Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The House Guest
It began with a seed. Though it seemed insignificant, it had
great potential. Long ago it was planted with others like it in its
home. That home was in what later became known as the Kingdom
of Sartan. The specific place became a village of elves the locals
named Missandor.
Hundreds of years passed, and the seed grew. Man’s heavy
hands gave way to nature’s loving ones. Time entered the mix, and
the seed turned into a young sapling, stretching toward the sky.
That was but the start. As time continued its work, the young
redwood took shape as the largest in what became a forest of
oversized redwoods. When the trees had reached their mighty
peak, the elves made them their home. In a manner known only to
their kind, the elves could hollow out the massive trunks and live
in them without harming the rooted giants.
In that particular tree lived a half-elf of imposing stature. The
placard hanging by the grand front door read, #7 Spruce Lane,
Linvin Grithinshield Esquire.
His life was not dissimilar from that of his tree. He started out
small but had great potential. With the nurturing of his parents and
the master inventor/teacher, Sedemihcra, he grew into a famous
general in the far off land of Valia. He later became an extremely
successful merchant in Sartan as his father had done.
Linvin had not foreseen his potential or planned for it to be
fulfilled. His father, Dirk Grithinshield, discovered Linvin’s
destiny long ago and had him trained accordingly into his adult
years. Linvin was meant to be the master of the Red Sapphire.
When his parents were murdered and the opportunity was forced
upon him, Linvin answered the call and successfully sought out the
1
mighty gem that would give him tremendous power. The
magnificent stone blended with his skills to make him one of the
most potent mortals in the entire world of Lavacia.
He returned from his quest as a giant among the giants of his
time. In spite of his grandeur, Linvin settled quietly among the
elves and trees of Missandor as he returned to his life at the head
of the most lucrative trading company in the world.
He knew the stone had chosen him to help those unable to
defend themselves against tyranny and oppression. Time had
passed since his return without any major incidents. It had been
two long years since Linvin returned home from his trek. In the
back of his mind, Linvin could not help but wonder if danger had
been averted or if it simply lay around the corner. Though he
hoped for the former, he knew deep in his soul he had his power
and gifts for a definite purpose. Sooner or later he would be drawn
to the forefront of battle again. In the meantime, he kept his life as
normal as possible.
So it was that Linvin sat on the second story deck of his tree on
a warm early spring afternoon. A cool breeze gently swayed the
branches back and forth in the subtropical climate and tousled his
lengthy, golden hair.
Before Linvin was a table used mostly for entertaining guests.
On that day, however, it served as a desk weighed down with
ledgers. While each binding bore different writing, one inscription
was lettered in gold leaf on each of them. It clearly read,
Grithinshield Trading Company - GTC.
With a quill in hand, he worked through page after page of the
subject for which he had developed a necessary talent: accounting.
He was checking the totals of the profit and loss columns as well
as inventory levels.
Dirk Grithinshield started the company as a young man. His
plan was to sell products in his stores that were either staples or
2
rarities in the area. He was endowed with an uncanny ability to
trade with far away and sometimes hostile places. Simply put, he
was an honest man with charisma that made him nearly impossible
to dislike. Dirk dealt fairly with his contacts. Because of his even
treatment of suppliers, they continued to do business with his
company alone. The effect was intensified by those suppliers
telling others whom they worked with about Mr. Grithinshield.
Trade flowed on mass from near and far. Races that did not trust
one another trusted Dirk. As a result, he could sell such things as
Dwarven armor in human areas or Elvin bows in Dwarven regions.
In his lifetime, he made the GTC into the most prosperous
company in the money-driven Kingdom of Sartan.
Linvin inherited the company after his father’s murder. He
found the structure to have a fundamental flaw. Everything from
the deals being made with suppliers to managing the books was
handled by Dirk. It made sense at the time. Everyone trusted Dirk,
and he could trust almost no one. With the enormous expansion of
the GTC, however, Dirk had overstretched his capacity to handle
everything on his own. When he suddenly died, the company was
nearly ruined.
Linvin was summoned home from the wars in Valia to handle
the business and noticed the flaw immediately. He was not his
father, but he had skills all the same. Linvin delegated
responsibilities as he would in his army and placed key individuals
of outstanding ability in places of prominence. Knowing he could
not control such a vast merchant empire alone, he set up a series of
checks and balances of bankers, accountants and lawyers all
auditing one another in order to deter corruption. Local buyers
were hired for the different regions where they were most
influential. The days of Dirk constantly being on the road were
replaced by a disciplined hierarchy. Linvin had set his company up
to run smoothly without the slightest effort on his part, if
necessary. It left him free to leave at a moment’s notice to see to a
crisis where his powers might be of use.
3
He took his father’s dream a step further and began to expand
into neighboring countries Sartan treated as allies. GTC outlets
opened in many of those places to a resounding acceptance by the
people. Never before had so many people been exposed to exotic
goods at reasonable prices. Linvin’s wealth exceeded any
individual citizen in the world and even that of some nations. The
more successful he became, however, the more he yearned for the
simple, slow pace of life in Missandor. It was much calmer than
the bustle of living in the capital of Fraylic where he retained the
family mansion and the company was headquartered.
Success had a price, and the tedious job Linvin had before him
was but a small part of that bill. The tiny digits he read strained
his eyes. As the sun began to set, he marked his page and closed
the book. He rubbed his eyes gently. The very sockets were sore.
After a sigh, Linvin poured a cup of tea from his silver tea set.
Taking hold of the cup, he stood and stretched.
Linvin’s lavish garments mostly hid his thick body and strong
muscle tone that served him well as a warrior. He had sat for too
long, and he yearned to take a walk. His timetable for finishing his
work, however, would not permit that. He settled for standing by
the rail and watching the shops in town closing for the night.
Missandor was a peaceful home. The people were generally
friendly and called one another by name in the street. It sat mostly
along a major crossroad in the Elvin County. The inhabitants were
primarily shopkeepers with whom Linvin worked to maintain good
relationships as he oversaw a local GTC in town. Street lamps
dotted the lanes in between the perfectly placed trees. Elves
walked to and fro in merriment. It was a quiet, peaceful place
where Linvin could escape the scope of his responsibilities. The
only sad individual was a beggar sitting by the road with a cup to
collect money.
Linvin observed an old elf leaving the town pub down the
street. He had a slight limp, which he normally worked hard to
4
disguise. On that evening, he was in a hurry and noticeably
favored one leg.
“I say,” Linvin called out. “You were in the pub a little later
than usual, Elzer. Night is nearly upon us and not a lamp is lit in
the whole town. Your duties are in need of tending.”
“I know,” he answered while grabbing his special pole for the
task. “Drinks were two for one, and I forgot about the time.”
Linvin picked up his cup and sipped. The tea was cold. He had
not realized how much time had passed while he was on the
balcony. “Do not worry, Elzer. Time can go by rather quickly
when one is busy.”
Elzer stopped below Number 7. “Mr. Grithinshield, my kind sir,
the wife will tie me to the trunk if I’m late getting home. You
know how she disapproves of spirits. And I was wondering
if…you know…you could.” Elzer waved his hand in a circle.
Linvin broke out laughing at the sight of the pantomime. Elzer
appeared desperate. “You needn’t but do it this once, sir. I promise
I won’t never ask another thing from you so long as I live. But that
won’t be long if’n the missus finds out I’ve dipped my bill.”
Linvin composed himself and said while chuckling, “Well, I
could not allow a fellow gent to get in that kind of trouble. Hold
on.” He stepped away from the rail for a moment and returned
with the staff that the Red Sapphire called home. He held it aloft,
and it turned a fiery red. Pointing it at one of the lamps, he released
a bolt of magic that struck the wick. The red magic rapidly flew
from one light to the next until all of them were burning.
“You’re an angel,” Elzer cried. “I’ll have the wife bake you a
pie for this, sir. Your fav’rit is cherry-berry isn’t it?”
Linvin laughed and nodded. “Cherry-berry it is,” he answered.
Elzer nodded back and ran down the street.
Linvin turned his attention to the tea he was holding. His
5
eyebrows wrinkled as he concentrated. Soon his hand lit up with
red magic, and the cup was emerged in a red aura. After a few
moments, he relaxed his face allowing his hand and the steaming
cup to return to their normal colors.
He sipped and looked out over the rail. Dusk turned to night
before his eyes. Storm clouds took place overhead to obscure the
moonlight. The rainy season, it seemed, would pay another visit.
Illumination was left in the hands of the street lamps and lights
shining from houses and trees.
The elves on the lane became fewer and fewer as they returned
home for the evening. Soon there was hardly a soul to be seen. It
was sound, however, that Linvin was noticing. A familiar whistle
was heard from the street behind Linvin’s tree. It became louder
and louder until its source came into view. The plump town
constable was strolling down Oak Street and was making his turn
at Number 7 to travel Spruce Lane.
He was not an imposing figure in any way other than his
weight. The squat constable enjoyed his meals often and in great
quantities. His uniform was shabby and barely concealed his belly.
He was a poor excuse for a law enforcement officer, but he was
sufficient for the sleepy town of Missandor.
“Good evening, Constable,” Linvin hailed. “What brings you
out on this blustery evening?”
“It seems some of the young elves have been causing mischief
after dark. I decided to take my rounds at night to look into the
situation. What about you, Linvin? Is there a chain keeping you in
that tree? I know it’s not a woman.”
Linvin laughed at the comment. “I wish it were,” he retorted.
“My dear, Constable, it would seem that I am the only elf in this
town tonight with homework. I leave in the morning for Fraylic to
perform an audit. There is also some business with the king and
assembly I must address. With a little luck, I will return in a
6
fortnight. Would you mind keeping an eye on my tree until I
return?”
“Not a problem, Linvin,” the constable assured. “Let us hope
we don’t have vandals like you had when you left a couple years
ago. That was a mess.”
“I trust those problems are behind us,” Linvin responded as his
gaze turned to the center of town.
The constable nodded and then followed Linvin’s line of sight.
“So what were you staring at right as I came by?”
Linvin rubbed his chin. “You see that beggar down the street?
What is the story with him?”
Seeing the man, the constable answered. “I saw him earlier
when I came on duty. That was what I came this way to address.
We can’t have vagrants occupying the streets. This is too nice of a
town. The odd thing is we never have had beggars around here,
especially human ones.”
Linvin held his chin and tapped his lips with his finger as he
thought. “I noticed him earlier today as I returned from work. We
spoke briefly. He said ‘good-day’ and asked if I needed help
carrying my ledgers. I told him I could handle it and asked if I
could help him. He declined and said he was waiting for a friend
who would be coming through town.”
The constable watched the beggar sit at the crossroad. “You
keep doing my job, Linvin, and I’ll give you this badge. Still, I
can’t have him on the street. If you’ll excuse me, Linvin, I have to
take care of this.”
“What do you intend to do?” Linvin inquired.
“I’ll escort him out of town. He can wait for his friend there.”
“In the middle of the night?” Linvin questioned. “Come now,
my dear constable, it is as dark as the bottom of a rock tonight, and
that storm is going to hit in no time at all.”
7
“Well,” said the constable. “It’s either that or I throw him in jail
for the night for his own protection.”
Linvin reached in his pocket and produced some coins.
“Catch,” he called to the man in uniform. “Take this option. Be
good enough to take him down to Morda’s eating house. Get him a
room for the night and a good meal. You can keep the money left
over. Do with it what you will, but it might serve you well to put it
toward your heavy bar-tab down the street. It is not a bribe, mind
you. It is merely a service fee for helping me in this matter.”
The constable looked at the coins and then Linvin. “That’s a
nice idea and everything, but what do you have to gain by helping
this sorry human?”
“Nothing,” Linvin said. “I am like you. It gives me pleasure to
help someone in need. Besides, I have spent enough nights out
sleeping in the rain. There is no sense in someone else doing it if I
can be of help.”
Shaking his head the officer put the money in his pocket. “If
you want to throw your money away to ease that bleeding heart of
yours then I’m not going to stop you.”
“Your dedication is unparalleled,” Linvin joked. “But thank you
for the help.”
The constable tipped his hat to him and headed for the vagrant.
Linvin ended his break and returned to his books.
The beggar had observed the conversation but could not hear
what was said. When the officer came near, the man’s face became
concerned. He clenched his satchel and put it over his shoulder.
“You on the corner!” called the constable. “That’s no place for
you to stay. This is a busy intersection!”
The man looked at the empty streets. “It isn’t busy now,” he
noted.
“All the same,” the policeman answered. “Come with me, and
8
I’ll see that you get a bed to sleep in and some good home
cooking.”
The man was surprisingly distraught. “That’s real nice, sir, but
I’m waiting for a friend.”
“You can wait at the eatery. I’m walking a beat all night. If
anything moves in this town, I’ll see it. Now come on. I will not be
dissuaded in this matter.”
The man reluctantly took to his feet. Then his demeanor
changed most abruptly. “Please show me the way,” the man said in
a cheery voice. He followed the constable down the street and out
of Linvin’s sight.
“So how far is this place?” the man said while looking around.
“Not far,” replied the constable. “Their stew is my favorite.
Morda also can cook a bird that tastes…”
The man tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to see the
human, he was caught off guard. The man thrust his ridged fingers
into the constable’s esophagus. The action crushed his windpipe
and dropped the elf in moments.
Jumping on the officer, the man put his hand over the elf’s
mouth to remove any chance of noise. The man scanned
completely around him while his victim’s eyes bulged and then
moved no more.
He closed the constable’s eyes. If you had kept your nose out of
this, you might still be alive. He dragged the elf off the road and
hid him in some bushes. You chose the wrong night to patrol town.
Linvin had gone into his tree to get another book. After finding
what he was looking for, he returned to his seat. The numbers he
was reading needed to be compared to those in one of the books on
the table. When he looked up, he saw something strange out of the
corner of his eye. Turning his attention in that direction, he noticed
that the beggar had returned to the corner and the constable was
9
nowhere to be seen.
Linvin was puzzled and wondered what had happened. He
wanted to ask the man, but he was too far away. Linvin thought of
going to ask him, but a voice in his head reminded him that his
work was not finished and that the matter he was curious about
was trivial.
As he continued his work, he occasionally looked to the corner.
One such time he saw a couple of elves pass the man. One of them
bent over to drop a coin in his cup. The man, however, waved him
off with one hand. Then he used both hands to shoo them away.
The confused elves moved on in puzzlement.
Linvin closed his books. He stood and stretched. After a yawn,
he gathered his literature and entered his tree. It was quiet in his
home after that. In a few moments, the lights in the tree were out.
Time passed and the wind picked up with a vengeance. Rain
joined the wind and was followed by thunder and lightning. When
the lightning flashed for the first time, the corner of the crossroad
was empty. At the second flash, a darkened figure stood beneath
Linvin’s balcony.
The figure was that of the beggar. He quickly looked around as
his satchel slid from his shoulder to the ground. After his search
was complete, he crouched down and removed a grappling hook
and rope from the bag. The man grabbed the rope after perhaps an
arm’s length and began to twirl the hook faster and faster. With a
flick of the wrist, the hook sailed up over the rail of the balcony
and onto the deck. He pulled the rope until the teeth lodged firmly
in a railing.
Putting the satchel over his shoulder again, he climbed the rope
as the wind blew him from side to side. Rain fell through the
branches at a steady pace and was driven by the wind. Had the
distance being climbed been longer he would have had severe
difficulty in reaching the deck. With the objective near to him, the
10
man reached the rail and climbed over.
He coiled the rope quickly and silently. It was neatly replaced
in the bag. His hands then drew a compact crossbow and spare
bolts from their place. The bolts were in a clip, which slid onto his
belt. At the end of the crossbow was a metal loop, which allowed it
to hang by his leg on the other side of his belt.
The man threw the bag over his shoulder and crept toward the
heavy curtain that separated the deck from the inner tree. He tried
to listen for movement but could tell nothing due to the noise from
the storm. Kneeling down he slowly pulled at the bottom corner of
the curtain until there was a tiny opening. Lying flat on the floor,
he peered through the hole.
The room was dark. He would not have seen a thing except that
lightning flashed and shone through a window on the other side. It
was a study. The great, round room had bookshelves on the walls
and two reading chairs angled for conversation. A spiral staircase
wound along the perimeter of the room. It led both up and down.
Having satisfied his curiosity about the room, the man regained
his feet and boldly entered the chamber. A large trogoandras hide
used as a rug threatened to trip him in the dark. Though he was not
looking down, he stepped over the head of the hide after becoming
aware of its position.
In silence, he walked across the room to the opening to the
staircase. His right hand liberated the crossbow from the belt while
the left drew the string to the lock position. He took hold of a bolt
only by the feathered end and placed it gently in the firing
chamber.
With his weapon in hand, the man laid his body on the stairs
going up and crawled from one to the next. When his head neared
the next floor, he brought his crossbow up to eye level. What he
saw was a master bedroom. The highlight of the room was a grand
bed against the far wall. There was a pungent odor of pipe tobacco
11
mixed with ozone from the lightning outside in the air.
His head bobbed out of the opening in the floor just long
enough to take a quick look. No window was available to help aid
in his survey of the room. It was dark without a hint of motion.
After no reaction was produced by his initial exposure, he
pulled his head up to floor level and spied the blanketed occupant
of the bed. Without taking his eyes from his prize, the man brought
his weapon into striking position and fixed its aim on his prey.
There was no indecision or emotion of any kind shown as he
pulled the trigger and sent the projectile straight for his victim. The
bolt sliced through the blanket. A poisonous coating on the shaft
stretched the hole larger like an acid burn.
The man pulled his weapon out of the way to take account of
his handiwork. Not even the slightest motion came from the bed.
The poison had been as successful as ever.
With jubilation, the man sprinted up the stairs and replaced his
bow. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and marched over to the
bed. “I do hate severing the head,” he said to himself. “I can never
seem to clean all of the blood from my satchel. But with the
payday from this hit, I’ll have all the satchels I want. Okay, it’s
time to collect my trophy.”
He pulled down the blanket from the top. First he saw a feather
pillow. It seemed incredibly large even for such a massive bed.
The further he pulled back the cover, the larger the pillow became.
Anger gripped his face as he snatched the blanket completely from
the bed. His widened eyes saw a pile of pillows stretching the
length of the furniture and nothing more. One of them had a
gaping hole left from the bolt. His shock was complete, but he was
too well conditioned for it to last long. He reached for the
crossbow and another bolt.
Just then the darkness withdrew as a red web-like wave of
energy flew across the room at him. There was no chance of
12
avoiding the net as it snared him and pinned him flat against the
wall. Though his feet could not touch the ground, his crossbow had
managed to take up residence there. He could do little more than
breathe.
The man scanned the room to find his attacker but saw no trace.
After a few moments, he heard a voice from the black. “Do you
know your enemy?” the voice said. “You act as though you do
with the casual manner in which you entered his lair. Though you
move like a fly on a leaf, you strike like the sun rising in the
morning.”
The magic net surrounding him shrunk tighter. Its feeling went
from being held to one of pain. Even breathing had become
strained.
“Are you scared?” asked the voice.
“Your tricks don’t frighten me, Grithinshield!”
There was a pause followed by a maniacal chuckle from the
darkness. Then the voice whispered, “They should. My powers
will deprive you of your life this night…not so dissimilar from
what you had planned for me.”
“Or,” Linvin continued in his normal tone, “you could walk out
through the front door. All I need to know is who was going to
bestow this payday upon you for bringing back my head as a
trophy.” The man set his jaw and said nothing.
A red flame of light appeared on the far side of the room. It
illuminated Linvin. The flame arose from his thumb. He dipped the
thumb into the end of his pipe and lit the tobacco. After lighting
his pipe, he extinguished the flame.
Linvin took a long drag on his pipe and then exhaled. “Once
again, my dear assassin, you leave me disappointed but not
surprised.”
“How did you know I was coming?” the assassin asked.
13
“Your cover was unique,” Linvin admitted. “But it seemed
strange for a beggar to refuse money. It was also rather odd that
you would leave with the constable I sent to help you and then
return to the corner alone only a few moments later. He’s too
tenacious to let you go about your business so quickly.”
“He was too tenacious,” grinned the assassin.
Linvin’s voice became deeper as he felt the loss of his friend.
“My tolerance of your existence has reached its end.”
He held his hand outstretched before him. In it was a large, red
berry. “Is it not interesting how similar things in life can be to one
another? Take, for instance, that web and my hand. They are both
spread out at the moment. But as I begin to close my hand,
pressure is brought to bear on the item in it.”
His fingers closed toward his palm very slowly. At the same
time, the net constricted and began to squeeze the assassin.
“You could at least tell me your name,” Linvin said calmly.
The man’s face became strained.
“All the others told me their names.”
The man looked surprised. With the net tightening, he said,
“Five.”
“Well,” said Linvin, “I was wondering what had happened to
you. Men named One through Four visited me in turn. They were
actually better than you. Then a striking young lady named Six
paid me a visit. She was best of all. It did not help her in the end.
But I did wonder what had happened to number Five.”
“And were they turned over to the authorities as well?” Five
asked.
Linvin laughed. “Who said anything about turning you over to
anyone? Besides, even if I were inclined to do so, it would seem
that you have removed that option.”
14
He closed the hand further. “Who sent you and the others?"
Five screamed. “How do you expect me to answer questions
with this thing crushing me?”
“Your mouth seems to be working fine for the moment,” Linvin
expressed in a stern voice. “You know my name and a good deal
about me. Who hired you? Was it the new Lord Mandrean or
perhaps a competitor of mine? Tell me now, and I will grant you
mercy.”
Five fought to speak. “You mean the mercy of a quick death?
That is no favor.”
“It is more than you deserve,” Linvin said as his anger grew. “I
do believe if I close my hand any more this berry will rupture…”
He moved the fingers ever so slightly.
Five screamed loudly.
“It is a shame I cannot hold my hand open much longer.”
Five divulged nothing.
“Very well,” Linvin sighed. He closed his hand and crushed the
berry. The juice trickled down his arm until it was all spilled on the
floor. “Such a waste of good fruit,” he said as he opened his palm
and disposed of the berry in the trash.
He wiped his hands and lit a lamp. With the room illuminated,
he saw what was left of the would-be assassin. Five’s body was
completely smashed. The blood-soaked clothes revealed nothing of
value. In the satchel Linvin found the rope and hook, a money
purse and a leather folder.
He opened the folder first. There were many written pages. He
sat down with his pipe and read. It was a journal. The writings
chronicled his movements since his arrival in Missandor.
Five had been careful not to make any note referring to his
employer in the journal. Indeed, it seemed to Linvin that the
15
purpose of the notes was to have them read by the employer after
the assassination. It was a briefing on how the plan was carried
out.
According to the entries, Five had come to Missandor the
previous day. He spied on Linvin and recorded his movements.
Five even wore a disguise and shopped the GTC while Linvin was
working. He did not strike there because of the number of
witnesses and what he called a low probability of success.
The assassin did not stay at an inn because he wanted to be sure
he did not leave a trace of his presence. He chose the beggar
disguise because it enabled him to survey Linvin’s tree from close
range and watch his every move.
Linvin sat the journal down and gnawed on his pipe. He puffed
a few times before returning the writings to the bag and retrieving
the money purse. It was full of gold. Upon examining the coins, he
was disappointed to see that they bore no markings of any kind.
Though coinage was minted in universal denominations
throughout the civilized world, each nation branded them with
their own emblem. Even if the markings were foreign, gold was
accepted worldwide as a form of payment.
The coins in that purse were specifically made without any
identification at all. Closer inspection showed that they had been
conditioned to look as though they were old so that no one would
inquire about their lack of marking.
Linvin knew such coins would be expensive to make and would
have to have been custom-crafted for Five. Great pains were taken
to ensure the person seeking Linvin’s head remained anonymous.
That person was obviously more concerned with Linvin’s death
than what it would cost.
Five was a professional assassin. He was not attempting murder
for the first time. It seemed to Linvin that he had killed before for
profit.
16
Linvin set the purse down and walked over to the body. At his
feet, he saw the crossbow. He retrieved it and examined it like a
merchant inspecting a possible purchase. Once again, he found no
revealing details.
So who wants me dead? he thought. Each of those killers was
connected. Their numbers were sequential, and they all carried
these. He tossed the bow into his closet. It came to rest in a pile of
similar crossbows. The great elf paced until he grew weary. There
was not enough information for him to reach a rational decision.
Who would want me dead this badly? he thought. A rival
company? No. They would not go to such extreme lengths. What
enemies do I have? The only people I know of who hate me that
badly would be the Mandreans. But I killed Lord Mandrean over
two years ago. What would a successor gain by killing me in this
way? Knowing the nature of the Mandreans I would think he
would be thankful that I made room on the throne for him. And
even if he sought to win support in the empire by hunting me down,
killing me quietly would not advance his goal.
It could be another nation trying to gain favor with the
Mandreans. That would open the door to just about everyone.
Or it might be someone I know nothing about. There is the
possibility that someone new has entered the mix. Perhaps they
seek the Red Sapphire for themselves? It would do them no good.
The stone only obeys me. For someone else to even touch the staff
would bring a swift demise. Still, no one would be aware of that. It
might seem that they could kill me and possess the gem. If that is
the case, I am dealing with fools. But this man did not play the
part of a fool and would have been too expensive to be hired by
one.
The pacing had used a good deal of the night and Linvin had a
full day ahead of him. He knew the answer would not be
forthcoming. There simply was not enough information yet to
draw a conclusion. The time had come to clean up and retire for
17
the evening.
With a wave of his arm, Linvin made his enemy’s body glow
with red magic. With another wave it disappeared altogether.
He would be safe on that night. The assassin had failed to
achieve his objective. He had, however, been successful at creating
more unanswered questions that were eating Linvin alive.
18
The House Guest
It began with a seed. Though it seemed insignificant, it had
great potential. Long ago it was planted with others like it in its
home. That home was in what later became known as the Kingdom
of Sartan. The specific place became a village of elves the locals
named Missandor.
Hundreds of years passed, and the seed grew. Man’s heavy
hands gave way to nature’s loving ones. Time entered the mix, and
the seed turned into a young sapling, stretching toward the sky.
That was but the start. As time continued its work, the young
redwood took shape as the largest in what became a forest of
oversized redwoods. When the trees had reached their mighty
peak, the elves made them their home. In a manner known only to
their kind, the elves could hollow out the massive trunks and live
in them without harming the rooted giants.
In that particular tree lived a half-elf of imposing stature. The
placard hanging by the grand front door read, #7 Spruce Lane,
Linvin Grithinshield Esquire.
His life was not dissimilar from that of his tree. He started out
small but had great potential. With the nurturing of his parents and
the master inventor/teacher, Sedemihcra, he grew into a famous
general in the far off land of Valia. He later became an extremely
successful merchant in Sartan as his father had done.
Linvin had not foreseen his potential or planned for it to be
fulfilled. His father, Dirk Grithinshield, discovered Linvin’s
destiny long ago and had him trained accordingly into his adult
years. Linvin was meant to be the master of the Red Sapphire.
When his parents were murdered and the opportunity was forced
upon him, Linvin answered the call and successfully sought out the
1
mighty gem that would give him tremendous power. The
magnificent stone blended with his skills to make him one of the
most potent mortals in the entire world of Lavacia.
He returned from his quest as a giant among the giants of his
time. In spite of his grandeur, Linvin settled quietly among the
elves and trees of Missandor as he returned to his life at the head
of the most lucrative trading company in the world.
He knew the stone had chosen him to help those unable to
defend themselves against tyranny and oppression. Time had
passed since his return without any major incidents. It had been
two long years since Linvin returned home from his trek. In the
back of his mind, Linvin could not help but wonder if danger had
been averted or if it simply lay around the corner. Though he
hoped for the former, he knew deep in his soul he had his power
and gifts for a definite purpose. Sooner or later he would be drawn
to the forefront of battle again. In the meantime, he kept his life as
normal as possible.
So it was that Linvin sat on the second story deck of his tree on
a warm early spring afternoon. A cool breeze gently swayed the
branches back and forth in the subtropical climate and tousled his
lengthy, golden hair.
Before Linvin was a table used mostly for entertaining guests.
On that day, however, it served as a desk weighed down with
ledgers. While each binding bore different writing, one inscription
was lettered in gold leaf on each of them. It clearly read,
Grithinshield Trading Company - GTC.
With a quill in hand, he worked through page after page of the
subject for which he had developed a necessary talent: accounting.
He was checking the totals of the profit and loss columns as well
as inventory levels.
Dirk Grithinshield started the company as a young man. His
plan was to sell products in his stores that were either staples or
2
rarities in the area. He was endowed with an uncanny ability to
trade with far away and sometimes hostile places. Simply put, he
was an honest man with charisma that made him nearly impossible
to dislike. Dirk dealt fairly with his contacts. Because of his even
treatment of suppliers, they continued to do business with his
company alone. The effect was intensified by those suppliers
telling others whom they worked with about Mr. Grithinshield.
Trade flowed on mass from near and far. Races that did not trust
one another trusted Dirk. As a result, he could sell such things as
Dwarven armor in human areas or Elvin bows in Dwarven regions.
In his lifetime, he made the GTC into the most prosperous
company in the money-driven Kingdom of Sartan.
Linvin inherited the company after his father’s murder. He
found the structure to have a fundamental flaw. Everything from
the deals being made with suppliers to managing the books was
handled by Dirk. It made sense at the time. Everyone trusted Dirk,
and he could trust almost no one. With the enormous expansion of
the GTC, however, Dirk had overstretched his capacity to handle
everything on his own. When he suddenly died, the company was
nearly ruined.
Linvin was summoned home from the wars in Valia to handle
the business and noticed the flaw immediately. He was not his
father, but he had skills all the same. Linvin delegated
responsibilities as he would in his army and placed key individuals
of outstanding ability in places of prominence. Knowing he could
not control such a vast merchant empire alone, he set up a series of
checks and balances of bankers, accountants and lawyers all
auditing one another in order to deter corruption. Local buyers
were hired for the different regions where they were most
influential. The days of Dirk constantly being on the road were
replaced by a disciplined hierarchy. Linvin had set his company up
to run smoothly without the slightest effort on his part, if
necessary. It left him free to leave at a moment’s notice to see to a
crisis where his powers might be of use.
3
He took his father’s dream a step further and began to expand
into neighboring countries Sartan treated as allies. GTC outlets
opened in many of those places to a resounding acceptance by the
people. Never before had so many people been exposed to exotic
goods at reasonable prices. Linvin’s wealth exceeded any
individual citizen in the world and even that of some nations. The
more successful he became, however, the more he yearned for the
simple, slow pace of life in Missandor. It was much calmer than
the bustle of living in the capital of Fraylic where he retained the
family mansion and the company was headquartered.
Success had a price, and the tedious job Linvin had before him
was but a small part of that bill. The tiny digits he read strained
his eyes. As the sun began to set, he marked his page and closed
the book. He rubbed his eyes gently. The very sockets were sore.
After a sigh, Linvin poured a cup of tea from his silver tea set.
Taking hold of the cup, he stood and stretched.
Linvin’s lavish garments mostly hid his thick body and strong
muscle tone that served him well as a warrior. He had sat for too
long, and he yearned to take a walk. His timetable for finishing his
work, however, would not permit that. He settled for standing by
the rail and watching the shops in town closing for the night.
Missandor was a peaceful home. The people were generally
friendly and called one another by name in the street. It sat mostly
along a major crossroad in the Elvin County. The inhabitants were
primarily shopkeepers with whom Linvin worked to maintain good
relationships as he oversaw a local GTC in town. Street lamps
dotted the lanes in between the perfectly placed trees. Elves
walked to and fro in merriment. It was a quiet, peaceful place
where Linvin could escape the scope of his responsibilities. The
only sad individual was a beggar sitting by the road with a cup to
collect money.
Linvin observed an old elf leaving the town pub down the
street. He had a slight limp, which he normally worked hard to
4
disguise. On that evening, he was in a hurry and noticeably
favored one leg.
“I say,” Linvin called out. “You were in the pub a little later
than usual, Elzer. Night is nearly upon us and not a lamp is lit in
the whole town. Your duties are in need of tending.”
“I know,” he answered while grabbing his special pole for the
task. “Drinks were two for one, and I forgot about the time.”
Linvin picked up his cup and sipped. The tea was cold. He had
not realized how much time had passed while he was on the
balcony. “Do not worry, Elzer. Time can go by rather quickly
when one is busy.”
Elzer stopped below Number 7. “Mr. Grithinshield, my kind sir,
the wife will tie me to the trunk if I’m late getting home. You
know how she disapproves of spirits. And I was wondering
if…you know…you could.” Elzer waved his hand in a circle.
Linvin broke out laughing at the sight of the pantomime. Elzer
appeared desperate. “You needn’t but do it this once, sir. I promise
I won’t never ask another thing from you so long as I live. But that
won’t be long if’n the missus finds out I’ve dipped my bill.”
Linvin composed himself and said while chuckling, “Well, I
could not allow a fellow gent to get in that kind of trouble. Hold
on.” He stepped away from the rail for a moment and returned
with the staff that the Red Sapphire called home. He held it aloft,
and it turned a fiery red. Pointing it at one of the lamps, he released
a bolt of magic that struck the wick. The red magic rapidly flew
from one light to the next until all of them were burning.
“You’re an angel,” Elzer cried. “I’ll have the wife bake you a
pie for this, sir. Your fav’rit is cherry-berry isn’t it?”
Linvin laughed and nodded. “Cherry-berry it is,” he answered.
Elzer nodded back and ran down the street.
Linvin turned his attention to the tea he was holding. His
5
eyebrows wrinkled as he concentrated. Soon his hand lit up with
red magic, and the cup was emerged in a red aura. After a few
moments, he relaxed his face allowing his hand and the steaming
cup to return to their normal colors.
He sipped and looked out over the rail. Dusk turned to night
before his eyes. Storm clouds took place overhead to obscure the
moonlight. The rainy season, it seemed, would pay another visit.
Illumination was left in the hands of the street lamps and lights
shining from houses and trees.
The elves on the lane became fewer and fewer as they returned
home for the evening. Soon there was hardly a soul to be seen. It
was sound, however, that Linvin was noticing. A familiar whistle
was heard from the street behind Linvin’s tree. It became louder
and louder until its source came into view. The plump town
constable was strolling down Oak Street and was making his turn
at Number 7 to travel Spruce Lane.
He was not an imposing figure in any way other than his
weight. The squat constable enjoyed his meals often and in great
quantities. His uniform was shabby and barely concealed his belly.
He was a poor excuse for a law enforcement officer, but he was
sufficient for the sleepy town of Missandor.
“Good evening, Constable,” Linvin hailed. “What brings you
out on this blustery evening?”
“It seems some of the young elves have been causing mischief
after dark. I decided to take my rounds at night to look into the
situation. What about you, Linvin? Is there a chain keeping you in
that tree? I know it’s not a woman.”
Linvin laughed at the comment. “I wish it were,” he retorted.
“My dear, Constable, it would seem that I am the only elf in this
town tonight with homework. I leave in the morning for Fraylic to
perform an audit. There is also some business with the king and
assembly I must address. With a little luck, I will return in a
6
fortnight. Would you mind keeping an eye on my tree until I
return?”
“Not a problem, Linvin,” the constable assured. “Let us hope
we don’t have vandals like you had when you left a couple years
ago. That was a mess.”
“I trust those problems are behind us,” Linvin responded as his
gaze turned to the center of town.
The constable nodded and then followed Linvin’s line of sight.
“So what were you staring at right as I came by?”
Linvin rubbed his chin. “You see that beggar down the street?
What is the story with him?”
Seeing the man, the constable answered. “I saw him earlier
when I came on duty. That was what I came this way to address.
We can’t have vagrants occupying the streets. This is too nice of a
town. The odd thing is we never have had beggars around here,
especially human ones.”
Linvin held his chin and tapped his lips with his finger as he
thought. “I noticed him earlier today as I returned from work. We
spoke briefly. He said ‘good-day’ and asked if I needed help
carrying my ledgers. I told him I could handle it and asked if I
could help him. He declined and said he was waiting for a friend
who would be coming through town.”
The constable watched the beggar sit at the crossroad. “You
keep doing my job, Linvin, and I’ll give you this badge. Still, I
can’t have him on the street. If you’ll excuse me, Linvin, I have to
take care of this.”
“What do you intend to do?” Linvin inquired.
“I’ll escort him out of town. He can wait for his friend there.”
“In the middle of the night?” Linvin questioned. “Come now,
my dear constable, it is as dark as the bottom of a rock tonight, and
that storm is going to hit in no time at all.”
7
“Well,” said the constable. “It’s either that or I throw him in jail
for the night for his own protection.”
Linvin reached in his pocket and produced some coins.
“Catch,” he called to the man in uniform. “Take this option. Be
good enough to take him down to Morda’s eating house. Get him a
room for the night and a good meal. You can keep the money left
over. Do with it what you will, but it might serve you well to put it
toward your heavy bar-tab down the street. It is not a bribe, mind
you. It is merely a service fee for helping me in this matter.”
The constable looked at the coins and then Linvin. “That’s a
nice idea and everything, but what do you have to gain by helping
this sorry human?”
“Nothing,” Linvin said. “I am like you. It gives me pleasure to
help someone in need. Besides, I have spent enough nights out
sleeping in the rain. There is no sense in someone else doing it if I
can be of help.”
Shaking his head the officer put the money in his pocket. “If
you want to throw your money away to ease that bleeding heart of
yours then I’m not going to stop you.”
“Your dedication is unparalleled,” Linvin joked. “But thank you
for the help.”
The constable tipped his hat to him and headed for the vagrant.
Linvin ended his break and returned to his books.
The beggar had observed the conversation but could not hear
what was said. When the officer came near, the man’s face became
concerned. He clenched his satchel and put it over his shoulder.
“You on the corner!” called the constable. “That’s no place for
you to stay. This is a busy intersection!”
The man looked at the empty streets. “It isn’t busy now,” he
noted.
“All the same,” the policeman answered. “Come with me, and
8
I’ll see that you get a bed to sleep in and some good home
cooking.”
The man was surprisingly distraught. “That’s real nice, sir, but
I’m waiting for a friend.”
“You can wait at the eatery. I’m walking a beat all night. If
anything moves in this town, I’ll see it. Now come on. I will not be
dissuaded in this matter.”
The man reluctantly took to his feet. Then his demeanor
changed most abruptly. “Please show me the way,” the man said in
a cheery voice. He followed the constable down the street and out
of Linvin’s sight.
“So how far is this place?” the man said while looking around.
“Not far,” replied the constable. “Their stew is my favorite.
Morda also can cook a bird that tastes…”
The man tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to see the
human, he was caught off guard. The man thrust his ridged fingers
into the constable’s esophagus. The action crushed his windpipe
and dropped the elf in moments.
Jumping on the officer, the man put his hand over the elf’s
mouth to remove any chance of noise. The man scanned
completely around him while his victim’s eyes bulged and then
moved no more.
He closed the constable’s eyes. If you had kept your nose out of
this, you might still be alive. He dragged the elf off the road and
hid him in some bushes. You chose the wrong night to patrol town.
Linvin had gone into his tree to get another book. After finding
what he was looking for, he returned to his seat. The numbers he
was reading needed to be compared to those in one of the books on
the table. When he looked up, he saw something strange out of the
corner of his eye. Turning his attention in that direction, he noticed
that the beggar had returned to the corner and the constable was
9
nowhere to be seen.
Linvin was puzzled and wondered what had happened. He
wanted to ask the man, but he was too far away. Linvin thought of
going to ask him, but a voice in his head reminded him that his
work was not finished and that the matter he was curious about
was trivial.
As he continued his work, he occasionally looked to the corner.
One such time he saw a couple of elves pass the man. One of them
bent over to drop a coin in his cup. The man, however, waved him
off with one hand. Then he used both hands to shoo them away.
The confused elves moved on in puzzlement.
Linvin closed his books. He stood and stretched. After a yawn,
he gathered his literature and entered his tree. It was quiet in his
home after that. In a few moments, the lights in the tree were out.
Time passed and the wind picked up with a vengeance. Rain
joined the wind and was followed by thunder and lightning. When
the lightning flashed for the first time, the corner of the crossroad
was empty. At the second flash, a darkened figure stood beneath
Linvin’s balcony.
The figure was that of the beggar. He quickly looked around as
his satchel slid from his shoulder to the ground. After his search
was complete, he crouched down and removed a grappling hook
and rope from the bag. The man grabbed the rope after perhaps an
arm’s length and began to twirl the hook faster and faster. With a
flick of the wrist, the hook sailed up over the rail of the balcony
and onto the deck. He pulled the rope until the teeth lodged firmly
in a railing.
Putting the satchel over his shoulder again, he climbed the rope
as the wind blew him from side to side. Rain fell through the
branches at a steady pace and was driven by the wind. Had the
distance being climbed been longer he would have had severe
difficulty in reaching the deck. With the objective near to him, the
10
man reached the rail and climbed over.
He coiled the rope quickly and silently. It was neatly replaced
in the bag. His hands then drew a compact crossbow and spare
bolts from their place. The bolts were in a clip, which slid onto his
belt. At the end of the crossbow was a metal loop, which allowed it
to hang by his leg on the other side of his belt.
The man threw the bag over his shoulder and crept toward the
heavy curtain that separated the deck from the inner tree. He tried
to listen for movement but could tell nothing due to the noise from
the storm. Kneeling down he slowly pulled at the bottom corner of
the curtain until there was a tiny opening. Lying flat on the floor,
he peered through the hole.
The room was dark. He would not have seen a thing except that
lightning flashed and shone through a window on the other side. It
was a study. The great, round room had bookshelves on the walls
and two reading chairs angled for conversation. A spiral staircase
wound along the perimeter of the room. It led both up and down.
Having satisfied his curiosity about the room, the man regained
his feet and boldly entered the chamber. A large trogoandras hide
used as a rug threatened to trip him in the dark. Though he was not
looking down, he stepped over the head of the hide after becoming
aware of its position.
In silence, he walked across the room to the opening to the
staircase. His right hand liberated the crossbow from the belt while
the left drew the string to the lock position. He took hold of a bolt
only by the feathered end and placed it gently in the firing
chamber.
With his weapon in hand, the man laid his body on the stairs
going up and crawled from one to the next. When his head neared
the next floor, he brought his crossbow up to eye level. What he
saw was a master bedroom. The highlight of the room was a grand
bed against the far wall. There was a pungent odor of pipe tobacco
11
mixed with ozone from the lightning outside in the air.
His head bobbed out of the opening in the floor just long
enough to take a quick look. No window was available to help aid
in his survey of the room. It was dark without a hint of motion.
After no reaction was produced by his initial exposure, he
pulled his head up to floor level and spied the blanketed occupant
of the bed. Without taking his eyes from his prize, the man brought
his weapon into striking position and fixed its aim on his prey.
There was no indecision or emotion of any kind shown as he
pulled the trigger and sent the projectile straight for his victim. The
bolt sliced through the blanket. A poisonous coating on the shaft
stretched the hole larger like an acid burn.
The man pulled his weapon out of the way to take account of
his handiwork. Not even the slightest motion came from the bed.
The poison had been as successful as ever.
With jubilation, the man sprinted up the stairs and replaced his
bow. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and marched over to the
bed. “I do hate severing the head,” he said to himself. “I can never
seem to clean all of the blood from my satchel. But with the
payday from this hit, I’ll have all the satchels I want. Okay, it’s
time to collect my trophy.”
He pulled down the blanket from the top. First he saw a feather
pillow. It seemed incredibly large even for such a massive bed.
The further he pulled back the cover, the larger the pillow became.
Anger gripped his face as he snatched the blanket completely from
the bed. His widened eyes saw a pile of pillows stretching the
length of the furniture and nothing more. One of them had a
gaping hole left from the bolt. His shock was complete, but he was
too well conditioned for it to last long. He reached for the
crossbow and another bolt.
Just then the darkness withdrew as a red web-like wave of
energy flew across the room at him. There was no chance of
12
avoiding the net as it snared him and pinned him flat against the
wall. Though his feet could not touch the ground, his crossbow had
managed to take up residence there. He could do little more than
breathe.
The man scanned the room to find his attacker but saw no trace.
After a few moments, he heard a voice from the black. “Do you
know your enemy?” the voice said. “You act as though you do
with the casual manner in which you entered his lair. Though you
move like a fly on a leaf, you strike like the sun rising in the
morning.”
The magic net surrounding him shrunk tighter. Its feeling went
from being held to one of pain. Even breathing had become
strained.
“Are you scared?” asked the voice.
“Your tricks don’t frighten me, Grithinshield!”
There was a pause followed by a maniacal chuckle from the
darkness. Then the voice whispered, “They should. My powers
will deprive you of your life this night…not so dissimilar from
what you had planned for me.”
“Or,” Linvin continued in his normal tone, “you could walk out
through the front door. All I need to know is who was going to
bestow this payday upon you for bringing back my head as a
trophy.” The man set his jaw and said nothing.
A red flame of light appeared on the far side of the room. It
illuminated Linvin. The flame arose from his thumb. He dipped the
thumb into the end of his pipe and lit the tobacco. After lighting
his pipe, he extinguished the flame.
Linvin took a long drag on his pipe and then exhaled. “Once
again, my dear assassin, you leave me disappointed but not
surprised.”
“How did you know I was coming?” the assassin asked.
13
“Your cover was unique,” Linvin admitted. “But it seemed
strange for a beggar to refuse money. It was also rather odd that
you would leave with the constable I sent to help you and then
return to the corner alone only a few moments later. He’s too
tenacious to let you go about your business so quickly.”
“He was too tenacious,” grinned the assassin.
Linvin’s voice became deeper as he felt the loss of his friend.
“My tolerance of your existence has reached its end.”
He held his hand outstretched before him. In it was a large, red
berry. “Is it not interesting how similar things in life can be to one
another? Take, for instance, that web and my hand. They are both
spread out at the moment. But as I begin to close my hand,
pressure is brought to bear on the item in it.”
His fingers closed toward his palm very slowly. At the same
time, the net constricted and began to squeeze the assassin.
“You could at least tell me your name,” Linvin said calmly.
The man’s face became strained.
“All the others told me their names.”
The man looked surprised. With the net tightening, he said,
“Five.”
“Well,” said Linvin, “I was wondering what had happened to
you. Men named One through Four visited me in turn. They were
actually better than you. Then a striking young lady named Six
paid me a visit. She was best of all. It did not help her in the end.
But I did wonder what had happened to number Five.”
“And were they turned over to the authorities as well?” Five
asked.
Linvin laughed. “Who said anything about turning you over to
anyone? Besides, even if I were inclined to do so, it would seem
that you have removed that option.”
14
He closed the hand further. “Who sent you and the others?"
Five screamed. “How do you expect me to answer questions
with this thing crushing me?”
“Your mouth seems to be working fine for the moment,” Linvin
expressed in a stern voice. “You know my name and a good deal
about me. Who hired you? Was it the new Lord Mandrean or
perhaps a competitor of mine? Tell me now, and I will grant you
mercy.”
Five fought to speak. “You mean the mercy of a quick death?
That is no favor.”
“It is more than you deserve,” Linvin said as his anger grew. “I
do believe if I close my hand any more this berry will rupture…”
He moved the fingers ever so slightly.
Five screamed loudly.
“It is a shame I cannot hold my hand open much longer.”
Five divulged nothing.
“Very well,” Linvin sighed. He closed his hand and crushed the
berry. The juice trickled down his arm until it was all spilled on the
floor. “Such a waste of good fruit,” he said as he opened his palm
and disposed of the berry in the trash.
He wiped his hands and lit a lamp. With the room illuminated,
he saw what was left of the would-be assassin. Five’s body was
completely smashed. The blood-soaked clothes revealed nothing of
value. In the satchel Linvin found the rope and hook, a money
purse and a leather folder.
He opened the folder first. There were many written pages. He
sat down with his pipe and read. It was a journal. The writings
chronicled his movements since his arrival in Missandor.
Five had been careful not to make any note referring to his
employer in the journal. Indeed, it seemed to Linvin that the
15
purpose of the notes was to have them read by the employer after
the assassination. It was a briefing on how the plan was carried
out.
According to the entries, Five had come to Missandor the
previous day. He spied on Linvin and recorded his movements.
Five even wore a disguise and shopped the GTC while Linvin was
working. He did not strike there because of the number of
witnesses and what he called a low probability of success.
The assassin did not stay at an inn because he wanted to be sure
he did not leave a trace of his presence. He chose the beggar
disguise because it enabled him to survey Linvin’s tree from close
range and watch his every move.
Linvin sat the journal down and gnawed on his pipe. He puffed
a few times before returning the writings to the bag and retrieving
the money purse. It was full of gold. Upon examining the coins, he
was disappointed to see that they bore no markings of any kind.
Though coinage was minted in universal denominations
throughout the civilized world, each nation branded them with
their own emblem. Even if the markings were foreign, gold was
accepted worldwide as a form of payment.
The coins in that purse were specifically made without any
identification at all. Closer inspection showed that they had been
conditioned to look as though they were old so that no one would
inquire about their lack of marking.
Linvin knew such coins would be expensive to make and would
have to have been custom-crafted for Five. Great pains were taken
to ensure the person seeking Linvin’s head remained anonymous.
That person was obviously more concerned with Linvin’s death
than what it would cost.
Five was a professional assassin. He was not attempting murder
for the first time. It seemed to Linvin that he had killed before for
profit.
16
Linvin set the purse down and walked over to the body. At his
feet, he saw the crossbow. He retrieved it and examined it like a
merchant inspecting a possible purchase. Once again, he found no
revealing details.
So who wants me dead? he thought. Each of those killers was
connected. Their numbers were sequential, and they all carried
these. He tossed the bow into his closet. It came to rest in a pile of
similar crossbows. The great elf paced until he grew weary. There
was not enough information for him to reach a rational decision.
Who would want me dead this badly? he thought. A rival
company? No. They would not go to such extreme lengths. What
enemies do I have? The only people I know of who hate me that
badly would be the Mandreans. But I killed Lord Mandrean over
two years ago. What would a successor gain by killing me in this
way? Knowing the nature of the Mandreans I would think he
would be thankful that I made room on the throne for him. And
even if he sought to win support in the empire by hunting me down,
killing me quietly would not advance his goal.
It could be another nation trying to gain favor with the
Mandreans. That would open the door to just about everyone.
Or it might be someone I know nothing about. There is the
possibility that someone new has entered the mix. Perhaps they
seek the Red Sapphire for themselves? It would do them no good.
The stone only obeys me. For someone else to even touch the staff
would bring a swift demise. Still, no one would be aware of that. It
might seem that they could kill me and possess the gem. If that is
the case, I am dealing with fools. But this man did not play the
part of a fool and would have been too expensive to be hired by
one.
The pacing had used a good deal of the night and Linvin had a
full day ahead of him. He knew the answer would not be
forthcoming. There simply was not enough information yet to
draw a conclusion. The time had come to clean up and retire for
17
the evening.
With a wave of his arm, Linvin made his enemy’s body glow
with red magic. With another wave it disappeared altogether.
He would be safe on that night. The assassin had failed to
achieve his objective. He had, however, been successful at creating
more unanswered questions that were eating Linvin alive.
18
