The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - Investigating Trouble

Investigating Trouble

Larson and Garrett Adventure the Seventh by Aaron Dennis

Published by www.storiesbydennis.com December 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Inside the stone building, which was illuminated by baubles of magickal light stuck to the ceiling, the two friends sat at a booth awaiting their food and drink. Looking the worse for wear after their bout with the wyverns, everyone gaped at them, but neither had the will to acknowledge the puzzled looks from patrons. A jaunty tune coming from the self-playing harpsichord in the far corner gave Balthasar's a happy atmosphere. Their meal was served by a smiling waitress, which added to the momentary contentment.

Not a word was shared between the two travelers. Their baggy eyes saw only the smoked fish and honey baked ham before them. Shoveling food down their gullets, they were simply too tired to care about anything going on outside their line of vision.

"Evening, " someone said, and they nearly jumped out of their skin. Larson choked on his ham. "Apologies, " the man said, removed his round spectacles only to replace them immediately. "I'm Detective Mathew, the guards told me you were here."

Larson and Garrett chuckled at their own reaction, and as they gauged Mathew, a tall, svelte man wearing tailored, black and gray clothing, including a silk shirt, the men remained silent, slowly stuffing their faces. Mathew stood there, not a smile on his clean shaven face; his green eyes, fierce. He didn't look angry, but appeared a statue; immovable with his hands clasped before his navel. Diamond cufflinks sparkled from the magickal light above them.

"Sit, sit, " Garrett eventually said with a motion of the hand.

Mathew slid in next to Larson, across from Garrett, and ran both hands through his short, brown hair, thus pushing the locks back into place. He gave each traveler a cursory look, sniffed once, looked around the restaurant, which was laden with people eating, coming, going, and chatting, and finally dove into the questioning.

"What did you two learn in Talsador?" Mathew remained looking about the tavern.

The warriors were taken aback, with mouths full of food, they traded a confused glance. "Wha- ah, " Larson managed. "I thought...."

"Regarding, " Garrett pried. Mathew gave them each a steady look as his jaw clenched once. Garrett quickly raised and lowered his brow. "I learned that the Dark One hired a mercenary to recover the trinket I just gave to Rolas."

"And?"

"And, " Garrett smirked. "I learned that the forces of destruction are contained within the amulet."

Mathew then turned to Larson. He licked his finger clean of ham grease, and looking sheepish, proceeded to wipe his mouth and then his finger on a cloth napkin.

"I was just passing through, " he said before deferring back to Garrett.

"That's all we learned in Talsador."

"You were told that Lagos is gaining followers, yes?" Mathew confronted them.

"Well, " Garrett chortled. "Yes."

"You were told that worshiping Akalabash is the answer to the proposed forthcoming danger, " Mathew asserted as though he'd been there. Larson and Garrett traded another glance, this time of amazement and distrust for their fellow investigator. "What trouble has this trinket brought unto you?"

"You tell me, " Garrett yapped.

Mathew snorted derisively, but remained silent. Larson took the initiative and recounted what he knew about the pendant. The detective winced slightly and gave a subtle nod, which Larson took as a sign of acceptance, but then Mathew changed subjects.

"Tell me about the wyverns, " he said and cleared his throat. Once more, the warriors traded a look, this time smiling in subtle disbelief. Larson and Garrett recounted their dealings from the time they left Talsador to their run in with the guard commander. "Is it not likely that the wyverns were drawn by the trinket? The dragon as well?"

"I suppose anything is possible at this point, " Garrett conceded. There was a look of expectance in Mathew's demeanor. Garrett continued, "But that's exactly why we hightailed it here, to drop that thing off with Rolas. If anyone can keep it safe, it's him."

Mathew nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with the answer. "That is likely true. An object of such power, such danger, is best left here. I believe your intentions are pure, after all, I know who both of you are." The travelers shrugged approvingly to one another after Mathew's assertion. "Larson Ross, " Mathew said to draw the warrior's attention. "You were born in Flotsam; the boy who killed the reaper. You were trained by Holden."

"Now, hold on, " Larson interrupted, but Mathew did not heed him.

"After Holden's death, you eventually met Garrett Ansalle, son of Elias Ansalle. I know about you both. Though I was not present during your activities, there are those under my employ who were, " the detective said, mysteriously. "I have traveled far outside of Xorinth, and it would seem that you two have stumbled onto one of my own investigations."

"I thought you were just a detective, " Larson said, squinting.

"Just a detective?" Mathew echoed. He made a face implying that that was an acceptable summation of his position; it was an expression of acquiescence without humility, but without insult as well. "I am based here in Xorinth for a reason, but I work for King Roan."

"You'll have to excuse us, " Larson said. "We're very tired, and while it has recently been our mission to deliver the amulet to safety, our loyalty lies with the people of Ruvonia, not the king. Our mission is complete."

Mathew almost smiled at Larson. He then clasped his hands before his face, thus blocking his view of Garrett. Oddly, he then quickly cocked his head to the side, thus viewing Garrett askance. Finally, he readjusted his glasses, but remained silent.

"What, " Garrett asked.

Mathew gave a subtle shrug, saying, "There is not much more I can say here at this time, but we are all after answers...you yet wonder after this trinket and the forces of destruction, so let me give you a quick answer to put your minds at ease, and particularly yours, Larson; Mathew Ross is alive."

Larson set his jaw and turned in his seat. He slid his left hand across the booth back and behind Mathew. As though leaning in with a sense of camaraderie, he brought his himself close to the detective. He then frowned; it was meant to be an imposing penetration of personal space. Mathew did not seem affected.

"You'd better explain yourself, " Larson warned.

"I can say to you this; he was called away for duty when he arrived in Half Pine during the reaper plight."

"Called away for duty?" Larson growled.

Garrett watched the scene unfold. He quickly glanced from the two before him to the rest of the inn. No one seemed to notice the ensuing tensions.

"Yes, " Mathew said.

"How do you know this?"

"I told you; I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Not good enough, " Larson snarled. "My father was a good man, a retired soldier, he would never run out on what little was left of his family!"

"Ross was not a soldier, " Mathew said with an even temper. Larson slid back in disbelief. Anticipating a request for more information, the man said, "I will tell you more when I can. For now, " he added and placed a hand on Larson's wrist, "trust that we are seeking the same conclusion."

"How do you mean?" Garrett demanded, but Mathew quickly stood from the booth and glanced at each warrior. "What is this?"

"Listen, " Mathew said with a tight lipped smile that vanished quicker than it appeared. "There is little else to say on the matter, but how about I help you out as a friend?" Still in disbelief, Larson and Garrett only traded another look of shock. "Your horses are safe at the castle's stables, so in the meantime, I can provide a ride by cart through the city. We'll get you two some new clothes, and then we can find you a more suitable place to rest."

"I don't trust you, " Larson affirmed.

"I do, " Garrett said and drew his lips in while turning back to Larson, whose jaw slackened a bit. "He'll tell us more along the way."

"Perhaps, " Mathew whispered and looked towards the door.

Some patrons walked behind the detective. The barkeep was wiping down the counter. The harpsichord stopped then, and the chatter of patrons grew more noticeable. Mathew gave a motion of the hand towards the door.

"He's not arresting us. We're not under suspicions. Let's see where all this goes, " Garrett suggested.

Fluffing out his damaged hair, Larson took a deep inhalation through the nose, cocked his eyes at his friend, and finally heaved a sigh. The fencer's lip curled in a sly smile, and he looked up to Mathew, who remained patient.

Since Garrett was the more sympathetic of the warrior-travelers, Mathew said to him, "Rolas and I go way back...back to Hythshydon."

Garrett turned back to Larson, who was puzzled, and curtly said, "He's good. We can trust him."

"What is Hythshydon, " Larson asked, anxiously.

"We'll explain along the way. For now, let's get out of here, " Garrett ordered and started sliding out of the booth.

Larson started to make his way off as well, and while fiddling with his coin pouch, Mathew said, "Payment is not necessary. I have a tab here."

Looking up at the detective, Larson nodded, and then they all made their way outside. Shadows graced the stone streets of Xorinth. Many people of all races milled about. Some wore finer clothing; there didn't appear to be a peasant among the crowds, though. There were some guards in black and red garb and scale mail doing their patrols. Mathew took the streets south by a luminescent, thin obelisk. It looked like a neatly chiseled, four foot tall, diamond, but it radiated a soft light that cut through the shadows cast down from the building on the other side of the street. The city was filled with the odd formations, and so there was plenty of light even during the night.

After a short walk by rather tall buildings, they all came to a crossroads where a man sat atop a cart. He was wearing a black suit comprised of cloth pants and a long, black coat. The top hat the man wore gave him a gentlemanly appearance, though from their current vantage point, his face was hidden.

Mathew called out to the man, saying only, "Driver."

He turned to acknowledge the detective, revealing him as an older man with short, white hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. Finally, the three boarded the open cart. Upon butts touching the wooden bench, the driver snapped the reins and asked Mathew about their destination.

"Take us to the clothing shops on the north side of town, " he replied before turning to his new companions. "I'll spare no expense for attire."

Looking themselves over, it was evident they were in need of new garb. Larson's leather armor was practically falling off his body, and Garrett's clothing was absolutely shredded; his athletic physique gleaming under magickal light. As they slowly started moving, and the driver cut the cart in a circle to go back north, Larson asked, "Why all the frills?"

"Frills?" Mathew echoed.

"Our horses at the castle stables, you paying for our meal, our clothes, offering a nicer place to rest.... This all feels rather–"

Mathew waved his hand to silence the warrior. "What can I say? Xorinth welcomes you with open arms on behalf of Prince Roan."

"What does the prince have to do with us, " Garrett pried.

"Everything will become clear tonight. For now, just be happy you weren't devoured by wyverns. Be happy that trinket is in safe hands, and be happy I trust the both of you. I only ask of you the same."

Larson narrowed his eyes and Garrett ran fingers through his hair. While riding past people, they took a moment of silence to gaze at the fine, stone architecture. The buildings were mostly gray, dark block, with a gothic design; tall steeples, flying buttresses, gloomy, yet somehow vibrant with magickal lights cutting through the darkened surroundings. Before long, Larson fell asleep. Garrett smiled to himself.

"It's nothing short of a miracle that you two have survived, " Mathew commented.

"Hythshydon, " Garrett whispered while looking at the wooden boards of the cart floor. "Were you really there?"

"I was."

"It must have been a terrible sight. The stories my dad told...and they were nothing compared with the stories Rolas told me. My dad, he, he seemed to want to keep quiet about it, but...."

"Indeed, " the detective said, indifferently. "It's where I met both your father and Rolas, so I figured my mentioning it would rally you to my side."

"What exactly is your side?"

As the conversation continued, the cart master rode them around the great wall protecting the castle. Since the whole of Xorinth was designed in a wheel and spoke system of streets, the castle at the center, they were able to curl around the immense, stone barrier that ensconced the keep, the prince's very own home. It was a fifty foot tall, circular monstrosity of bluish, gray stone ground down and smoothed to a fine finish. Several openings along the wall, which held hallways for the guards' patrol, allowed Garrett a chance to see the city's protectors marching, keeping the prince safe. Atop the curved wall were more men leaning on ramparts, and every so often, the cart rode under lighted crystals of pure, magickal essence, crystals, which grew out at an angle from the very wall.

"My side is next to Prince Roan...not the king, though he is my true employer, " Mathew eventually divulged.

"You're no detective then?" Mathew gave a nearly imperceptible shrug in reply to Garrett's question. Garrett wasn't sure if that meant he was or wasn't a detective, but it did mean he didn't care to explicate. "Will we be working together?"

"You don't think all these frills come without a price tag, do you?" Mathew almost smiled.

Garrett yawned and fought to stay awake. Mathew was a character, for sure, and Garrett did trust him, but there was so much at stake. He then thought back to Larson's words regarding finding someone to assist them on their quest, someone powerful, and Mathew had the right connections; a few favors might earn them the prince's ear, and the Magickal Prince was a good ally to have in troubled times, maybe the best, yet the fencer was a bit hesitant; even with the mention of Hythsydon, Mathew seemed too perfect an employer and at too perfect a time.

"Tell me about King Roan, " Garrett started. Mathew was looking up at the sky, his hands folded behind his head. The wind slightly ruffled his short, brown hair. The man clenched his jaw, but did not respond. "Someone is bending his ear, I think, the Dark One...perhaps, " Garrett trailed off.

"Perhaps."

"Why so secretive?"

"I didn't survive this long by flapping loose lips." Mathew claimed. Though rebuffed, Garrett was too tired to press the issue. "I will reveal more when the time is right, when the setting is right. I know the both of you are good men. Of that, there is no doubt, and today, good men are scarce. You want something to fight for, a common cause, a righteous cause. I will provide you that...or rather, I will provide you the opportunity. The cause is there, and you both have been swept up in it...a miracle that you did not take Lagos up on his offer."

"What offer?" Garrett was aghast.

Mathew finally looked at him. "Did he not show himself?"

"Yes, but how could you have known. I didn't tell you about that."

"I understand Lagos's power...that amulet you gave Rolas is not the only artifact containing it."

"Rolas did seem to know about it, but I thought it was just his ability to divine."

"No...we have another item...and it has caused a great deal of trouble for us, " Mathew breathed. "Ah! We have come to a clothing retailer."

The fencer was left stunned for a moment. His mind reeled, thinking over the possibility of numerous, dangerous artifacts. He then took to rousing Larson.

Mathew called to his driver to stop. Once everyone was off the cart, they started towards a two story, block building. The fighter grumbled and groaned before resting his forehead to his arm, which he propped against against a pillar that held the awning in place.

"Hey, " Garrett called.

Dismissively, Larson followed everyone to the door and then inside. It was surprising to find such a business open so late at night, and even more surprising were the fine garments displayed beneath the light of a giant chandelier. From the far end of the spacious and glamorous interior, an older, refined man with white hair sauntered over the green carpeting. He was short, a bit droopy, and had his long nose pointed to the ceiling.

"May I help you...gentlemen, " he asked as if Larson and Garrett, still the worse for wear, were simply barbarians with no coin to spend.

"Yes, Albert, " Mathew said, politely. "I'm sparing no expense. Please assist my friends. They have been through Hell."

With a gracious bow of the head, Albert perked up, and took both men by their wrists and began leading them around the room. From racks of pants, tunics, shirts, vests, belts, boots, and everything in between, the old man forcefully pulled them one way, suggested an item, and then pulled them another before they were both carrying more clothing than necessary.

"Now, go and try them. There are full length mirrors in the dressing rooms by the stairs. Do not hesitate to call upon me."

Garrett seemed at home and quite happily acquiesced to the elegance. Larson, however, stood there, trying to figure out how to begin. He looked at Albert, who adjusted his black finery. The old man then made a shooing motion of the hand. Larson shrugged and jittered as though struck by a mild seizure. Giving in, he wandered to the dressing room and removed his armor.

He started by putting on the new pants, which were gray, wool, and tight fitting. He then threw the blue, button down shirt over his back, tucked it in, slid the belt around his waist, rolled up his sleeves, and checked himself by turning both profiles in the mirror. Not a bad look, he thought. Once finished, he decided to try and strap his armor on over the clothing, but it just didn't seem to fit right, and so many of the straps and buckles were destroyed. He walked back out, wearing the new, black boots and woolen cape, but still holding the remainder of his shredded attire.

Albert walked up briskly and tore the items from Larson's grip. "You won't need that trash."

By the time the old man vanished behind rows of clothes-to dispose of the proposed trash-Garrett sauntered out wearing a long, yellowish tunic with puffy sleeves. His braided belt held the garment in place over a pair of fine, black, silk pants, which were neatly stuffed into pointed, black boots.

"This feels right, " he claimed and adjusted his cuffs.

"What about our stuff, " Larson asked.

"Do you need it, " Mathew asked in turn.

Frowning, Larson admitted he did not, especially when Albert gave them a few more garments, besides they had their pouches, their satchels were back in the cart, and the rest of their gear was with their horses. Figuring they were ready for a night of rest, Larson suggested returning to Balthasar's, but Mathew demanded they try another shop.

"I'm beat, brother, " Larson huffed.

"A warrior without armor, " Mathew asked. "I think not."

"You're buying us armor?"

"And perhaps a sword or two, " Mathew almost smiled.

"Say thank you to the nice man, dear, " Garrett scoffed and made to leave the shop.

"Heh, thank you, " Larson said and followed suit.

Outside, back on the cart, they started to ride beyond more buildings of similar design; two story buildings of dark block with mahogany trim and those gothic rooves. Occassionally, they passed beneath arched walkways, which allowed people to traverse from one building to another without taking the crowded streets. Before too much longer, as Larson fiddled with his new duds, they came to another stop after Mathew called to his driver. That shop was also open, which was even more surprising considering the very late hour. Inside, they found it to be a near replica of the previous shop, except the clothing was replaced by fine, glimmering steel, and the shimmering wooden floor was not graced by lavish carpeting. A middle aged, dour man came to assist.

"Detective, " the swarthy man said with an even tone.

"Margol, show the big one to the heavy armor, and show the thin one to your, eh, finer pieces."

The man nodded, which made his curly locks bounce, wiped his beard, adjusted his leather trousers, and led them around. It took only moments before Larson accepted a breast plate with a lion emblem engraved upon the chest and back. He also graciously received a two headed axe. While commenting on the quality of the equipment, Garrett procured a studded, leather vest and a sabre.

"You can fight with a saber, " Larson asked, stunned.