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He looked around at the other patrons
of the tavern. There was a group of merchants in one corner; by
their talk they had brought a caravan to the port and were due to
set out tomorrow on their return journey, well satisfied with their
business. At another set of tables was another group, steppe nomads
by their dress, but used to the ways of taverns to judge by their
manners. All around the room were “snugs and settles”
where smaller groups talked business or pleasure, politics or philosophy.
A single candle lighted each snug. Guthram had a candle on the table
of his snug, but his was unlit.
Outside, as the town watch tramped
past on their patrols, he heard the faint braying of trumpets that
marked the passage of the hours. There was a small window ajar in
the wall of his snug, which was the reason the beggar had chosen
this particular tavern - an important part of their plan was that
Guthram should strike on the second hour after sunset.
And now the trumpets sounded just
that hour. His fingers trembling slightly with anticipation, Guthram
took out the candle that the beggar had given him. Leaning across
the passage that separated him from the nearest table, he borrowed
the flame of the candle there to light his own. Then he placed the
candle in the holder and sat back for the magic to work.
The candle burned with a peculiar,
oily glow, casting green sickly shadows about his snug. It smelt
musty and Guthram could see one or two of the nearby customers looking
about questioningly, wondering where the strange smell was coming
from.
Guthram hid his face in his ale mug
and hoped that no one would discern the source of the smell. When
he next dared to look out again, he was surprised by what had happened.
The wan glow of the candle had spread out like a softly pulsing
sphere, engulfing the space around his table in a radius of twenty
feet or so. Those customers who were within the sphere had gone
to sleep. As he watched, the boundary of the green light spread
across a table, where a mercenary was discussing business with a
young woman in a very low cut dress. The mercenary had his back
to Guthram, and as the edge of green light stole over him, he slowly
put his head down on his hands and began to snore. His companion,
meanwhile, kept on talking to him as if nothing were amiss, and
slowly the edge of light crept over her and she too put her head
gently to rest and joined in with his snores.
By now the edge of the sphere was
approaching the table where the wizard in disguise was sitting,
nursing his jack of ale. Guthram held his breath, waiting for the
wizard to sense that something was amiss, but no, slowly he set
down his jack of ale, stretched his mailed arms and set his head
down on the table. Already there was a chorus of snores within the
tavern. A serving wench stood propped against a wooden pillar, her
face turned to one side as the edge of the green light sent her
into oblivion. By the time the candle-glow had completed its green
progress, she was the only person on her feet.
Guthram rose, walking on tiptoes,
afraid to waken the sleepers. The beggar had told him that |
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even if he banged a drum inside the tavern, the
sleepers couldn't be wakened. The only way that they could awaken
from their sleep was by the candle flame being blown out. Of course,
the candle would eventually burn out and they would waken naturally,
but he hoped to be long gone by then. And because he had been the
one to light the candle, the spell had no effect on him.
He made his way through the sleeping
tavern. When he reached the sleeping wizard in disguise, he looked
down at the man. The illusion spell was perfect: he could even see
the stubble on the man's chin, and flakes of meat caught between
his teeth. He knew he must be a very powerful wizard.
The shield was the important item.
It too was under an illusion spell. Although it looked to be a serviceable
and battered piece of military equipment, it was in fact solid gold.
Guthram now found this to be true as he tried to lift it from the
back of the slumbering wizard. Now he knew why the beggar required
assistance - it would take more than one person to carry this weight.
He took out his dagger and cut the
leather straps of the shield and let it slide gently to the floor.
Due to the enchantment, it was up to him to get the shield to the
tavern door. There, outside the influence of the candle-glow, the
beggar would have a cart ready for their getaway.
Guthram sheathed his dagger and knelt
to examine the shield. By getting his fingers under one edge, he
was able to lift it up so that he would walk it on its opposite
corners across the floor. Even using the leverage to the full, the
shield was still incredibly heavy.
He paused halfway across the tavern
to catch his breath and mop his brow. No wonder this wizard guarded
his secret shield so cleverly with illusion spells - he must have
some sort of strength spell in order to be able to carry it like
an ordinary shield.
Dismissing such thoughts from his
mind, he bent his back to the task at hand.
“Bartender!” boomed a voice.
Guthram started in surprise, almost
letting the shield drop.
A customer had just walked in from
the street. But already the enchantment of the candle-glow was working
on him. His smile went sliding down his face, his eyes went bleary;
the arm he had raised to greet the bartender wilted, and slowly,
like a man walking through molasses, he fell asleep and began to
snore on the tavern floor.
Relieved at the efficacy of the spell,
Guthram re-doubled his efforts to get away. The candle burned more
swiftly than a normal taper and he had to hurry.
Soon, with the candle only a nubbin
of wax and a wick, he managed to reach the back door of the tavern.
Outside, in the alley, he found the night sultry with suspense -
and there was the beggar with a handcart, ready and eager to give
him a hand with the shield.
“You took your time getting that
shield out,” hissed the beggar, making sure to stay out of
the shaft of green candlelight that spilled from the open doorway.
“I thought you might not be coming.”
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