CHAPTER VIII: THE MYSTERY OF THE CLOAK
Illonel led the way through the rural district of town – small farms peppered the landscape as they passed the city limits of Suffolk. The newly trained wizard thumbed through the tome he had stolen; or rather, charmed his professor to steal for him. Emily regretted teaching Illonel the charm person spell, though the fighter was more than pleased at the results.
The path became studded with small rocks and broken twigs as they saw a large, gnarled tree in the distance. Tripping almost every other step, Furrius began to whine inconsolably.
"I don't see any friggin' mage shops out here…looks pretty desolate, in fact…"
Illonel too grew suspicious of Emily's story. "She said it was visible most days…I'm sure it has some sort of enchantment from preventing any old person from entering…"
The six travelers reached the gnarled tree – it was massive, reaching out almost ten feet in diameter. As they skillfully examined the roots and knots all over the tree, they suddenly felt a strange rumbling and creaking coming from all around them…
Instinctively, Krougu, Celathiel, Furrius and Barakus dove away from the tree in all directions; Sic and Illonel weren't as lucky. An odd sensation washed over the bard and the fighter/wizard…like they were being pummeled with various elements…wood…water…fire…metal…it all flashed through them, coursing through their less-than nimble bodies. What seemed like it would cause immense pain didn't; moments later, the two of them found themselves standing in the center of a meager shop, no more than ten feet in all directions with a rustic looking counter in front of them.
Outside, the four quick-thinking men marveled at what had just happened – with a stunning 'pop', a massive stone block burst into existence at the base of the tree – it didn't seem to have any doors or windows, but somehow, the friends could tell that Illonel and Sic were inside. Inside…or crushed beneath.
Sic knocked on the counter of the small hut – around him were many, many magical items of various natures. It was almost overwhelming…Illonel was careful not to touch anything, else risking incurring the shopkeep's anger… Mere seconds after Sic knocked on the counter, up rose a wise looking mage, donned in tattered robes. His beard grazed the top of his counter as he examined Illonel and Sic.
"Ah…visitors…not the most fleet of foot, are we gentlemen?" he joked.
"Not exactly…we were searching for a powerful mage shop…a wizard in town told us we could find it here…" Sic explained. Looking over at Illonel, the fighter silently instructed the bard to keep the details involving Emily scarce; was he actually looking out for her?
"Ooh, my yes. This is indeed the mage shop you seek…quite a fine establishment. I supply those closest to the Duke, himself…my, yes…you're certainly lucky to be able to find my services…now let's see if you can afford them…" he said, raising an eyebrow. After Sic and Illonel exchanged worried looks, the mage continued, "I kid, lads. What do you seek?"
Pulling the cloak off of his body, Sic showed it to the mage. "Actually, I was wondering if you could appraise this cloak…it was…" he started, but Illonel coughed violently, warning the bard to keep his information vague. "It was a gift. Does it have any magical properties?"
The mage's eyes lit up. "Hmmm…interesting…quite beautiful craftsmanship…I'll have to take it for…two weeks?" he smiled innocently. "A meager two weeks is all I ask to examine such a fine piece of clothing…"
Sic furrowed his brow. "Do I have a guarantee of getting it back?"
"Indeed yes! I'd be a poor businessman if I couldn't guarantee that much, my boy!" he said, his slender fingers reaching out to the patterns on the cloak's hood. Remembering the coin situated in on the cloak's back, Sic awkwardly tried to slip it off before the clerk could take the piece of clothing…unfortunately, the mage was too quick; Sic lost the opportunity to retrieve the coin. He bit his lip and cursed silently in his head – he had no idea how the coin might come in handy, but he wouldn't be able to find out while it was in the mage's shop for two weeks; he knew that.
"Thanks. See you in two…" he said cautiously, gauging the clerk's excitement to be a little high for his liking. Turning to the where the door of the shop would be, he saw a sign that stated "push" almost twenty feet away.
But the room was tight; between he and Illonel, there couldn't be five spare feet in the entire shop. As his mind (or the mage) played tricks on him, Sic walked toward the door – it gradually got closer, though his feet never took a single step forward, as if he was on a massive treadmill. Pushing the door open, he spied outside and saw his friends laying in the grass, staring at the stone.
"Sic! You're alive!" Celathiel exclaimed. "How on earth-"
"I'll explain later," Sic said, returning to the room, leaving his comrades outside once more.
Illonel stared deeply into the clerk's face; as soon as he made the slightest mention of the Duke's head mage, the world whooshed around his and Sic's ears, immediately chucking them out of the mage shop. As they stood up on the grassy field, the shop disappeared.
The bard informed the others of the mage shop as they re-entered town and turned in for the night. As they awoke the next morning, the day of the Duke's ball, they happened upon two armed guards in the hallway outside room fourteen. Ushering them quickly to a large, covered carriage outside the inn, the six of them sat quietly until they pulled up behind the Duke's massive manor.
A huge set of black, metallic gates swung open to allow the carriage into the manor's service courtyard. There were guards everywhere; at one point, Sic and Barakus noticed that some of the guards had guards…it was quite an operation…the Duke obviously knew that he needed to keep himself protected at all times. As they disembarked the smooth carriage ride, they were almost forcefully dragged through the shoulder width corridors by the two guards. Twisting and turning, each wall lined with an endless amount of doors, even concentrating at their hardest proved impossible – they were hopelessly lost inside the labyrinth of the manor. Eventually, they happened upon a seemingly identical door to the hundreds they had already passed. Knocking a quick code, a gruff voice came through the other side of the door.
"My favorite drink is…" it inquired.
The guards on the side of the door with the travelers sighed. "Ale."
The door swung open and the guards briefly exchanged what looked like secret handshakes.
"You know, that's a really easy password to guess…"
"But it's true! What, am I gonna lie?"
"Who would know?"
"It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing! Jeez…" he said, indicating for the band to follow him. Much faster than they had reached the first door, they were upon a second; the guard opened it and allowed them inside the lavish dressing room.
"I'll be right out here if you need anything, sirs…make yourselves at home," he said, nodding slightly to the band. With that, he exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Across three walls of the room spread a lush looking couch, seemingly stuffed with feathers, or if not feathers, than clouds. Assuming the latter was quite impossible, Sic rested on the comfortable seats next to Illonel.
"Nice digs," Sic said. Illonel nodded his assent.
"Drinks?" Furrius said thirstily, eying the stocked bar across the opposite wall. Celathiel was the only one in the room to refuse – beautifully aged wines flowed a rich crimson into glasses for Illonel and Sic, while Krougu, Barakus and Furrius enjoyed a nice glass of foreign rum. The only other interesting thing about the room was a large, spotless mirror that took up the entire wall opposite the bar.
"My, my…you've made quite a name for yourselves. There are people in the ballroom positively chomping at the bit to see you play! I hope you've prepared something wonderful…" the Duke snorted, entering the room almost undetected. "Come; my guards will show you backstage…" he added, swishing his cape as he left their sight again.
After following the guards through several more slightly wider pathways, flanked on either side by two additional guards, of course, they found themselves in a small prep kitchen. Noticing it had been cordoned off by a tall, wide piece of cloth, they listened intently and heard hundreds of people milling about on the other side. A guard looked at Sic and said, "whenever you're ready, sirs…"
Taking a deep breath, Sic readied his guitar from his back. Illonel cracked his knuckles and Celathiel stretched his arms over his head. Furrius massaged his throat, clearing it with a series of disgusting gargling sounds… Off to the sides of the stage stood Krougu and Barakus, acting as 'guards' for lack of a better role. Nodding to his comrades, Sic stepped quickly out through the cloth curtain, staring hundreds of hungry, rich, beautiful people directly in the eyes.