Before morning came, Gunnolf was outside Zarmhel’s hut. A simple knock of the black furred man caused the aviar man to poke his head out. “As expected, you’re here. Good, come in.” the large owl man cleared the way as he led Gunnolf back to his table.

  Zarmhel had a seat and handed the kobold a scroll. The kobold looked at it intricately, noticing the seal on it was from the governor of Saha’dryr, blue wax seal with the impression of a pentagon with a circle in the middle to imply the city and a pearl. “Deliver that to a man who will await you by Basgere Cave.”

  Gunnolf nodded and understood the location would be east of Saha’dryr as he slid the scroll into his inner shirt pocket.

  “The man you give this to will ask you about crystal sturgeon, confirm their question with replying ‘twenty-seven’. If they don’t ask about the fish, make sure they don’t leave alive. Are the details of the job clear? You will bring back a small bag with two stone half triangles in exchange. It will pay three-fifty upon completion.”

  “I have heard rumors of the undead lately,” Gunnolf began slowly, “Any word if they draw near Saha’dryr?”

  Zarmhel looked almost offended, “Rumors are merely rumors. If there were any that would be a threat to Saha’dryr, I would’ve already tasked you to dispatch them. Now, this has nothing to do with the task at hand, get going.”

  Gunnolf nodded and left the hut without further questions. His mission was clear, deliver the scroll to the correct man. He made a pit stop at the apothecary near the inn he frequently stayed at and purchased a few healing herbs and an anti-toxin for this journey.

  Leaving Saha’dryr proved to have no hindrance on him as many guards on the outskirts of the city either knew him already or felt intimidated by him. Neither mattered to Gunnolf as long as no one got in his way. Passing the wooden watch towers as human guards eyed him and few merchant carts passed him by at this time in the morning, it was uncertain if it was the awkward aura he gave off or the merchants were still just waking up for the day.

  Outside the outer walls of Saha’dryr, Gunnolf took in the landscape as the morning sun illuminated the twisted landscape as the dirt road ascended to the southeast and inclined upward toward the cliffs that led to Illisea Kingdom that sat high above the low and deep cut valley where Saha’dryr resided. Incidentally, up the slopes was also where his destination lay. Basgere Cave was a place he knew of but never visited himself. A place where a bandit tyrant named Basgere took refuge over a century ago or so the old tale went, known to bring terror to the lowlands until he died of a greater Basilisk that had infested the cavern. Why am I having to meet a strange person here? The thought itched at him. Zarmhel, despite his sometimes odd mannerisms, is a trader acting on behalf of the Governor of Saha’dryr. Another thought crept up. It doesn’t matter; the money is good.

  He pressed on and within the next two hours he reached the cavern. A scrawny man with a large dark brown, wide brimmed hat was waiting outside it. A pipe clenched in his teeth, the smoke from it gave him a mysterious appearance. The man’s coat was thin and long as it was a tan color.

  A human perhaps? Elf, maybe.

  Gunnolf approached calmly, stoically as the stranger stood there. Beady eyes on him. Gunnolf stared at the man and waited for him to speak first. The stranger lifted his head enough to show a sly smirk at the kobold, an arrogant one.

  The man asked wryly, “Have you a flask of ale?”

  He didn’t ask about Crystal Sturgeon and Zarmhel was specific. Kill him!

  In an instant, Gunnolf flashed his tanto aimed to end the man before him. The stranger moved as fast as the blade swung back out of its reach.

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  Pull the Kazesuki-zhuken on him. The invasive thought almost won as his left hand went near it.

  “Some greeting that is,” the arrogant man muttered, his pipe still clenched between his teeth. Gunnolf struck again and the man leaped over the horizontal slash and back flipped over the return swing. “You have great skill indeed. However, I will take what you have and be on my way!” The mysterious man darted in close to the kobold but Gunnolf tossed a handful of pellets from his side pocket that all burst in plumes of smoke as they landed on the ground. The man gave a leap back out of the cloud that formed as Gunnolf came out like a black typhoon with that tanto. Each strike should have split the stranger open but his agility was unreal, not even a cut on his coat. “Maybe we should continue this another time, remember the name furry one. Phantasm will haunt you yet!” The odd man declared sourly as he darted off and made a leap toward the nearest cliff.

  Gunnolf only stared as his adversary got away. He checked his pocket, and the scroll was still there. What was that fool after?

  Gunnolf waited at the designated spot for an hour and finally a wagon pulled up below the ledge leading into the cave. Its top was covered in a thick cloth. A human man in his forties was the driver of this dual Galcudos drawn wagon, a hooded cloak over him concealed his head and hair but his dark eyes were visible and a tuft of his beard poked out. Gunnolf kept his hand close to his blade.

  “Greetings sir, I was sent to inquire about where I may procure some Crystal Sturgeon?” asked the wagon driver.

  The hand moved away from the blade and reached into his shirt. Gunnolf merely replied, “Twenty-seven,” the man smiled at him, a few teeth missing but it was genuine. The scroll took to the air and the man caught it. He tossed a small sack in return, Gunnolf caught it with ease and merely gazed at the man in silence.

  “Take that to the one who hired you,” the mysterious wagon driver said. “He’ll understand.”

  Gunnolf nodded as he watched the wagon get pulled away as the driver cracked a whip to get the shaggy pack animals to move once more before making his trek back to Saha’dryr. He gave a rattle to the sack. Heavy, whatever it is, but it wasn’t in the contract to peer into things like this. It will go back to Zarmhel.

  ***

  Zarmhel sat at his round table writing out a report, the quill in hand worked quickly as he was ready to roll it up but to whom was for him to know. A knock came to his door.

  “Come,” the owl-man said curtly.

  Entering was a scrawny human man, thin black hair touching his shoulders. “Zarmhel, Eyes of Saha’dryr?”

  The owl man gazed at the oddly dressed fellow, noticing his yellow coat, white undershirt and pale green trousers. “What do you want? I am quite busy, perhaps return in a few hours?”

  The man gently closed the door behind him, “I’m afraid not. I have an urgent matter with you that needs attention,” he replied coolly.

  Zarmhel watched the man carefully from the corner of his eye while still working the quill to parchment before dipping it back into the ink bottle again.

  The scrawny man approached, “Carefully plucking the situation like lute strings to the sounds of your liking while others suffer. This ends Zarmhel. It all ends.” Pulling a dagger from his coat he made a dash for the owl man.

  ***

  The sun was beyond its pinnacle in the sky when Gunnolf returned to the city on the lake. He strode by the usual people who still milled about on the interconnecting piers and there was the hut in which Zarmhel would be residing. His eyes narrowed through his tuft of hair that obscured them, something was off. He got to the door and it pushed open with a simple touch. Inside, face down on the floor was a thin human man with scraggly and greasy dark hair. No breath, no heartbeat but no wound nor mark either. This man was at the Capsized Fish last night.

  Gunnolf carefully examined the room, no sign of anyone else. He came to the table which Zarmhel used as his desk and among the scattered papers and a few of Zarmhel’s brown feathers littered the table and floor. There, one small paper was pinned down by a dagger and Gunnolf tore it to read it up close.

  Inconceivable event. Walthruhn is where we will meet.

  The note left off there. “Walthruhn…” Gunnolf said to himself quietly as he folded the paper and slipped it into his kamishimo. What would Zarmhel be doing in a remote town like Walthruhn? Who was the dead man on the floor? The thoughts wanted to gnaw at him.

  Gunnolf silenced the questions his brain kept asking after finding nothing else of interest and left the hut, it would be a matter of time before the body was discovered by someone important but the falling sun on the horizon gave too much light still to do anything about it unnoticed. He would return under the blanket of night to remove the corpse but for now, it was the Capsized Fish that called to him.