shortbow found the eye socket of the third, and one of Cuatala’s arrows the breast of the fourth.
“The halfling was nicked, but I’ve seen to it,” said Ystrien.
“I wonder why they attacked. They were already injured,” said Graddick.
“Maybe they expected help. The hideout is close by,” said Cuatala.
“Look at this!” said Vahaera, who had been inspecting the bodies. She held up a green hammer.
“What is it?” asked Ystrien. “A sculpture? A weapon? Let me see.”
“It’s enchanted,” she said, handing it to him. “Protective magic of some kind.”
Ystrien turned the jade hammer over in his hand. “Well-made–in an archaic sort of way.”
Now Graddick and Cuatala were interested. “It wouldn’t make an effective weapon,” said Graddick. “Not even against nails. Is it supposed to be worn somehow?”
“There’s no bail or clasp or hook,” said Vahaera.
“It’s a religious fetish for one of the region’s ogre tribes,” declared Ystrien.“I’m certain of it.”
“Nonsense,” said Vahaera. She snatched it out of the cleric’s hands and presented it to Graddick. “The prize is yours, knight. One of the half-orcs you killed was carrying it.”
Graddick took the hammer. It was heavier than it looked and felt good in his hands. He marveled at its color and smoothness. It was a good prize.
***
“You there, skulker. I see you. Come out in the open. What are you doing here?”
The adventurers had planned to scout the hideout and then assess their chances of a fruitful parley or infiltration. Cuatala would stay a good trot ahead and signal with her hands (or, if close enough, her telepathy) what they should do. The ghostwise was very quiet, but the pebbles she disturbed beneath the outlaws’ watchtower were not. A guard spotted her. Before she had a chance to explain herself, Vahaera was at her side. Ystrien and Graddick came up behind, holding their hands up to show they came in peace.
“We bring bad news from Melvaunt. Corwyn Jaffe is dead. And you owe us some gold,” said Vahaera.
“I do?” asked the guard guiltily.
“Not you personally, of course,” said Vahaera. “Your crew. We’re mercenaries. Corwyn sold slaves to our paymaster, slaves who turned out to be a lot of trouble. He wants compensation and some answers.”
