Theft, Murder, and Crystals Page 27

“Yes, yes, I was there,” Elias muttered as he continued to stare at the map of Glimmer. They were in his office, discussing the future of Fredlin.

  “With his contacts in the thieves guild, we can exponentially increase our distribution rates,” Cimir said. “Think about it. One crystal makes 12 potions. 12 potions for 2 gold a piece, that’s 24 gold pieces a crate. Easier to use and best of all, you can instantly get rid of the evidence. It’s a way we can sell to smaller consumers for cheaper. The wealthier clients can just use the Cimirite.”

  “And what is our cut of that? Hmm?” Elias asked. “Because Fredlin will want his share, for providing us with that special blend and then the thieves will take the rest. What do we get out of the deal? You say 24 gold a crate, but realistically, we’d be getting 3 gold pieces per crate if we’re lucky. And besides, Fredlin was lying to you about what he’s getting for the crates anyway.”

  “He was?” Cimir asked. “How?”

  “Simple math, my friend,” Elias said as he walked around the table and pointed to a large chest resting on an end table. He opened it up to reveal thousands of gold coins. “A single Cimirite crystal costs 100 gold pieces at the bare minimum. Selling 12 potions at such a low amount means they lose their investment. No business survives that way. He’s underselling the value because he knows that if we start producing our own potions, he can’t compete.”

  “So, by making it a small number, he’s trying to convince us not to waste our time on this project,” Cimir said. “That makes sense. How did you know?”

  “Because wizard’s are a damn smart breed,” Elias said. “Well educated and clever. You were lucky enough to be kidnapped into your trade. But someone like Fredlin had to be the smartest man in the room if he was going to be allowed to enroll in a magical college. Competition in the magic world is fierce. Don’t underestimate him because of the many jokes he makes. He is cunning and therefore, worth being concerned about.”

  “Oh, come on,” Cimir said, waving his hand. “He’s a good guy.”

  “We’re all good guys,” Elias said as he ran his fingers through the gold coins, lifting them up and letting them slip through his hand back into the chest. “Until we have enough motivation to not be so pleasant.” He turned to face Cimir. “Our operation is in danger with his presence.”

  “Oh?” Cimir asked. “How?”

  “He can take one of our products and turn it into twelve of his own. We don’t need him flooding the market with potions. Another magical product with roughly the same function as ours will force us to lower prices. And that gives him the ability to purchase more of our product at a cheaper rate.”

  Cimir shrugged at that. “I don’t see what the problem is. There’s plenty of room in this city for potions and crystals. Besides, he’ll have to keep buying Cimirite in order to keep making his products. So, we’ll make some kind of deal. Take a tax off of his profits or something in exchange for crystals.”

  Elias shook his head. “My whole plan hinges on a monopoly here. No competition whatsoever.”

  “Well, we can’t hire him. He’s already working for some thieves guild,” Cimir said. “Nothing else we can do, really. I say we just suck it up and take the hit. We have more than enough money as it is.”

  “Do we?” Elias asked. “Because I certainly don’t.” He pointed to the capital building on the map of Glimmer. “Getting control of the Magistrate is going to take a lot of gold. A lot of gold and a lot of friends, and if you weren’t aware, gold buys friends. If we want to keep growing this operation, we need to ensure that our product is the only one on the market.”

  Cimir frowned at that. “You’re too ambitious. Why can’t you be content with what you have?”

  “Because someday Kalimar and his men will take everything we have away,” Elias replied. “And if not them, someone else. This city needs real guidance, real leadership.”

  Cimir laughed a little and turned his back on Elias. “I don’t understand, and I really don’t think I care that much. Let’s work with Fredlin, it’s our only option.”

  “No,” Elias said. “There’s too much at risk. I have a better idea. We get rid of him.”

  Cimir whipped around. “Whoa, what?” He paused when he realized that Elias was putting a few rubies from his pocket into the chest.

  “We give him this. There’s enough gold for him to life comfortably for the rest of his life, somewhere far, far away from here,” Elias said. “A chest full of gold, a wagon and then we escort him to the front of the city. Then he’s rich and we’re richer.”

  Cimir nodded at that. “How much is in there?”

  “Enough,” Elias replied. “But we can survive this loss. It’s nothing compared to losing the monopoly.”

  “Are we sure that he’s the only one who knows how to create the compound? Cimir asked. “It would be a terrible waste to spend all this money only for more potions to keep popping up.”

  Elias reached up to touch his necklace, activating one of the many gems present. Supernatural strength surged through him as he lifted the chest. “Think about it, if you were working with a band of thieves and assassins, would you really give them your special formula? He’s too smart to make that mistake.”

  “I think you’re overestimating him,” Cimir said as he opened the door for Elias, letting him through.

  “And I think you’re underestimating,” Elias replied. They made their way into the parlor, where Fredlin was sitting, thumbing through a book on the history of water.

  “Ah, gentlemen!” Fredlin said, standing to attention. “Have we come to a decision about a partnership?”

  “We have,” Cimir said, gesturing to the chest. Elias slammed the chest onto the ground and opened it up, revealing the gold.

  Fredlin’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the payload. “Is this a bonus or something?” he asked.

  “It’s a reason to get the hell out of Glimmer and never come back,” Elias replied. “There’s 100,000 gold pieces in there and two rubies worth about 30k each. Take this chest and leave this city. Never come back.”

  “Well, that is one way to negotiate,” Fredlin said. “Very well, I can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

  Elias let out a sigh of relief. “Good. You leave immediately. No goodbyes. You can write letters as we head to the gate and we’ll see they reach their intended reader.”

  “I’d prefer to say farewell to my friends,” Fredlin replied. “I don’t particularly see any reason that they should be left behind.”

  “We’ll send them your way and give them money to hire a stagecoach,” Elias said. “But if you take this money, you’re leaving immediately.”

  “And if I don’t?” Fredlin asked. Elias was unsure of what to say, but before he could respond, Fredlin burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. Get the wagons ready and get me some paper. I’m getting the hell out of this city, once and for all.”

  “See?” Elias whispered to Cimir. “I told you he’d leave without a problem.”

  At that exact moment, Groth emerged from one of the hallways. “I fear there is quite a large group of men outside of our building,” he said.

  “What?” Elias asked, his heart beginning to pound. Large groups never gathered outside of a building for no reason.

  “Thirty men armed with knives and spears. Wearing hoods,” Groth replied. “Their leader has kindly asked to speak to whoever is in charge.”

  Fredlin crossed his arms. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Did their leader have some kind of accent?”

  “Yes,” Groth said.

  “Ah, that would be Ossic,” Fredlin said. “Erm, the man who runs this local thieves guild I was telling you all about.”

  Cimir chuckled a little and stretched his arms out. Little flashes of light crackled from his fingertips. “This shouldn’t be a problem for us,” he said to Elias. “I’m wearing crystals that augment my spellcasting. In fact, it’ll be good to have us a little fight. Word will spread about us.”

  �
�Then feel free to go out there,” Elias said, clutching at his necklace. There were enough protection spells to ensure he was safe, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the terror.

  “They’re just here to rescue me,” Fredlin said, putting his hands up. “No reason to go out there blasting. My friend must have run to them, saying I was kidnapped. I’ll just go out there and tell them its fine.”

  “By all means, be my guest,” Elias said, gulping a little. “Groth, please stay with me.”

  “I shall guard you,” Groth said as he walked in front of Elias, “while you rethink your prejudices towards my kind.”

  Cimir stood at the doorstep, glancing through the peephole. Sure enough, thirty men were standing outside, all wearing hoods. He chuckled a little as the arcane energy began to course through his body. The crystal augmentations he had designed would allow his magic to survive longer without the Luminous Artifact dampening his abilities.

  “You ready?” he asked Fredlin.

  “Yes,” Fredlin whispered, his voice shaking a little. “At least, somewhat. Please, don’t resort to any violence unless it’s absolutely necessary. These guys are friends.”

  Cimir shrugged. “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he lied. He hoped against hope that these men were itching for a fight. He wouldn’t massacre them, of course, but his spells would ensure most would have trouble walking for the next few weeks.

  He twisted the doorknob and opened the door. A pale man, with long black hair stood in front of the door, arms crossed.

  “It’s about time,” Ossic said. He pointed to Fredlin. “That man is rightful property of the Thieves Guild. Return him.”

  “Ossic, this was just a big misunderstanding, I’ve been making the acquaintance of these kind gentlemen,” Fredlin said. “I’m perfectly safe.”

  Ossic shook his head. “Shut up, Fredlin.” His eyes met Cimir’s. Cimir could see the cold, determination of a man who always got his way. “You are either the sorcerer or the bookkeeper.”

  “I’ll let you take a guess,” Cimir replied, crossing his arms to mirror the man.

  Ossic snarled at him. “We have been kindly enough to not get involved with your activities. I would expect you to provide us the same courtesies. Taking one of my men by force is egregious enough.”

  “Mr. Fredlin is our guest, a man who is free to go where he pleases,” Cimir replied.

  “Don’t get cute with me. You sent a giant monster to retrieve him from his bar, late at night while he drinks with his friends,” Ossic said. “That sounds like coercion.”

  “I can assure you, it wasn’t,” Fredlin said. “Please, go home, Ossic.”

  Ossic shook his head. “Go stand with my men,” he ordered.

  Cimir held his hand up, holding Fredlin from going any further. “Mr. Fredlin has decided that he would no longer like to work with you. He will be retiring, effective immediately.”

  “You don’t want to mess with us,” Ossic said. “Trust me. It will not end as well as you would hope it does. We have watched your people for quite some time. We know what power you wield. Do not be so stupid as to think we wouldn’t show up with the proper methods of fighting you.”

  “Try me,” Cimir said, puffing his chest out. He took a single step forward.

  Ossic chuckled. “I admire your bravery and condemn your stupidity.”

  Something popped hard against Cimir’s neck. At first, he thought it was an arrow and he instinctively clutched at it, despite the fact that his skin was strong as steel. The protection spells surrounding him would stop anything from harming him. Elements, blades, impact would all fail to do any real damage. His fingers touched liquid, blood? That couldn’t be right. Cimir looked at his fingers to see a black substance covering his hand. The ground began to shake beneath him, or perhaps his legs were giving out. Sight left his right eye as he fell to the ground, stumbling out into the street, gasping and convulsing.

  Ossic crouched over him. “Skin as strong as steel. But you didn’t account for poisons.”

  Cimir tried to move his hands or mouth but couldn’t. The poison was causing serious damage in his nervous system.

  A few of the men ventured forward to grab Fredlin. To the wizard’s credit, he tried to flee back into the house but wasn’t quick enough. They dragged him, kicking and screaming into the darkness of the night.

  Ossic laughed and kicked Cimir on the side, dancing a little to avoid the man’s convulsing arms. “Sorry that you have to die. I would have much preferred working with you, but you showed the Falcon that if we were to cross you, we’d need to finish the job.” He produced a knife and knelt down.

  Cimir’s focus turned inward. The magic within him could purge the poison from his body, but he needed to concentrate. He took a deep breath and focused on purging, letting all of the convulsions, the pain, the confusion melt away from his thoughts. Instead, he merely focused. The magic within him, amplified by the crystals was strong enough to turn the poison back, to neutralize it from his body but as he forced the magic with all of his might, he felt the crystals on his person begin to shatter.

  “Ah!” Ossic shouted as the crystal studs in Cimir’s necklace burst, spraying him with debris. He lept back, shielding his eyes for a moment.

  Cimir gasped but had regain control of his body. He screamed as loud as he could “Groth! Help! Help!”

  Ossic laughed and pounced at Cimir, driving the dagger towards the sorcerer. Cimir rolled aside, barely managing to dodge the attack. The few remaining hooded soldiers merely laughed and hurled insults at Cimir. This was a game to them, but not for long, Cimir knew.

  Cimir rolled over and leapt to his feet, gaining some supernatural grace from a spell, only for the magic to quickly drain from him. Without the augmentations and with the poison still in his system, he had little command over his own power.

  “Not a bad trick,” Ossic said. “But do you want to deal with – “ his words were interrupted as the doorway smashed into pieces. A brown blur crashed through and bounded towards Ossic, moving with incredible speeds. Ossic was quick to leap out of the way as Groth slammed his fists at him.

  Cimir felt his legs buckle, the magic draining meant the poison would disable him again. He fell to his knees, clutching at empty necklace around his neck. His vision darkened, and he fell into unconsciousness. Groth took two steps back, placing himself between the attacker and Cimir.

  “Nice work, big guy,” Ossic said. “But you don’t think we didn’t account for you.”

  Groth laughed at that. “Please, play your flute.”

  Ossic’s smile vanished. He tilted his head. “What?”

  “Do not think that I am so foolish. You have a flute that if played correctly will cause the magical energies binding me together to disrupt,” Groth said. “There are few things that can kill a Stonemar. And seeing how you have no magic, nor another Stonemar here, you must have a flute tuned to disrupt me.”

  Ossic glanced at one of the men who, just as Groth had predicted, held a flute in his hands.

  “The question isn’t whether the flute will work or not,” Groth said. “But whether you realize how long you have to hold that note for it to kill me. Had you started playing it immediately, you might have slowed me down just a bit, but your lungs aren’t ready for what is necessary.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because in a moment, that man is going to have to learn how to play without a pair,” Groth said.

  “You’re bluffing,” Ossic said, taking a few steps back.

  “I am not. The only reason I have not massacred you is because I believe we can come to a compromise,” Groth said. “But if you wish to play that flute, feel free. It will not have the desired effect upon me.”

  Ossic took a deep breath and looked at his man, then looked back at Groth. “Play it!” he shouted.

  The man raised the flute to his lips and let out a strange, shrill noise. The frequency was enough so that it could disrupt the energy stitching
Groth together, loosening his body. Groth, in response to this merely tore off his left hand and threw it at the unfortunate musician.

  The chunk of rock smashed into the man’s body, pinning him to the wall he had been standing by. The thief cried in agony as he slid down to the ground, coughing up blood.

  The rest of Ossic’s men ran as fast as they could, leaving the leader alone. Groth grunted as his stumped arm began to form fingers. Normally his body was too tightly packed together to pull off a trick like that, but the flute loosened him up enough for it.

  Groth turned his attention to Ossic, who merely stood, defiant. “You said you wanted to discuss business?” Ossic asked.

  “You should be running,” Groth replied. “Or at least rendering aid to your ally over there.”