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  Marasmus cackled a frightening laugh. "Stupid goblin. Haven't you figured it out? I own you! Not that I didn't before, but now, I control your every action. You are fully in my power, even more than you were before."

  Skum literally quivered with rage. "What have you done to me wizard?” he spat, fingers still groping for his master's neck.

  Marasmus leaned close to the massive goblin’s face, his neck inches from Skum's waiting hands. "I improved you, dolt. I've made you more deadly than you ever were before."

  "You made me into a monster!" Skum bellowed.

  "You were always a monster," the necromancer countered. "I just made you better at it. I made you immortal."

  "Why did you do this?" he asked, almost pleading.

  "Why?" his master replied. "You should be thanking me. Now, you'll never die."

  "Wrong," muttered Skum. “Now, I'll die forever."

  "Enough of this display!" Marasmus cut in. "I have work for you to do."

  Chapter 7

  A Hasty Deal

  Finnious harrumphed around for quite a while longer, picking up odds and ends, then either discarding or depositing them into the ever-growing burlap bag. Impossible amounts of items were crammed into the sack, stretching the limits of the coarse fabric, but the wizened old mage didn't seem to care or even notice.

  "Ah ha,” the wizard exclaimed, crawling out of a moldering old box. "There it is!" As Finnious emerged from the container, Den could see that he held what looked like an ordinary sack.

  The wizard ineffectively brushed off some of the dust and debris from his robe and held the object out to Den. "Do you remember your lessons on magical spaces?" he asked.

  Den nodded, while staring at the nearly weightless fabric he now held in his hands. “Yes, master.”

  “Good," said the old master as he began waving his hands over the cloth. Strange words from a nearly forgotten language twisted his tongue. His voice and gestures reached a crescendo and he pointed to the bag. "It looks less than impressive, but sometimes looks can be deceiving. Open it, my boy," he said, gesturing at the only open space in the cluttered room.

  Den stepped into the clearing and began opening up what appeared to be a very big hole. He looked into the opening and found a wand and a bunch of other packages. The opening was large enough for the young spell-caster to walk into and deep enough to store a roomful of stuff.

  "This is unbelievable!” the young apprentice exclaimed, now head deep inside the hole. "Where does the space go?"

  “It’s a magically created plane of existence, Den. It's a door which opens into another space. It is a very convenient way to carry a lot of supplies or things which you don't want people to know you have. Put the Anti-Magic Dust in the space, but be careful. One grain of that powder would sever the link between the two planes and you would be standing inside an ordinary sack. I think that might be very painful."

  “Would it be like breaking a magic item?” Den asked.

  “In a way,” Finnious said. “But it would lack the resulting explosion you’d get from breaking an enchanted item.”

  Den carefully set the bag on the floor of the magically created space and double-checked the knot securing the opening. "What are these other packages in here?" he asked, picking up the wand.

  "Food and adventuring supplies. They come in handy and never go bad in there. It is a vacuum, you see."

  As Den emerged from the cloth, he extended the wand to Finnious. "Bahh!" croaked the old mage with a wave of his hand. "You keep that useless old wand. More trouble than it is worth, in my opinion. Never got the thing to work out in my favor."

  "What is it?" Den asked, holding it out away from his body as if it might sting him.

  "Finnious frowned. "It is a Rod of Random Spells. Rod of More Trouble Than You Had Before, is what I would call it. You see it works on luck. When you say the activation word, anything can happen. Once, I used it when I was fighting some kobolds. The wand burst forth with a huge swarm of moths. The problem was, they were so thick that none of us could breath. I made it out, but the kobolds all suffocated. Later, I found their mouths were full of moths."

  "That's horrible," Den whispered.

  "That's not the only thing that can happen with that thing. Sometimes it might send out a bolt of power, saving your life, but other times, moths, or who knows what else."

  Den slowly brought the magical device closer to himself. "Thank you, master. I think. I'll be very careful with it and will save its powers for only the darkest of times."

  "You'd be smart to do just that, but keep it handy, my boy. Ah, but enough of this, Den. I must be on my way." The wizard brushed at his robes again and walked over to his own pile of supplies.

  Den looked down at the ragged packages his master was using as luggage; old, moldering boxes and burlap sacks that had seen better days. A pang of guilt ran through the apprentice. "Master Finnious, why don't you use the magical bag you created?"

  The old man smiled warmly and looked at Den with genuine affection. "I won't need it, my boy. Where I go, I won't need to walk about." At that, Finnious said a few mystical words and made some odd gestures and was gone, packages and all.

  Den stood there, gazing at the space that was formerly occupied by the mage. The hut already seemed lonely. He had to follow through with finding the necromancer. If he didn't, Finnious might cast him out, or worse.

  The old wizard had been like a father to him. After Den lost his parents to the goblin horde, the old mage had become his world. Finnious was his only existing family. He could not betray the old man's trust. With a resigned sigh, the apprentice turned, closed the magic bag and hung it from his belt. Looking around the room, he could see nothing else that would be of any use, so he decided to turn in for the night and get an early start in the morning.

  Although Den was tired from the ordeals of the past day, he found sleep beyond his grasp. He lay restless, his mind playing over the perilous journey he was about to embark upon. When he did nearly drift off, he was shocked awake by images of skeletons reaching for him, their fleshless bones gleaming an unnatural white as their otherworldly cold hands stretched out for him. Shadows in the room played mental games with the boy as they formed phantoms in every corner or alcove.

  When daylight finally came, it found Den with little rest. His muscles were full of kinks as he rose from his bed. He stretched and made ready for his mission. A cold meal of bread and cheese was about all he could hold down, his stomach was so knotted with anxiety.

  He stowed fresh foodstuffs in a knapsack and secured his dagger to his belt. He decided to stash the magical bag in the pack, also; but he wanted the wand at arm’s reach, so he slipped it in his belt, opposite his dagger.

  There he was, a lowly apprentice on the threshold of serious adventure. He was all ready to depart, but he just stood there. Doubt, his old nemesis, held him frozen in place. This is ridiculous! Den scolded himself. Finnious would never have asked me to do this if have no chance. I have to grow up and do this. With that said, he was off.

  His feet trod the same path they had traced yesterday, but this time they dragged, as opposed to when they had run before. It was still very early. The dew, when his stride touched the occasional clump of grass, made his shoes wet and heavy. The brilliant sun showed through the trees in beams, broken by twigs and leaves.

  The Weary Wanderer Inn would be the place to start, Den thought, remembering the fight the day before. He recalled how he acted during the brawl. That will never happen again, he told himself, his face flushing due to the embarrassment of his inaction. I will never let anyone down again.

  The early hour never seemed to affect the business at the Inn. Den could see the thin curl of smoke from the cook fire. The smell of breakfast filled his nose as he stepped on the porch—fresh ham, bacon, eggs, and muffins. You couldn't you couldn't beat the Weary Wanderer's home cooked meals.

  The scene inside looked about the same as the day before, excluding the half-orcs. Th
e tables and chairs had all been replaced or mended. The room was full of common folk; shop owners and such. It didn't look promising for finding professional adventurers.

  Den took a stool at the bar. The smell was overwhelming inside the tavern. The young mage realized he had packed food for the trip, but he hadn't eaten much, the light meal having worn off during the walk into town.

  His stomach growled when he saw Bronwynn enter the room from the kitchen. "Be with you in a minute, Den," she said as she danced by with an overflowing basket of bread for one of the tables. The yeasty scent made his mouth water.

  He spun about in his seat, putting his back to the bar. Surveying the room, he saw no one even remotely resembling the companions he had imagined. How was he going to find heroes in a small town like this?

  A black-haired girl who appeared to be several years younger than Den approached, carrying a broom and dustpan overflowing with debris from the night before. Dust, splinters, and broken glass intermingled in the metal pan.

  Her blue eyes shone with excitement as she set the pan on the corner of the bar and leaned the broom to the side. Her face flushing, she asked, "Did you hear about the fight here yesterday?"

  "I was here, Meg," he said reluctantly.

  "It must have been something,” she said even more intently. "You weren't hurt, were you?” Meg asked, brushing his hair back as if to inspect his head for an injury.

  As her hand lingered on his face, Den could smell wild flowers. His eyes locked on hers. They sparkled green like a set of gems. Lowering his eyes, he said softly, "Only my pride."

  "We'll just be going now, ma’am," came a voice from the behind the bar where the stairs for the guest rooms could be accessed. "We don't want to be any more trouble." The voice came from a well-armored man, the same man that had cut the hand off of the orc the day before.

  "Have a seat and some breakfast. Meg, get these men some breakfast, please,” Bronwynn said, crossing behind the bar again with the now-empty tray. "You paid for it. Besides, you'll be good this time, right?"

  The knight shrugged sheepishly and smiled at the reminder. “Yes, my lady. Have no doubt about that." As he walked off to a nearby table, a dwarf and a shady-looking man followed him. The dwarf scanned the crowd and said over his shoulder to the other, "Looks safe enough. Just locals."

  "That doesn't mean anything with Hank," the other answered with a sly grin.

  Den watched the whole scene. A thin smile of his own began to form.

  "Did you hear the news, Den?" Bronwynn asked from behind the bar.

  Den spun about to meet her beautiful smile. "About the bar fight?"

  "No," she replied, her curly locks swinging back and forth as she shook her head. "People have been reporting sightings of undead, skeletons and such, wandering about the town."

  "I know," Den answered. "One grabbed me last night. Burned my back with his touch." He emphasized this by rubbing his still-tender shoulder.

  Bronwynn gave a knowing smile and asked," What is Finnious going to do about them?"

  "He just left to help with another problem."

  "Then who is going to get rid of the undead mess here?” she asked, alarm showing in her beautiful eyes.

  Den looked down at the bar. He could see his reflection in its well-polished surface. "I am," he said in a low voice. Mustering his pride, he looked up into the eyes of the bartender.

  He expected to see an even more shocked look than he had seen before, but what he saw was the level gaze of confidence. "I'm sure if Finnious left you to this task, your magic will be equal to the menace," she responded. She turned and whisked away to get more breakfasts for the waiting crowd.

  "I can do this," Den said to himself, as if to convince himself of his ability. He scanned the room again. The three adventurers were the only ones who fit his needs, so he slid from the stool and walked over to their table.

  He was greeted with the stern look of the dwarven warrior. His eyes seemed to issue a solemn challenge to the young mage. Den’s nerves were about to break, and he was about to turn and make a hasty retreat back to the bar when the knightly man cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something we may help you with, young mage?"

  Den felt trapped. He tore his gaze from the bearded fighter and looked into the kind eyes of the knightly gentleman. "Ignore the diminutive brute," he said with a smile. "He relishes in scaring young men with his grotesque features."

  "What did he mean by that?" the dwarf asked his roguish companion.

  "He meant you're ugly," the slippery looking fellow responded.

  "Is that what you meant, Hank?" the dwarf asked, a crestfallen look on his face.

  “No, Scree," the knight soothed. "I was just trying to make our friend here feel more comfortable."

  "Just remember who always comes to your rescue. Who's always charging in to save the day. You're gonna get us killed," the dwarf emphasized with his furrowed brow.

  "He's got you there, Hank," the other chimed in, a sly grin spreading across his thin lips. Turning back to Den, he slapped the table and asked, "Now then, young master, what did you say you wanted?"

  Den couldn't help a small smile of his own. "I was wondering if you men could be hired.”

  The thief quickly slid aside and, with greatly exaggerated gestures, brushed off the seat next to him. "Now you’re talking, sir," he said with pomp. “We're your men. What is the offer?"

  "Well, I haven't much money."

  "We can work around that, my friend. My name is Pinch. The grumble-belly is Scree and our cavalier friend here is Hank. And you are?"

  "Den," he stammered. "I am a mage, as the knight observed earlier."

  “Well, Den, my good friend," the Pinch said, sliding his arm over the young magic-user’s shoulder. "Do you own your home or rent it?"

  "What?" Den asked, quickly leaning away from the man.

  "Not to worry, young master," Hank hastily broke in. "My stealthy companion was merely joking."

  There was a loud thump under the table. “Owww! You kicked me, Hank."

  “Now, with all seriousness, what is your problem?" Hank continued, leaning forward with interest.

  "That really hurt," the thief complained

  Hank turned his gaze on Pinch.

  “Ok! We are really interested," the thief intoned. With a gaze toward the barmaid, he added, "We could also use a change of scenery."

  The trio of adventurers had worked long and hard at repaying their debt to Bronwynn. They were not used to that type of labor and were looking forward to their usual means of employment.

  "There is this problem with undead…” Den began.

  "Ewww," whined Pinch. "Undead are a nasty lot, and dangerous, too. That'll cost you."

  "There probably aren't many, I don't believe," Den continued. "They are under the influence of a necromancer named Marasmus. He is in a tower north of town, near the river."

  "We'll do it!" Hank exclaimed, smacking his hand on the table to emphasize the point. "We will smite this evil and drive it from this fair village."

  “What?!" cried the thief. "I do the negotiating here, Hank. If it were up to you, all we'd do is freebies. Ok, young Den. How does a 95 to 5 split sound to you?” he queried with a sly grin.

  Den looked confused. "What is that?"

  "We split any treasure 95 to 5."

  Still not understanding, Den nodded and shrugged. "I guess that's ok?" he said, his voice betraying his lack of understanding.

  “Then, it's a deal!" the thief acknowledged, spitting in the palm of his hand and extending it toward Den. The magic-user hesitated, looking at the offered hand, then at his own. He spit a feebly small amount of foam onto his own palm, then clasped the other’s in a firm grip. Pinch pulled Den close and winked expressively. "You won't regret this. We are the best at what we do."

  The sound of footsteps on the wood plank floor drew their attention to the approaching figure. Bronwynn held a shield-sized platter in one hand. Balanced on the tray were th
ree plates, overflowing with food. The smell made their mouths water. Eggs spilled over sausage and toasted bread. Honey-roasted ham dripped its juices on the platter, forming little pools.

  "I left yours up on the bar, Den,” she informed him, indicating the direction of his meal.

  "Go ahead, young wizard," the dwarf said between mouthfuls. "We'll meet you out front in a bit."

  Den slowly stood and walked back to his place at the bar. His breakfast steamed invitingly before him.

  "Den," came a hushed voice from behind him.

  He slowly swiveled himself around to face the person to his rear. It was Bronwynn, standing between Den and his new companions. She bent closer.

  "Are you sure you want those clowns to go adventuring with you?" she asked, frowning. "I mean, they seemed like good people and showed some promise as warriors, but don't you think they seem a bit odd?"

  "Odd?" he replied quizzically, not understanding.

  "While they were cleaning this place up yesterday, I noticed some very strange behavior. The knight seems to talk to himself and he jumped into battle a little too quickly. The dwarf is an outcast, and I thought I saw the one that looks like a ferret pick a pocket."

  Den could see the look of concern on her face. He shrugged and confessed to her that he had already made a deal with them," he confessed.

  "Break it," she directed, looking straight into his eyes. Her gaze stayed level for a few seconds as he felt the impact of what she said.

  Bronwynn stayed there for a few moments longer, then, grabbing a large metal tray, she left to clear some of the tables.

  Den felt dread as he thought of the deal he had just struck with the group of adventurers. Was he in for trouble with those guys? Did he react too quickly in striking a pact with them?

  He mulled over these questions as he finished his meal.

  *************************

  "What were you thinking, Hank!" Pinch whispered angrily, his face scrunched in a scowl.

  Hank gazed up from his breakfast with a look of surprise. "What did I do?" he shot back defensively while shrugging his armored shoulders. His face showed his innocence.