Chapter 2

The edge of the Western Realm, Andor, in the fourth year of the reign of King Dorian Greyhawk, twenty-fifth in succession of mortal kings.

Tristan Balefire was in a great deal of trouble; trouble of his own making. He had tried to infiltrate a band of slavers and got caught as being something he was not. He was a thief, a very good thief, but he was not a trafficker of human slaves; that particular enterprise was frowned upon by the guild. While the guild might sanction a kidnap for hire enterprise it most assuredly held a dim view on the subject of slavery and slavers in general. He had been paid handsomely to return a missing young woman to her father so he had taken on the disguise of a Cutpurse, which was a thief who either had never been part of a guild or who based on their actions had been thrown out. This particular band of merry smugglers were guildless fighters, or Rogues, and were kidnapping young people as slaves to entertain and work the mines in the Hall of the Mountain King, the subterranean kingdom of the Mountain Folk, or Goblins.

Tristan had been approached through the Thieves' Guild in Loudin, by the concerned father, to look into the disappearance of his young daughter. He had accepted the commission and began the investigation into the disappearance, ultimately coming across the slavers. Passing himself off as a thief of a particular bent, to gain access to their operation, he slowly infiltrated the organization until he was well entrenched in their comings and goings.

Tristan was bound naked in a cage, normally used for slave transport, on the edge of wyvern hunting grounds; the penalty for being caught was to become the meal for a wyvern. The men had divided up his belongings amongst themselves, not that there was anything of great value or could not easily be replaced, and left him to die. Truly the possessions were no great loss since he had placed his valuables in a hidden cache not far from where he was now, if he was able to get free and retrieve them. He at least had the satisfaction of knowing the young woman had been released and with her father on their way to the closest city, Thebes. He held out hope that the father would alert someone to his plight, but that hope was waning.

He had successfully gotten the daughter away and into her father's hands for safekeeping. The original plan was to make for Thebes and then on to Loudin, but the daughter asked him to help the other victims and he had agreed. He told the father to make for an inn named the 'Pious Satyr', the safest inn in Thebes, and to wait there for Tristan. If he had not caught up with them or met them the day after they arrived then the father was to send help and wait an additional three days before hiring protection and heading home to Loudin. Tristan figured they should have made Thebes by now and hoped the father had upheld his part of the plan.

He had gotten a little sloppy and it had cost him; his cavalier attitude brought enough scrutiny that he was revealed as a poser. What was it that his old Master used to say? "The matter at hand, boy!" What would Master Aaron think of him now?

Well, The Gods knew, he was never very good at keeping focused and this was the end result of that particular shortcoming. He could have really used his old master's help right about now, or anyone else's for that matter.

Tristan held no illusions about his abilities or his place within the guild. He knew that even when he achieved 'Master' ranking, for he figured he eventually would, he would never command a guild. He was neither focused enough nor, perhaps, driven enough to achieve that lofty status. He did not have the necessary frame of mind to take on an apprentice, and without that achievement he would never be able to lead a guild. No, he liked to be independent, he liked the money, he liked the cards and dice, and he liked the ladies, the last perhaps a little too much. Right now he would like to get out of this mess!

Tristan Balefire, like many a good thief, had started his professional career as a fighter, moving swiftly up through the guild ranks. He had made the shift to the way of the thief purely by accident and, liking the lifestyle, he never looked back. A man of flexible moral standards, he soon became an accomplished thief and earned the highest journeyman rank of 'Thief' and the ability to freelance. As soon as he received his token as 'Thief' he went off in search of his fortune.

Within the Thieves' Guild there were numerous rank plateaus; from Apprentice to Journeyman to finally Master, and within each plateau there were various ranks. When a thief reached journeyman status they were considered accomplished enough to act without a mentor or master but they were still not considered a full-fledged thief. It took a promotion to the highest journeyman rank of 'Thief' to be able to act as an independent contractor but still be under the protection of the guild. If a 'Thief' was in a position of leadership within the guild they carried the title of 'Journeyman First Class' and were usually an assistant to the Guildmaster, fulfilling various roles with the Guild hierarchy.

Now it looked like Tristan would never need to worry about whether or not he was focused enough to command a guild, or even test for the status of 'Master'. He had been pondering his life while stuck in the cage and realized with some satisfaction that, while there were things that he still would have liked to accomplish, he had no regrets with the direction and the choices that brought him to his current predicament.

Graydon had no idea where to go so he decided to just go south and see where it took him. The dwarves had no need for maps since everyone knew where each and every tunnel and hallway with the kingdom went. Only a few dwarves had ever ventured outside of their mountain stronghold and only on business for the their clan.

Graydon barely noticed the change in terrain from mountain to foothill; just being able to put one foot in front of the other took all of his concentration. He finally stopped at sunset and made a small camp off the side of the game trail he had been following for a better part of a week. He made a small campfire and ate from the traveling food he had packed. He did not need sleep so he just sat by the fire and watched the flames flicker. A screech from a night predator broke his trance and he looked around, grabbing the haft of his axe tighter. The beast screeched again and Graydon recognize the call of a wyvern on the hunt. He was not too terribly concerned since he was more than a match for the winged cousin of the dragon and went back to watching the fire. The night passed uneventfully for him.

Tristan was getting set to pass his second night in the cage and he was worried. He had heard the shrill cry of a hunting wyvern and hoped the creature would not notice him. There was also a chill in the air; the weather was changing and, if he was any judge, not for the good either.

"Excellent," he thought sullenly. "I am either going to freeze to death or be the meal for some glorified lizard. How did I get myself into this?"

Graydon was back on the road right after first light. He truly had no plan nor destination in mind and was content to set a leisurely pace and enjoy the fresh air. A cold front had moved in, bringing the cold air from the north and down through the mountains. The air was moist and if the clouds were any indication, rain was not far off. Not that rain mattered to a dwarf, and to Graydon even less. He plodded on deep in thought and almost walked head-on into a swinging cage tied off from a tree.

Tristan was shivering and fast approaching the cold sickness when he saw movement coming down a hill to the north of his position. He had to blink his eyes several times to ensure he was seeing what he saw: a grey horned dwarven nightmare just stepped over the rise and started down the side of the depression right towards the cage that he was in.

The creature had dwarven features but it was over two feet taller than the tallest dwarf Tristan had ever seen. Fluted horns jutted out from his brows and curled around each side of its head. The monstrosity was dressed in dwarven clothes and balanced a hobgoblin war-axe over its shoulder. The beast looked like a cross between a demon and a dwarf and it was heading right at Tristan's position.

Graydon looked up and finally noticed the swinging cage and the bound naked man held within. He stopped and swung the axe off of his shoulder and brought it to the ready, looking around for a trap. He backed up but kept his guard as he eyed the trapped man.

"Why are you caged?" Graydon asked, while still looking around for threats.

"A misunderstanding," the man replied. "Would you be so kind as to release me?"

"I think not," Graydon replied and shook his head, stepping away. "You apparently did something severe enough to warrant this treatment, I should not intercede."

"Wait! I was caught trying to free a young woman from slavers," Tristan exclaimed. "That is my crime. Do not leave me here to die. On my honor I will repay you somehow."

"A noble vow, if you were an honorable man," Graydon replied, turning back around and facing the caged man. "What is your guild, human?"

"Fighters' Guild, I am a Swordsman," Tristan replied, teeth beginning to chatter from the chill. "If we keep this banter up much longer there will be no need to release me."

"Where is your marker, your cord?" Graydon asked, not completely believing the human.

"I w-w-was in d-disguise," Tristan replied, the cold definitely getting to him.

Graydon nodded his head, either believing the human or coming to some internal decision. Either way, he stepped up to the cage and grabbed the lock and ripped it off. He opened the door and reached in and grabbed the human, noting the chilled body. He carefully laid the human down and, removing his ruck sack, set that down as well. Opening the sack, he first removed a wolf's fur blanket and wrapped the human in it. He then began collecting wood for a fire and when he felt he had enough to start he arranged some rocks into a ring. He built a small fire and using his flint and tinder lit the dry wood. He then checked on the human and began to briskly rub him hoping the friction would warm him up.

The human stopped chattering so Graydon let him be and began rummaging through his sack. He removed a closed up tripod with a small attached chain, pulling the legs apart he sat it over the small fire and hung a pot from the chain. He added water from a skin and then some dried herbs and such from his sack. He sat back and stirred the pot's contents and hummed a little song his mother used to hum when he was little.

Tristan watched the dwarf monstrosity rip the lock off of his prison and throw the door open. He lifted Tristan like he was light as a feather and sat him down and wrapped him in furs. Tristan started feeling better as the dwarf rubbed him trying to warm him up. He watched the dwarf warily as he rummaged through his sack and set about preparing a soup or broth.

"I am called Tristan," he stated, introducing himself. "What are you called?"

"Graydon," the dwarf mumbled as he stirred the contents of the pot. "Graydon Kimrilson, late of the Stronghammer clan."

"Late?" Tristan asked.

"Yes, late. Did your captors take all of your things? I ask because I do not believe I have anything that would fit you."

"Yes, they took all that I had but I have a hidden cache not too far away from here."

Graydon told him that after he got some of the broth, made from healing herbs, in him that they could go and recover the secret stash. Tristan nodded in reply and tried to get warm while waiting for the broth to be ready.

The broth was ready in short order and Graydon ladled some into an earthen bowl and passed it to Tristan. He thanked the dwarf and started blowing on the liquid before bringing the bowl to his lips and gently slurping the hot broth. He felt the warming effects of the liquid settle in his stomach and spread outward warming him up. He finished the broth and handed the bowl back to Graydon with a smile and a nod of his head.

"Thank you," he murmured. "You probably just saved my life and I am in your debt. I do not make that statement lightly."

"You are welcome," Graydon replied as he dowsed the fire and began packing his things away. "'The Shield' commands us to lend aid where we can. How could I do any less?"

"Nevertheless, I will accompany you until I can repay you in kind," Tristan stated standing up. "I am ready to retrieve my belongings and get dressed."

"You are not afraid of me?" Graydon asked and swept his hand down bringing attention to his looks. "Afraid of how I look?"

"Should I be?" Tristan asked, cocking his head.

"No," Graydon replied shaking his head. "It is just that most either fear or mock me for being different."

"We all have our peculiarities, Graydon," Tristan replied and shrugged. "Yours are just more prominent than others."

"Then you do not fear what I am?" Graydon asked, pushing the issue.

"It is apparent to me that while one of your parents was dwarf, the other was obviously not," Tristan stated. "Had you been more inclined toward the non-dwarf parent you either would have left me where I was or would have released and then tried to slay me. The fact that you did neither speaks of what you are made of as opposed to how you might look."

Tristan turned and carefully placed one foot in front of the other as he stepped over the rocky ground, moving away from where he had been held captive. It took him three-quarters of an hour to arrive at the spot where his things were hidden. Graydon followed behind, keeping a watch out for any predators as Tristan slowly and gingerly made his way to the spot were his things were hidden.

Tristan stopped at a fallen log and strained to roll it forward revealing a depression in the ground, he knelt down and swept the loose soil away to reveal a tarp which he removed from the hole. He unrolled the tarp and commenced to get dressed.

Tristan slipped on a spare loin cloth and a padded undershirt. He reached into his cache and removed a leather harness with adjustable straps and slipped it through his arms and attached the strap that went around his chest. He then put on grey cloth pants and a dark grey pullover long sleeve shirt with ties across a v-neck. He slipped on and laced up soft-sole boots and then picked up a well worn and simple sword belt and fastened it around his waist. He then slipped on several rings on his fingers and then a set of magical wrist bracers. He picked up a sheathed rapier and buckled it onto the belt on his right hip, and then bucked a parrying dagger went on his left. He slipped two daggers into built in sheaths on the inside of his boots. Then matched, perfectly balanced throwing daggers slipped into slits in his shirt and into the sheaths on the harness. He pulled his hair back and tied a knot in the tail, holding it in place with a brown cord with turquoise ends. A dark-green elvish cloak competed his ensemble.

"You are left-handed," Graydon announced. "It is said that those that are left-handed have been touched by The Fates."

"Yes I am," Tristan replied, and then added acidly. "That is mere superstition. Anything else you do not like?"

"The daggers on your back are a strange possession for a fighter, Swordsman Tristan," Graydon stated, stepping back and swinging his axe up to the ready. "You wear no armor and yet you wear the cord of a Swordsman, explain yourself."

"Not for a Brigand or Sellsword, Master Graydon," Tristan replied, placing his hand on his sword. "I wear a type of magical armor, which allows me greater range of motion."

"All plausible answers and yet there is something troubling about you," Graydon replied.

"It would seem that we are at an impasse," Tristan responded, preparing himself for a fight.

"No, nothing has changed," Graydon replied, again having come to some inner decision, and lowered his axe. "I just do not like being deceived."

"I will remember that for the future," Tristan replied, bending down and picking up his rucksack. "Where are we headed?"

"We?" Graydon asked.

"Yes, you will definitely be needing my help," Tristan replied. "I told you that I intend to be with you for a little while and I would like to know where we are going."

"I do not know where I am going," Graydon replied and shrugged, throwing his axe over his shoulder and started south.

"You are currently heading toward Thebes," Tristan replied, pointing in the direction Graydon was going. "Is that your destination, because if it is not then we should probably change course."

"Why?" Graydon asked, stopping.

"Thebes is not a nice place to visit unless you know what you are doing or who you are visiting," Tristan replied. "It is a refuge for smugglers, thieves, cutthroats, and various other people of nefarious pursuits. Other than that it is a lovely place to visit."

"I am supposed to find The Soulsmith."

"Who?" Tristan asked, and heard a sound to their left and began scanning the area. "Is he some master you wish to apprentice yourself with?"

"No, he is the patron God of the Dvergar," Graydon replied. "Dwarves in the common tongue."

"And, where is he?" Tristan asked, picking his way around a rock mound while glancing to their left.

"I do not know," Graydon replied and stopped. "I imagine that my quest is to find him. I was drawn toward this direction and found you. Perhaps I was supposed to free you and have you join me."

"Graydon, did you leave your clan under good terms?" Tristan asked, sneaking another look to his left. "I ask because there is a dwarf war party just to our left, trailing us and very good at their craft."

"I might have been asked to leave under less than ideal circumstances," Graydon replied. "Let me talk to them."

"I do not believe they are here for talking," Tristan replied, drawing both his sword and dagger. "Best be ready!"

True to Tristan's word the dwarves fanned out and turned toward the two travelers and advanced. There were five of them and they had spread out in an arc trying to cut off any retreat.