by Steve Pagano

The clear sky of the previous night led to a morning frost, but the early sun was warm, and the rime melted away as dew that splashed across Fiona's boots as she made her way across the Academy grounds, kicking at the leaves which were now beginning to fall in earnest upon the well-kept lawns and parks. She had never considered the purchase of her own home to be a priority of any sort, and so instead of living in one of the well-appointed houses, towers and mansions that dotted the landscape of the northeastern quadrant of the Academy grounds, she still dwelt in a small, functional room in the dormitories in the northwestern portions, hidden away among the trees. She had risen just after dawn, as was her habit, and after quickly bathing and dressing, made her way across the grounds to the homes of the wealthier, more experienced mages, not even stopping at the Mug to grab a quick bite to eat -- so anxious was she to get to the day's work.

She found the house rather quickly, as she was quite familiar with the short journey; it was a mid-sized home of brick and timber, two stories high and painted white, with well-trimmed bushes in a row across the front of the building. I've never been able to figure out how such a man as he can keep so neat a home, she thought, and she immediately rescinded the notion. For hidden behind the shrub nearest the front door could be seen the top of an ale keg. "Oh, dear," Fiona mumbled to herself. "He and the boys have been at it again."

She raised her hand to touch the ornate brass knocker on the front door, and at once there sounded magical bell-tones from within. There was no answer right away, and so presently she rang again, and tried peering into the front windows. As she expected, the curtains were drawn. She then reached down, and fished a few pebbles from the earth about the shrubs. Then she strolled to the side of the house, and, humming softly to herself, tossed the pebbles one at a time at a certain second-floor window, striking it each time in the way she knew would make the most noise. "Wake up!" she called.

After a few seconds, there came a great thud, as if a great sack of flour had just been dropped to the floor inside. Fiona made her way back to the front door, and arrived just a second or two before the door opened. A portly man of forty-five years stood in the doorway, squinting in the bright morning sun; his normally lifeless blonde hair was sticking in every direction, and his mouth, which usually wore a good-natured grin, was drawn up in a fierce scowl. His old red dressing-robe was wrinkled, and he stank of ale. "Donnor's beard, girl!" he stammered, still scowling. "What the blazes are you doing here this early in the morning?"

"Good morning, Baldric," said Fiona, and she glided past him into the living room. She knew that her matter-of-fact manner would irritate him to no end in his condition, and she grinned wickedly to herself when her back was turned to him, feigning disinterest when she faced him. "My, don't you look a fright. Wrestling with the cats again?" She perched herself upon his soft couch, and began to clear the various papers and ale mugs off his coffee table.

"What are you up to, Fiona?" He shuffled over to his favorite chair, directly across from her, and settled himself in. Fiona retrieved a scroll case from within the folds of her gown, and began to spread its contents on the table. "Bah!" he cried as she opened the curtains to let in the morning light. "Who turned up the sun?" He shielded his eyes and moaned. "Ohhh... I need a detox spell. Where's a good priest when you need one?"

For a moment, Fiona considered getting him a mug and a ewer of water, but she decided to let him wallow in the results of his indulgence for a bit more. She put on her sweetest smile. "I need a favor from you, O Master," she intoned.

"Don't give me that 'Master' bullshit, girl," he mumbled. After his eyes adjusted to the new light, he peered down at the rolled sheet of parchment, shielding his eyes in an attempt to see the document. Baldric had taught Fiona more than just magic during the past eight years: her trap was laid perfectly, and now he was caught. She now had him interested in what she had before her, and it was now in the bag that she could get any information out of him that she wished. "Whatcha got there?" he mumbled, and Fiona smiled to herself.

"Something Idgie got her mitts on during our last outing. We

spent a few hours last night trying to figure out what it says, but we're stuck. Oh, by the way -- we've done some repair work on our group. We decided to let Karna join us."

"He's a decent fellow."

"He's always seemed to me to be a bit of a buffoon," said Fi, wincing slightly, wrinkling her nose. "Always saying the least appropriate thing, never knowing when to keep his nose to himself..."

"But he does mean well," said Baldric, putting on a bit of a fatherly air. "He has genuine respect for you -- you can see it in the way he reacts to what you say and do. On top of that, he will let you have your way with the group, and I know damned well that your greatest quarrel with our late friend Delmar was his, shall we say, lack of cooperative tendencies?" He smiled brightly, but at once his smile changed into a wince, and he put one hand to his forehead, the other to his paunch. "Oof, I gotta get something to drink." He got up and began tottering off to the kitchen.

"I trust you're not going to be so foolish as to go back to your keg, are you? After all, you know what they say about a dog returning to his --"

"That's enough, young lady. As a matter of fact, I had the foresight to make up some ice last night, because I fully intended to disable myself to the extent that I wouldn't even be able to conjure a mere cantrip. It should be melted down by now. Ah! It is!" Fiona heard him filling a cup.

"'Disabling' oneself.... What an interesting euphemism."

Baldric returned with a flagon in one fist, sipping from it slowly. He glared fiercely at Fiona, and in return she grinned impudently and batted her eyelashes. As always, her master's expression softened, and he returned sheepishly to his seat across from her.

"Oh, I should mention too that we found ourselves a very capable priest of Donnor," continued Fi, leaning back into the soft cushions of Baldric's couch. "Or I should say priestess. You'd like her. She's quite cute."

"Hm.... Maybe it falls under the responsibilities of a good master to do some scouting work for his best student..."

"Now, now, Baldric. There you go again, your mind on everything but business. Look here." Fiona pushed the rolled-out paper towards him. "What do you make of this?"

[Picture of map]

The document was a twelve-by-eighteen inch sheet of finely-made paper, and though it was clearly well-preserved, it showed its age in its cracked and yellowed edges. An expert hand had drawn the picture of a mid-sized temple in black ink in the very center of the page, and about it were arranged in neat rows what appeared to be runes of some sort; the same runes were inscribed upon the columns and above the doorway of the temple. There was an arrow pointing to the right side of the building.

"Well, it's obviously a map, but I'm sure you know that already."

"We surmised as much. Can you read it?"

"No, unfortunately," said Baldric, peering closely at the details of the drawing. "I've never seen these runes before. They aren't used by the Elves, or ever were, and I don't recognize them as Hobbitish or Gnomish. I don't think they're Druidic or magical either...."

"Do you recognize the building?"

"No." He pushed the map back towards her. "Sorry, I don't think that I can be of much help to you here."

Fiona was visibly disappointed. "Do you know anyone who might be able to give us a hand here?" She rolled up the map and put it back into its case.

"The only one I can think of is Faro," said Baldric, and he took a sip from his cup as Fiona rolled her eyes to heaven. "Sorry, but he is the most knowledgeable man around on the subject of obscure languages and dialects, especially if it actually is some older form of Elvish."

"Lovely," said Fiona with obvious distaste. "I've been studying that one strain of Old Elvish for a few years now, and I can tell you that these letters are not the least like the Elvish scripts I've seen. Are you sure there's no one else?"

"None that I can think of, except on the odd chance that you stumble into [whatshisname] at the Academy Temple. He might be able to whip up a spell for you, if you have the cash."

"Which I don't, unfortunately." Fiona sighed, and stood up. "I'll tell you how it goes," she said, and bent to kiss his cheek. She then turned and quite intentionally let her posterior fall flirtatiously within reach of the old mage for a mere fraction of a second before she moved off towards the door, out of his range before he could react. She then turned and grinned wickedly at him. "Farewell, Master!"

Baldric visibly blanched. "Confound it, girl, you know I hate it when you do that! If I were married, my wife would have my ass on a plate if she caught you doing that!"

This game had gone on for years, ever since Fiona had shown herself off for him in the gown she had made herself for her initiation rituals, back eight years ago. She had been much younger then, barely into her fruitful years, but the dress she had made was especially designed to highlight her (ahem) developing characteristics. It was a delicious royal blue, and when she had debuted it for Baldric, he could only stammer in reply. Her newfound confidence in herself, which resulted from her recent acceptance into the Academy, had begun the process of her coming out of her shell, and she was just learning some of the tricks of flaunting her femininity. Baldric was dumbfounded as he had watched her twirl about, ruffle the hem of her gown and toss her hair. Could it be that this is the same little girl who had come sobbing to his study just a few weeks before? he had wondered to himself. "Koh's three faces, Fiona!" he had said. "Had I a wife and she saw you in here dressed like that, there'd be no peace for me until next winter!" And so it had been for years. But never did he lay a hand on her, save for a fatherly hug and kiss and the occasional pat on the back, nor ever would he. And never could Fiona resist the opportunity to send him fleeing, face flaming. And thus she could not help but turn and blow a kiss to him before saying "Goodbye, Old Man!" and flitting out his front door.

"No, c'mon, Fi. Why do I have to be in on this? I thought that you said that you could cover things on your own...."

"Never you mind, Idgie." Fiona strode down the walkway quickly and purposefully, and the more common folk whom the Academy allowed to run shops and peddle their wares on the Academy grounds carefully kept out of her path. "It will be readily apparent within the next few minutes, I'd say."

Idgie knitted her eyebrows, hurrying to keep pace with the taller woman's long strides. "Whatever you say. You're the boss, I guess."

"Ah, there we are." The two women had just turned a corner to find themselves in front of one of the most popular establishments on the Academy grounds. The Mug was a well-kept, homey place where one could find some of the best-prepared meals in the quadrant, or partake of any of a various number of beverages from near and far, or simply fritter one's day away in idle chatter with the vast number of Academy and non-Academy resident who slipped in and out of its doors through all hours of the day. The scent of Cyprus- and Covenant- grown coffee came to their noses as the two pushed open the door of carved oak. At once Fiona was greeted by a number of acquaintances, and she cheerfully returned their welcome, smiling warmly. She then began scanning the large, well-lit tavern room.

"Do you see him?" asked Idgie, peering around Fi and wriggling her way onto the open floor. She had a bright glint in her eyes that could only mean one thing, and Fiona spotted it at once.

"No, I don't," she said, "and don't even think about dipping those sly fingers of yours into any unwary pockets."

Idgie put on a look of exaggerated injury. "Perish the thought!" she said breathily. "I was just hoping that there might be a game of Cups going. I could use some extra cash."

"Very amusing. Whoops -- there he is."

"Who? Which one?"

"There." Off in one corner, sitting on a stool and surrounded by a cadre of young women, was a tallish young man with red hair, dressed in outrageously foppish clothing. He had the pointed ears of the Elven folk, but his curled moustache marked him as one of the half-breeds, the offspring of an elf/human coupling. He had a harp in one hand, and he was quite obviously strumming it and singing a tune, though Fiona and Idgie could hear nothing of him, so noisy was the throng of patrons about them. Fiona started off towards him, noting with some disgust the perfectly empty looks on the faces of his young admirers.

"Who? The peacock on the perch?"

"That's Faro."

"You gotta be kidding me. That's your local linguistics expert?"

"Yes, unfortunately. He's actually part Elven, and so is a bit older than he looks. Before he came here ten or twelve years ago, he spent a good portion of his life travelling among the various Elvish enclaves in the cities about the country. He knows an awful lot about languages in general, especially odd dialects of Elvish and foreign alphabets. He's our best shot right now."

"Lovely."

The two made their way to Faro's corner of the tavern, and insinuated themselves within the admiring throng, drawing several acid looks from the giddy admirers. Much to their luck, Faro was just finishing his song, and so I shall spare you the agony of violating your artistic sensibilities, and suffice it to say that the word "drivel" is too kind a word for what Fiona and Idgie were subjected to. Immediately upon the completion of the tune, the half-Elf stood and bowed, while the drooling masses about him clapped their hands and batted their eyelashes, hoping that he might notice them.

Fiona raised her voice. "Good morning, Faro. I thought that I might find you here."

Faro at once turned to her. "Ah! My dear Fiona!" He set his harp down upon the stool, and extended his hands magnanimously to her. He had an unctuous feel to his movements, and his manner dripped with falseness. "So wonderful to see such a radiantly beautiful face so early in the day!" He swept off his enormous hat with one hand, and took Fiona's hand with the other, and planted a graceful kiss upon her hand, drawing a fresh round of scowls from his audience.

"Yes, yes, Faro. This is Idgie. She and I would like to talk to you about something of minor import."

Faro turned to the sprightly young girl, and bowed low. "So pleased to meet your acquaintance, fair lady."

Idgie took the moment to throw a half-worried glance in Fiona's direction. The woman in blue looked on calmly for a few seconds before she spoke again. "Is there anywhere that I might speak to you in private?"

Faro returned the outlandish hat to his head, and then said, "Well, fair maiden, there is my own quarters in this Inn. I can assure you that the two of us won't be disturbed while we... talk." He wore a smile on his face that might have charmed the skirts off an unwary young lass.

"Really, Faro. Your desperate overtures get less and less subtle as the years pass. May the two of us have a moment of your time?"

"Two at once? That sounds deliciously interesting...." As he turned and began making his way to the opposite end of the hall, Idgie seized Fiona's sleeve. "If he tries anything..." she whispered.

"Don't worry. He's all talk. He's not quite as stupid as he looks, only as tasteless."

Four minutes later, the three of them were sitting at a small table in the gaudily-decorated room that Faro rented. At a nod from Fiona, Idgie reached in and pulled a scroll-tube from her cloak. "What do you make of this?" asked the blonde girl, opening the tube and handing the paper inside to him. On it was scratched a rudimentary copy of a few of the characters from the temple-map Fiona had shown to Baldric just a few hours ago.

Faro looked at the paper for a few moments, and then looked up. His expression was quite serious. "What's in it for me?"

"We've no money, Faro," said Fi. "We thought you might be able to help us as a friend."

"There are other things besides money, Fiona...."

It took a superhuman effort for Fiona to restrain herself. "If you do this for me, I shall owe you a favor. Although I am not a truly powerful sorceress yet, it is quite a thing indeed for a favor to be owed one by a wizard." Her tone was icy, but controlled, and her eyes betrayed no anger, only emphasized her refusal. Idgie scowled openly, and fingered the pommel of the dagger that she had hidden within the folds of her armor.

There was a pause of several seconds before Faro's expression faded into ease and he said, "These are Dwarf-runes."

"Dwarf-runes?" Fiona was visibly surprised. "What do they say?"

"Unfortunately, I've no idea." Faro handed the paper back to Idgie (who had likewise relaxed a bit), and leaned back in his chair. "As you probably know, the Dwarves teach their tongue to no-one. I happened to get a look at one of their books once, and got a good feel for what the alphabet looked like before it was taken from me. Their letters are unmistakable."

Fiona stroked her chin, thinking. "No idea what it says, eh?"

"None. Your best bet is to talk to a Dwarf, and see if you can convince him or her to help you out. But I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Fiona sighed. "No, but it can't hurt trying." She sighed again. "Do you know of any Dwarves that might be amicable to such suggestions?"

"No, not really. There is old Kane."

"The sociologist?" Fiona brightened up. "Yes. I met him once, long ago when he gave a lecture at a class I was taking." She stood up, and Idgie was quick to follow suit. "Thank you, Faro," said the illusionist. "You've been more help than you realize." She bowed once, and then scurried out of the room as fast as she could do it and remain polite, with Idgie on her heels.

"Hey." Idgie grabbed Fiona's sleeve and gave it a tug, as the two of them left the Mug and began making their way down a nearby side street. "Why the heck are we bothering with all these other people? Can't your master cast some sort of spell to tell us what the map says?"

"Actually, no," said Fiona, whose mood had brightened considerably. The whole scenario of tracking down obscure information reminded her of her early days at the Academy, where Baldric and Fistandantilus the Librarian fed all sorts of little tidbits to Fiona, interesting snippets of one story or another, sending her on day-long quests through the halls of the great Academy library, following the yarn from volume to volume until her curiosity was satisfied. The two of them had been given a good lead, and now that her quarry was within her scent, Fiona became all the more excited in the pursuit. "That sort of thing can only be done by one or two of a vast number of different spells that a mage might learn over her lifetime. Baldric does know a great many useful magics, but unfortunately the 'Comprehend Languages' spell is not one of them."

"Why can't you just ask someone else? Another mage?"

"Oh, no, I can't do that. It's very much against Academy protocol, unless it's of vital interest to the Academy itself. I can't begin to bend the rules until I've really established a name for myself." Idgie seemed visibly annoyed at this response, but Fiona was too caught up in her search to notice.

In among the other homes on the southeastern quadrant of the Academy, where the vast array of servants and sages employed by the Academy dwelt, away from the looming tower and fine mansions that were the homes of the wizards, was a small homestead that looked like none of its brethren. It was but a single story, built entirely of stone save for its tarred and thatched roof. The only ornamentation on the exterior was a fine latticework of iron that served as a rail for the porch and front step, several wrought-iron decorations that were the coat of arms for family of the home's owner, which were bolted to the front of the house between the front door and the living-room window, and an intricate dragon's-head door-knocker. Fiona and Idgie cautiously approached the house, and almost timorously took the short steps to the porch.

"Wow, that's pretty," said Idgie, eyeing the door-knocker. The dragon's head was remarkable lifelike, and smoke seemed to come from its nostrils. "I never thought anyone could make anything nice out of just iron." She reached for the knocker and rapped twice.

"I hope you're not considering prying it off," said Fiona as they waited. "We may be asking this gentleman quite a favor as it is. I'd like to stay on his good side if I can."

"Nothing to worry about. I tend to be a bit selective of my targets -- people who have too much money, or too much mouth." And she grinned her most personable grin.

Idgie had seen several Dwarves before, and had even had occasion to deal with Dwarvish merchants at times. But she had never actually spoken anything other than business with one, and so she was found wanting for words for a moment when he opened the door. He was short, as she had expected, perhaps four feet in height; he was squat and stocky of build, and he had an enormous nose that took up the majority of his face. His beard was grey, and braided in the manner of Dwarvish gentry, but its short length marked him as rather young for his race, perhaps a hundred years old or so. He wore a blue doublet and grey woolen hose, and soft slippers. "Yes?" he asked. "May I help you ladies?"

"Greetings, Master Kane," said Fiona, curtsying with satin grace. "I am not sure if you remember me or not; you were a guest lecturer a handful of years back when I took the Mages and Society course. I had the luck to be able to meet you for a few moments at the reception after your lecture."

The old Dwarf wrinkled his nose and peered at her. "Yes, you do seem familiar.... Fiona, is it?"

"You flatter me," said Fiona, smiling warmly. "This is my friend Idgie." The smaller girl gave a quick bow. "She and I have a favor to ask of you."

"Come in, come in," said Kane. "Sit down and we can have a talk." He pushed the door wide open, and swept his arm in invitation. His home was dimly lit, and the furniture was markedly smaller than what Fiona and Idgie were used to, but it was finely decorated, with beautiful paintings and intricate sculptures of gold and silver here and there about the house; a small fire burned gently in the hearth, but Kane quickly remedied this: a few extra logs on the fire began to bring the room's ambience from cool and dark to warm and well-lit. The couch was of particularly fine make, and was clearly for entertaining guests of greater height than the host. Fiona and Idgie took their seats, Idgie folding her hands and biting her lip to resist the temptation aroused by the gold and silver about. Kane himself went over to the small wet-bar that he kept off in one corner of his den. "May I offer you ladies a fine Empiricon Brandy?" he asked, and handed Fiona a snifter of delicate crystal when she accepted; Idgie politely declined. Then Kane shuffled over to what was clearly his favorite chair, and settled himself in with his own drink. "Ah, that's much better," he murmured. Then he cleared his throat: "Now. You mentioned that you have a favor to ask of me?"

"That we do." Fiona gave a nod to Idgie, and as before the blonde girl went searching in her cloak for the rudimentary copy of the map. "We came upon this parchment in our recent outings," said Fiona. "We were having difficulty deciphering it." Idgie unfolded the scrap of paper and handed it to Kane, who furrowed his brow as he looked at it. "We asked Faro what he knew about it, but he couldn't help us. He suggested that we ask you about it. He thought that they might be Dwarven characters."

"Yes, they are," said Kane. He paused for a few moments, and then pulled at his beard. "Though this is not the original copy." He handed the paper back to Idgie. "Our letters we teach no-one, and this is not dwarven-hand."

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as Fiona's mind raced. She had very little experience with such dealings, and she knew not what her next move should be. She was beginning to teeter on the edge of frustration when Idgie came to her rescue.

"Here," she said, and produced the original, which Fiona thought was stowed away somewhere safe. She began to unfold it, then stopped. "Hold it," she said. "I found this in a place that suggested that there might be some profit involved in following the trail to its end. I'm not so sure that I like the idea of showing it to you, even though the Academy has clearly given you their own approval. I need to know that you won't go pursuing this for your own ends once we show it to you."

Fiona winced inside, afraid that Idgie might have pushed too far, and may have pushed Kane straight into a staunch refusal. But instead he stood up proudly, and with a solemn, stern look on his face, he intoned: "I swear upon the blade of my father's axe, and upon the very roots of my own beard, that no knowledge of this thing shall pass from this place, and that the path shall be yours and yours alone to pursue." Fiona sighed, and then gave a nod to Idgie, who unrolled the map and handed it to Kane.

It was several minutes before he said anything, and in the meanwhile the two women waited quietly. Idgie began to fidget a bit before the old dwarf began to speak. "I find myself in a bit of a quandary." He got up and fetched a small table, upon which he spread the map. "It is like this," he said. "The map is obviously cryptic in nature. The front of the map here gives explicit directions on where one can find the location of a treasure cache, and some instructions on how to avoid its guardians. The reverse side however is a riddle of some sorts, which I have no skill to solve, and which I cannot translate for you without the risk of letting you learn some of our language, which is forbidden. Yet still there is compelling reason that I should do this thing for you. Have you ever heard of Beleriand?"

Fiona remembered the name being mentioned several times on maps which purported to tell the locations of lost cities, and it was mentioned once at a class of hers a few years back. "I've heard the name," she answered as Idgie shook her head. "But I know very few details."

"Suffice it to say that it was a city of the Dwarves, destroyed long ago by we know not what. Our own attempts to re-take it have ended in failure, as it is now a place inhabited by things fell and cruel. Wizards have tried in the past to find the reason for its destruction, but to no avail. It has been generally surrendered as lost." He pulled at his beard again, and a far-off look was in his deep eyes. "This map leads to a temple in the ruins of that city, and it speaks of treasures that the dwarves hold dear, even more dear than the gold and silver, and maybe even mithril that may be found there. Relics and antiquities." He waved his hand, and sighed. He sat there for a few moments, chewing on some thought of his own. And then presently he looked at the two young women across from him and said:

"I shall agree to help you, but I demand three conditions be upon our agreement."

Fiona swallowed an urge to smile happily. "Name them."

"First: that anything you find that is of anything but monetary value to my people, you surrender to me, that it may eventually come back to the possession of its rightful owners."

Fiona nodded, and both women said in unison: "Done." "It would only be right and proper that we do these things in any event," added Fiona, "and we would return such objects to you and your kindred freely, whether asked or no."

"Kane nodded. "Second, you must not use the knowledge I give you to attempt to translate our language, or even our alphabet, nor must you give this information to anyone, keeping instead to your own selves even to the end of days."

Fiona nodded once.

"Finally, I must be sure of your earnestness to help my people. Therefore, I must ask you to perform me a favor."

"Name it."

Kane sighed and sit back, looking uncomfortable. "Have you ever heard of Count Drabo?"

Fiona did not, but at once Idgie piped up, "I have."

"Then you doubtless know of his penchant for cards."

Idgie smiled. "I am quite proud of the fact that I am one of few people who can claim to have caught him red-handed in one of his elaborate cheating schemes."

"Had I only known of such things before I had met him," said Kane, slightly red in the face. "A few months past, he swindled me out of a family heirloom in a crooked game of Cups. I had what in any other circumstance would have been a guaranteed win, and so I put up the heirloom as ante against his five thousand gold pieces. But somehow I lost, and he took it from me. I have since learned of his penchant for card-palming and deck-stacking, and have it from an informed source that I was indeed swindled that night -- apparently Drabo has a mouth that he can't keep shut about his conquests, especially when his gullet is full of wine. I have demanded that it be returned to me, and have even offered to ransom it from him; but he is a man without honor, and has flatly refused my overtures. I see no other recourse."

"Consider it done," said Idgie. "Drabo needs to be taught a lesson, and I'm just the one to do it."

Fiona gave Idgie an unsure, disapproving look. "Ah, lighten up, Fi," said the younger girl. "We aren't going to hurt him -- unless he insists. All we're going to do is relieve him of this....?" She looked at Kane questioningly. "A small jewelled axe of polished silver, engraved with our runes and my family crest. Its handle is eight inches long, and its blade three wide."

"That should be easy enough to find," said Idgie, grinning widely now. "C'mon, Fi. We have to go start planning our visit to one Count Drabo, card cheat extraordinaire."

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