“Patience, my boy!” the robed man replied lightheartedly, seeming not at all offended by the halfling’s attempted theft. He stared at the vial for a moment, then offered a smirk at the halfling.
Oliver sighed and shrugged again, then took a similar vial out of his pocket and tossed it to the wizard.
“I always keep spares,” the halfling explained to a confused Luthien.
“Several, it would seem,” the wizard said, somewhat sharply, holding his hand out once more.
A third sigh came from Oliver, and this time the proper vial was flipped across the room. With a quick glance, the wizard replaced it on the desk and pocketed Oliver’s other vials.
“Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together and approaching the pair, “I have a proposition for you.”
“In Gascony, we do not take well to wizard-types,” Oliver remarked.
The wizard stopped and considered the words. “Well,” he replied, “I did save your life.”
Luthien started to agree, but Oliver cut him off short.
“Bah!” the halfling snorted. “They were only one-eyes. Those we could not outrun would have felt the very wicked sting of my rapier blade!”
The wizard gave Luthien a skeptical look; the young man had no reply.
“Very well,” said the wizard. He motioned to the wall and the swirling blue light began anew. “On your mounts, then. It has only been a minute or two. The cyclopians will likely still be about.”
Luthien scowled at Oliver, and when the halfling shrugged in defeat, the wizard smiled and dispelled the magical portal.
“I was only bargaining for the best price,” the halfling explained in a whisper.
“Price?” balked the wizard. “I just plucked you from certain doom!” He shook his head and sighed. “Very well, then,” he said after a moment of thought. “If that is not enough for your service, I will give to you passes into Montfort and information that might keep you alive once you get there. Also, I think that I might be able to convince this merchant you robbed that his continued pursuit of you would not be worth the trouble. And the favor I ask, though undoubtedly dangerous, will not take so long.”
“Explain it,” Luthien said firmly.
“Over dinner, of course,” the wizard replied, motioning to the wooden door.
Oliver rubbed his hands—now the man was talking in terms that he could agree to—and turned for the door, but Luthien stood resolute, arms crossed over his chest and jaw firm.
“I’ll not dine with one who will not give his name,” the young Bedwyr insisted.
“More for me,” Oliver remarked.
“It is not important,” the wizard said again.
Luthien didn’t blink.
The wizard moved to stand right before him, staring him in the eyes, neither man blinking. “Brind’Amour,” the robed man said, and the gravity of his tone made Luthien wonder if he should know that name.
“And I am Luthien Bedwyr,” the young man replied evenly, his eyes staring intently as if daring the wizard to interrupt.
Brind’Amour did not, though, allowing the young man the honor of a proper introduction.
The table in the adjoining room was simply spectacular, set for three, including one place with a higher chair.
“We were expected,” Oliver remarked dryly, but as he aproached the table and saw the display set out, he had no further demeaning comments. Fine silverware and crystal goblets, cloth napkins, and plates fine and smooth were set and ready for the meal. Oliver was, too, judging from the way he hustled over and hopped up into the high seat.
Brind’Amour moved to the side of the room, an artificial chamber with bricked walls, very different from the one they had left behind. He opened several secret cupboards, their doors blending perfectly with the bricks, and brought out the courses—roasted duck and several exotic vegetables, fine wine, and clear, cold water.
“Surely a wizard could have conjured a servant,” Luthien remarked after he had taken his seat, “or clapped his hands and let the plates float across to the table.”
Brind’Amour chuckled at the notion. “I may have need of my powers later this day,” he explained. “The use of magical energy is taxing, I assure you, and it would be a pity indeed if our quest failed because I was too lazy to walk over and bring out the food!”
Luthien let the explanation go at that. He was hungry, and besides, he realized that any important conversation he might now hold with Brind’Amour would only have to be repeated for Oliver’s sake. The halfling was practically buried in a bowl of turnips at the moment.
By the time he lifted his glass of wine for a final sip, Luthien had to admit that Brind’Amour had set the finest table he had ever known.
“Perhaps we in Gascony should give another look to our wizard-types,” Oliver remarked, patting his fattened belly in whole-hearted agreement with Luthien’s thoughts.
“Yes, you could appoint them chefs in every town,” Brind’Amour replied with good-hearted sarcasm. “What else would a wizard have to do?” he asked of Luthien, trying to draw the young Bedwyr into the casual conversation.
Luthien nodded but remained distant from the banter as Oliver and Brind’Amour went back and forth, with Oliver recounting the tale of an adventure he had experienced in a wizard’s tower, and Brind’Amour adding some detail to Oliver’s descriptions and generally nodding and gasping at the appropriately polite places. Now that the meal was done and the formal introductions were at their end, Luthien was anxious to focus on the task at hand. Brind’Amour had saved them from the cyclopians, and passes to Montfort (the last chance he figured he might have of ever catching up with Ethan), as well as getting that merchant off their backs, was a reward the young man could not ignore.
“You mentioned a task,” Luthien was finally able to interject. The ease of the conversation disappeared in the blink of a halfling’s eye. “Over dinner, I believe you said, but now dinner is over.”
“I did not think that I could get my words in above the clamor of an eager halfling guest,” Brind’Amour said with a strained smile.
“Oliver is done,” the stern and determined Luthien remarked.
Brind’Amour sat back in his chair. He clapped his hands and a long-stemmed pipe floated out of a cubby, lighting as it approached the man, then settling gently into his waiting hand. Luthien understood that the magical display was for his benefit, a subtle reminder that Brind’Amour was in control here.
“I have lost something,” the wizard said after several long draws on the pipe. “Something very valuable to me.”
“I do not have it,” Oliver remarked, clapping his hands.
Brind’Amour gave him a friendly gaze. “I know where it is,” he explained.
“Then it is not lost.” This time, the halfling’s humor did not evoke any appreciative response from Brind’Amour or from Luthien. The young Bedwyr could see the pain on the old man’s wizened face.
“It is in a great sealed cave complex not so far from here,” he said.
“Sealed?” Luthien asked.
“By myself and several companions,” Brind’Amour answered, “four hundred years ago, before the Gascons came to the Avonsea Islands, when the name of Bruce MacDonald was still prominent on every tongue in Eriador.”
Luthien started to respond, then stopped, stunned by the implications of what he had just heard.
“You should be dead,” Oliver remarked, and Luthien scowled fiercely at him.
Brind’Amour took no offense, though. He even nodded his agreement with the halfling. “All of my companions are long buried,” he explained. “I live only because I have spent many years in magical stasis.” He waved his hands suddenly, wildly, indicating that he needed a change of subject, that they had gotten off the issue at hand.
Luthien could see that the man was plainly uncomfortable.
“The world might be a simpler place if I was dead, Oliver Burrows,” Brind’Amour went on. “Of course, then you two would also be dead,” he pointedly reminded them, drawing a tip of the hat from Oliver.