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CHAPTER 1

The Tavern Brawl

"Wick."

Placing his finger inside the book to hold his place, Second Level Librarian Edgewick Lamplighter sighed and glanced up at the speaker. He tried not to show his displeasure at being interrupted at his reading, but it was difficult.

"What is it?" Wick asked.

"Your friends," Paunsel whispered. He was a dweller like Wick, only grossly rotund with slicked-back hair and a thin mustache. He wiped his hands nervously on a bar towel.

"What friends?" Wick was immediately interested, for as a Librarian he had few friends among the sailors and merchants that lined the Yondering Docks in Greydawn Moors.

Paunsel jerked a hesitant thumb over his shoulder.

For the first time, Wick heard the raucous laughter and ribald poetry coming from the tavern's main room. Choosing to be alone with his book (and only a nonreader would call it alone because those poor unfortunates couldn't truly trigger the magic captured in the pages of a book!), Wick had retreated to one of the small side rooms and refused to acknowledge the baleful glances the cleaning crews had given him.

Peering cautiously around the tavern owner, keenly aware that one of the back doors out of the buildings was close at hand just as he'd planned, Wick stared into the main room. Of course, since the Wheelhouse Tavern served all who had coin to pay for it, the place was packed with dwarves come to slake their prodigious thirst.

"The dwarven ... pirates," Paunsel whispered.

Glee touched Wick's heart then. There was only one ship that came to the Yondering Docks carrying dwarven pirates. Many months had passed since he'd last seen the crew of One-Eyed Peggie. He looked forward to seeing Cap'n Farok, Hallekk, Zeddar, Naght, Jurral, Cook, and even Critter, the foul-tempered rhowdor ship's mascot.

But Wick also knew what the ship's crew was like when they were in their cups. He looked at Paunsel. "Are they fighting someone?"

"Not yet."

"But the likelihood is there?"

Paunsel looked aggrieved. "Yes. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered you at your studies, Librarian." The tavern owner was one of the few in Greydawn Moors who talked respectfully with Librarians.

Over the years, most of the townsfolk had come to resent the Grandmagister and the Librarians, insisting that the food sent up to the Vault of All Known Knowledge was a burden the rest of the population shouldn't have to bear. Of course, it was mostly the dwellers that said that. The elven warders who guarded the island's forests and mountains, the humans who pretended to be pirates out in the Blood-Soaked Sea, and the dwarven guards and craftsmen were more generous.

Hmmm, Wick thought, for roving across to the Shattered Coast and beyond had taught him to always carefully examine his options. Renewing acquaintances at the cost of becoming embroiled in a battle isn't all that appetizing. Especially on a full stomach.

Despite Hallekk and Cobner's attempts to turn him into a pirate or a warrior, Wick was very much satisfied with being a Librarian. He preferred to do his adventuring in the stacks of romances in Hralbomm's Wing while avoiding Grandmagister Frollo's wrath. The Grandmagister was of the opinion that Wick should use his personal reading time more wisely.

"Well?" Paunsel prompted.

"I'm thinking," Wick replied. He tried drumming his fingers on the tabletop the way Grandmagister Frollo did, but evidently the task wasn't as easy as he'd believed. Also, the cadence of Taurak Bleiyz's brave war song was stuck in his head from the book and his fingers kept finding that beat.

"They're going to tear up my tavern," Paunsel said.

The angry voices in the next room rose to a new, and even more threatening, level. Wick's ears pricked, listening with more experience than he'd ever intended for the hiss of swords clearing leather.

"Who are they arguing with?" Wick asked. Perhaps if it's someone Hallekk and the others can easily frighten off, I could go meet them. After all, if they win an argument, their purses will open and the wine will flow. It was a pleasing prospect. But he longed to get Taurak Bleiyz across the spiderweb and safely away from his enemies.

"Humans," Paunsel sneered. "The crew of Stormrider."

Wick knew of the ship and the crew. If ever there were warriors that could evenly meet dwarven warriors, it was Stormrider's crew.

"What are they arguing about?"

Paunsel sighed, obviously on the verge of giving up asking for help. "Something that happened long ago. An alliance or something that met Lord Kharrion's goblinkin army in the Painted Canyon."

"Ah." Although Wick didn't know the story of the battle well, he was a Librarian. A recently promoted Second Level Librarian at that. He thought he could settle an argument between ships' crews and probably earn himself a few more cups of sparkleberry wine for his troubles. "I can handle this."

"Thank the Old Ones," Paunsel said, though with far more sarcasm than Wick would have wanted to hear. The tavern keeper waved the Librarian to the main room.

Wick placed his bookmark within the romance and glanced at the page number to memorize it just in case before putting it into his book bag. The memorization was a practice he'd made a habit of when he'd first gone to the Great Library as a Novice. Then he slid out of the booth, straightened the lines of his Librarian's robe — now gray with dark blue fringe, changed from white to denote his promotion — grabbed the straps of his book bag, and headed for the main room.

The room was packed with sailors and cargo handlers. Lanterns filled with glimmerworm juice glowed softly blue in sconces. Several others hung from ships' wheels suspended from the ceiling. A number of patrons gathered around the fireplace at the other end of the room. Humans and dwarves sometimes mixed, but the five elven warders in from the forest to trade for goods they couldn't get on their own in the wild sat by themselves.

"— 'Twas Oskarr what betrayed the alliance at Painted Canyon," a human at one of the tables declared. He was easily six and a half feet tall, almost a giant. His shaggy blond hair trailed down to his shoulders and matched the full beard he sported.

"No!" Hallekk bellowed, standing at the bar with his fellow pirates from One-Eyed Peggie. He was tall for a dwarf, and an axe handle would be challenged to span his shoulders. His dark brown beard was braided with yellowed bone carved into fish shapes. A bright kerchief bound his head and gold hoops danced in his ears. He wore a seaman's breeches and shirt, and held his great battle-axe casually at his side.

In Wick's opinion, One-Eyed Peggie's first mate didn't look like a dwarf anyone would want to rile. Unless, of course, he amended, you're a human giant and you've had too much to drink. Wick could see at once that the situation could easily get out of control.

"Now I've kept a civil tongue in me head while ye've been blatherin' on about what happened back then," Hallekk roared loud enough to earn the attention of everyone in the tavern, "but I'll not have ye besmirchin' the name of Oskarr."

"Don't let him talk to you like that, Verdin," one of the other human sailors piped up. "Stupid dwarf is thick everywhere else, ye know he's gotta be thick in the head, too."

Hallekk bristled at the insult.

Verdin's eyes narrowed as he strived to look even more fierce and threatening.

"Ye better not be a-glowerin' at me," Hallekk growled in warning. "I don't take kindly to such intimidation."

"Go on, Hallekk!" a shrill voice called out. "Poke him in the eyes! Tweak his nose! Pull his hair! Thump him till he rings like a drum!"

The voice drew everyone's attention to the rafters above the counter, for the moment silencing the verbal sparring between Verdin and Hallekk. A rhowdor stood on the rafter, dressed in bright plumage that began with an explosion of red on its chest and wings with a few scattered patches of yellow. The ends of the wings and the tail feathers turned green that was so dark it looked blue and black. The bird flailed his wings, shadowboxing unsteadily on the rafter and breathing in short gusts through its curved beak.

Little more than a foot tall with twin pink horns jutting from above its hatchet face, the avian peered down with its one good emerald eye. A black leather patch that bore a skull and crossbones made of studs covered the other eye. A golden hoop earring dangled from one ear tuft.

The rhowdor was intelligent, capable of speaking the common language as well as any others it learned. There were few of the creatures in the world these days. This one was named Critter and crewed aboard One-Eyed Peggie.

"What are ye a-lookin' at, ye daft idiot?" Critter called out, taking a break from matching skills with its imaginary opponent. "Ain't ye ever seen a talkin' bird before?"

It was obvious that Verdin hadn't.

"Why, ye're a pantywaist, ye are," the rhowdor crowed fiercely. It walked along the rafter, and from the stumbling steps it took, Wick knew the bird had drunk far too much for its own good. "I could take ye with one wing tied behind me an' me tail feathers on fire." The bird held one wing behind its back and fluttered the other one, nearly knocking itself from the rafter. "I'll show ye. Somebody get me a rope an' tie me wing up behind me back."

"Somebody get me a stewpot," Verdin replied, and several of the tavern's patrons — including members of One-Eyed Peggie's crew — laughed uproariously.

"I'll keelhaul ye!" Critter swore. "I'll turn ye inside out an' hang ye with yer own tripe!" The rhowdor launched itself from the rafter, spreading its multicolored wings out in a three-foot span that suddenly made it look huge. It flew straight at Verdin, claws raking the air.

The human sailor ducked beneath the claws, eyes wide with surprise.

Critter sailed above the heads of the other patrons, wobbling drunkenly like a floundering ship, and managed to swing around for another pass. It screeched at the top of its voice.

Verdin stood suddenly and snatched a serving platter from a nearby table. The young sailor held the platter up like a shield.

Spotting the obstruction, Critter tried to stop the attack. Instead, all the rhowdor managed was an ungainly and panicked wing flapping. It hit the wooden serving platter with a pronounced thump! that scattered feathers in all directions.

The crowd all groaned, "Ooooooooh!" in sympathy.

Even though he didn't especially like the rhowdor, Wick winced a little himself. The bird would be lucky if something wasn't broken by the impact.

Off balance, Critter sailed on, flapping weakly and somehow gliding backtoward Hallekk and the dwarven pirate crew. The front row of human sailors had to duck to let the rhowdor go by. It landed on its back, wings spread across the sawdust-covered floor, feathers wafting through the air in its wake, and came to a stop at Hallekk's boots.

"That's gonna leave a mark," someone promised.

"Awwwwwwrrrrrkkkkk!" Critter cried out. The rhowdor lifted its head uncertainly, bobbing at the end of its long neck, and fastened its beady eye on Hallekk. "He sucker-punched me, Hallekk! Struck me while I wasn't lookin'!" Its head wobbled one last time, then thudded against the floor. The rhowdor lay still.

Wick stood in frozen awe. Even though he didn't like Critter, he'd never wished the rhowdor harm. Well, maybe that wasn't quite as truthful as it could have been. He actually had wished Critter harm; he'd just never wanted to be there when it happened.

The silence held for a moment as everyone stared at the fallen rhowdor.

Finally, someone asked, "Is it dead?" "We should be so lucky," someone else (and Wick truly believed it was one of One-Eyed Peggie's crew that said this) unkindly added.

Hallekk knelt down and picked up the rhowdor by the feet. The bird dangled limply, a scrawny shadow of its former self. The dwarf squinted at it and smelled its beak.

"Oh, it's dead all right," the big dwarf growled. "Dead drunk." He shook his shaggy head. "It's still breathin'."

"Be careful with him!" Slops shouldered his way out of the crowd of dwarven pirates. Old and flinty-eyed, he was the ship's cook. When Wick had been shanghaied and first crewed aboard One-Eyed Peggie, Slops had been a cruel taskmaster in the galley.

Twisting slightly and flipping his wrist, Hallekk tossed the unconscious rhowdor to Slops. The cook caught Critter tenderly, and held the bird in his arms like a newborn babe.

"Ye gonna let that loudmouth get away with harmin' the ship's mascot?" Slops demanded. "If 'n ye ask me, if 'n ye do, why ye ain't much of a —"

Hallekk shoved his big face into the cook's, stopping Slops's tirade at once.

Slops backed away meekly. For all his bluster and loud voice, the ship's cook knew the first mate would pound him into a Lantessian pretzel. "I'm just gonna take Critter back to the ship. Tend to him a little."

"Good," Hallekk said, "'cause I've had me fill of him tonight, I have." Then he shifted his attention back to Verdin, who still held the serving platter. "Now ye, ye're gonna take back everythin' ye said about Master Blacksmith Oskarr."

"Over me dead body," Verdin said. "Or do ye let yer ship's mascot fight all yer battles for ye?"

Grim faced, Hallekk started forward, lifting his battle-axe easily in one hand. One-Eyed Peggie's crew fell in behind him.

Verdin and his crew stood up as well and advanced a line.

That was when Wick decided that discretion was once again the better part of valor. He started to turn to head back for the exit in the other room. At that same time, though, Paunsel acted in the only way he knew to prevent damage to his tavern: He shoved Wick in between the two groups.

Stumbling and flailing, realizing that he very probably looked like a good imitation of Critter flying through the air after he'd struck the serving platter, Wick caught himself against a table and managed to stay upright. Unfortunately, he was between the two groups of combatants, both of whom had braced with drawn weapons against the unexpected attack.

Cowering, Wick closed his eyes, dropped to his knees, and covered his head with his arms. He waited to be pierced and smited.

"Wick," Hallekk growled.

Cautiously, Wick opened one eye, marveling at his survival. The humans and dwarves still stood poised. I'm not dead. Then he looked at the weapons ringing him, some of them only inches away, and decided that his present predicament hadn't appreciably improved. He swallowed hard and his Adam's apple bobbed past a sailor's cutlass blade both ways, though hanging slightly on the way up.

"What're ye a-doin' here, little feller?" Hallekk asked. There was some sincere warmth in his eyes. He even had a trace of a smile.

"I'm attempting to keep you from killing these sailors," Wick said, still on his knees and both hands wrapped around his head, though he had managed to open both eyes now.

The humans snorted and addressed him with threats regarding their skill and his assumption of who would lose the coming fight.

Sensing the sudden shifting of the tide of animosity in the room, Wick quickly added, "These brave, brave sailors without whom Greydawn Moors would never have enough trade goods." Surely that will appease them, the little Librarian hoped. He stopped himself from swallowing again because he didn't think his Adam's apple would survive a second trip.

"Get yer hands off him," Hallekk ordered. "He's a Librarian. Ain't no one a-gonna harm ye." He knotted a big fist in Wick's robes and yanked him into a fierce hug that left his feet dangling. "I've missed ye somethin' awful, little man. No one tells a story quite the way ye do."

"Hallekk?" Wick wheezed, certain he'd never draw another breath through the cracked rib cage he must have.

"Aye," the big dwarf said, his ugly face only inches from Wick's.

"Could you put me down?"

"Well, sure." Hallekk did with surprising gentleness.

Straightening himself with as much aplomb as he could muster on knees that rattled with fear, Wick nodded at the dwarf. "It's good to see you again, Hallekk."

"I wish it were under better circumstances," Hallekk replied. Straightening his kerchief, he waved at Wick. "An' if 'n ye'll shove off for a bit, it'll get better really soon. We got some business here needs tendin', a bar what needs a-clearin' of the riff-raff."

"Ha!" Verdin exclaimed. "Ye ain't dwarf enough to get that job done!"

"About that business," Wick began, trying to interrupt before they closed ranks with him in the middle, "I really think we should talk."

"Ain't no time for talkin'." Hallekk glared fiercely across the top of Wick's head. "Gotta smash the knobs of these here bilge rats."

"Gonna be smashed, ye mean," Verdin said.

"Maybe I can help," Wick said.

The human and the dwarf looked at him.

And maybe I can die right here, Wick thought, shrinking inside like new-fallen snow under a gentle rain.

"How can ye help?" Verdin asked.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "The Quest For The Trilogy"
by .
Copyright © 2007 Mel Odom.
Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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