Cui Bono

“This heist won’t work.”

By Fredrick’s estimation, the look of bewilderment painting the face of the priest across the dingy tavern table didn’t make his statement any less untrue. To avoid his partner Grander’s inevitable stomp, Fredrick kicked his boots onto the table.

“I've come here to save the innocent and I’m greeted by such insolence?"

Granders leaned back into the shadows, stroking his red beard, its fringes ceding ground to gray. He was not the knight he once was, but their ringleader was still a force to be reckoned with. The emerald–one much too large for a simple brigand–he wore around his neck danced in the candlelight.

“Look, an audience with us took a village worth of gold. We’re the professionals here. You want us to steal an oathstone from a wizard’s fortress. I’m simply providing you the just counsel you paid for,” Frederick said, palms up. “It’s also in my best interest to stay alive.”

Granders headed off the Friar’s oncoming retort. “Only one man has ever escaped from those halls, and he just told you this will not work.”

Friar Dibbet dabbed sweat from his bald, jolly brow. “Sirs, please. If we do not stop this wizard, he’ll burn all of Willowshire. I apologize for my tongue, but we’re desperate–”

“Unfortunately, your desperation, despite your decidedly large sack of gold, does not necessitate potential death on our part,” Granders said.

“Sirs, our fields burn, our gold disappears, what remains of our stores rot, and our wells stink. It’s all from the Wizard, all of it. Our Lord Rickard is no help. The rest cower before such power and seek petty favors from our lord. If you don’t succeed, we’ll all burn or starve.”

“Even if what you say is true. An oathstone is no little thing. Tell me Friar, do you even know what you ask?” Frederick eyed the Emerald as he spoke. Judging the Friar’s babbling as ignorance, he continued, “We can break into the fortress. As my colleague said, I am the only apprentice to ever escape there. All we’d need to do is touch that Wizard’s oathstone and their infinite power becomes bound to us. Assuming we defeat his guards, bypass his magic, and locate the stone, what then? We’ll be marked men. Granders, I believe our fee for this job is too low.”

Before the Friar could protest, Granders raised his hand, “thank you Friar, you’ll have our answer within two days.”

Long after the friar was, rather unceremoniously, removed, Granders and Fredrick sat in their darkened tavern, lit only by the remnants of a few candles that curiously never shortened.

“This heist won’t work,” Frederick said.

“Ahh my friend, I disagree.”

“Ohh, enlighten me, please.”

It’s simple, Frederick. You distract, I plunder. Most everyone else fails in robbing wizards because they can’t fight the magic. With you, we hold the sleeved card.

Friar Dibbet returned to Willowshire empty-handed, pausing only to pay Lord Rickard’s toll at its main gatehouse. Against the evening sky, he saw the faint glow of a burning field. He waved to those gaunt denizens he passed, offering a smile and words of encouragement where he could. Alas it wasn’t nearly enough.

Okay. Reasonable…Let’s start with the stone golems. How are you getting past those, Granders?

He found a note hammered to his door in the Rectory. He sighed. All he wanted was sleep, but Lord Rickard summoned all of his ranking subjects to a banquet tonight.

I’ll have muscle, easy. Think your route through the sewers is still open?

Without washing, he wound his way to Willowshire’s keep. Friar Dibbet hoped he’d find a place in the gallery's rear where his stench and shame might go unnoticed.

Almost certainly. From there, I’ll end up in the servants quarters. A pause for a little mayhem magic, and I’ll head skyward via the hidden servants stairwell.

Those damn thieves sent him nothing. A venerable mountain of gold for…silence. If he wasn’t so pious, he’d throw himself from the tower. Or worse…

What’s beyond the golems for me?

A long, well laden table dominated the center of the banquet hall. Rows of benches lined the walls both on the main level and on the gallery above. Friar Dibbet found a place in the back of the lower level besides a hooded man still also road weary. The Friar figured his own stench was less likely to be noticed besides him. No fewer than twelve lords and ladies sat at the banquet table, the collective power of the realm. This was no small affair.

This is where things might get hairy. Last time, it was a fire curse. I’ll need to get to distract the wizard but prefer not to confront him directly in his oculus yet. I think summoning a familiar on the third floor should provide sufficient distraction. You’ll have two minutes at most Granders while the magic cycles.

“All rise for Lord Rickard!”

From there, my men will hit the vaults as a further distraction. I’ll sneak to the Oathstone Sanctum.

“I bring great tidings to all of Willowshire!” Lord Rickard said from his honored place at the head of the table.

He’ll send the spiders to defend the vaults. The Oathstone will have spells. Five minutes and I can be in the Oculus; I’ll have to confront him directly to bring the Sanctum spells down.

“Bring him in!” Lord Rickard commanded and a hush fell over the crowd. Friar Dibbet watched the stranger lean forward.

What if he teleports?

As a squad of guards filed out of the banquet hall, Lord Rickard continued, “terror has plagued our land. Terror that wears heavily on my heart. But today, I, through my own power, have delivered your salvation!”

Powerful magic, but it takes two to open a portal. Hmm, that raises a possibility.

Friar Dibbet, overcome by his current curiosity, watched as the guards escorted the iron-clapped Wizard. His eyes were a clouded white and his lips wavered back and forth as if still uttering a spell.

Then with the Wizard distracted and guards defeated or diverted, I snag the stone. The wizard is neutralized, and we scamper off into the sunset. Only good Friar Dibbet knows who holds the stone. I doubt he’ll talk.

“The wizard is defeated!”

Easy enough?

“Through my own outstanding cunning, I’ve defeated the wizard which preys on us all. Your lands are now safe. I say again, I’ve defeated this wizard!”

Hmm, this is one of your better plans Granders, I’ll admit. You’ve solved everything it seems. Still one issue, one thing that you’re missing…

“And now, with the Wizard defeated, all I ask, from all you assembled lords and ladies, is your loyalty, your allegiance. Such a small ask, for something so large as peace…”

It’s all wrong.

“Cui Bono!”

Friar Dibbet looked around frantically looking for the speaker, as did Lord Rickard and everyone else in the hall.

“Cui Bono!”

It was the hooded man beside him with a very familiar voice. He stepped carefully toward the table, “A phrase I’m certain you have no comprehension of, less because it originates from another realm only accessible to wizards, but more so because it refers to concepts of justice and fairness that, my esteemed lords and ladies, seem in so very short supply in this hall.”

The hooded man hopped up onto the table, sending a leg of ham spiraling away from the Countess Mackenna.

He continued, “indeed. Indeed. It was the flaw in the plan all along. Who benefits indeed from a countryside aflame?”

“Who are you? A Charlatan? A jester?” Lord Rickard said, rising from his throne.

With a twirl, the figure’s hood disappeared and Friar Dibbet gasped, the graying red beard of the warrior unveiled with all of the fury of a proud knight. Around the banquet hall, guards sprang to attention but his simple outstretched arm kept them at bay. “Uhh uhh friends, not yet! Do you not wish to know the truth of your peril?” Granders said to an amused laugh. Lord Rickard sat, an icon of control.

“Fine Jester. Enlighten us all with your infinitely infantile wisdom.” Lord Rickard laughed at his own turn of phase.

The slightest twinge of upturned lip painted the corner of Grander’s beard, and in that motion, Friar Dibbet’s blood pulsed.

“Fire, foes abound while you, my friends, bear the burden. Not you Lord Rickard, but you humble men and women who spend their days toiling in those fields and forges to stock this table.”

At the insult, Lord Rickard rose and drew the gilded knife strapped to his waist. The thing trembled in his arms.

“Yes you who seek refuge even now within these walls. Have you asked what’s happened to your homes?” Granders continued ignoring the knife pointed at him. “Do you ask who’s forced you behind these walls while your homes and crops are stolen?” He tossed a loaf of bread into the crowd.

“SEIZE THIS CHARLATAN!” Lord Rickard bellowed. He slashed his knife frantically through the air, nearly cutting off the Duke of Marrington’s ear.

The guards circled, each one looking from man to man, no one wanting to take the first reaching strike at the bearded man tossing bread into the hungry crowd.

“Salve soldiers. I will go quietly, but before I do, let me ask a single question.”

He pressed the diamond on his necklace, and only Friar Dibbet realized it was not his emerald.

All those assembled went silent, waiting… “Tell us, before I snatched your Oathstone, tell us all: which serpent compelled you to strike the citizens of Willowshire through a series of sickening, dare I say sadistic, spells?”

And it was at that very moment, Lord Rickard noticed the wizard’s eyes were no longer white, but pits of the deepest blue, deeper than any brook or raging river, so deep that he almost missed the wizen finger pointing directly at him.

Almost.

***

Friar Dibbet was again exhausted. The revolt that followed was swift. After all, the wizard could not lie, and many and more came forth to tell of Lord Rickard’s vile persuasions in his grasp for power. He now rotted in the darkest tower cell, which was more than he deserved by the Friar’s estimation. What followed was the hard part. There were homes to be rebuilt, fields to be tended, property to be compensated, and somehow it had fallen on his admittedly unqualified hands to handle. All he desired was his bed; was that such a large ask?

The giant red arrow painted on his door said otherwise.

He sighed, and followed.

Had he looked back, Friar Dibbet would have noticed that the moment he passed, the arrow vanished.

More arrows lead him to a heavy locked door in the Abbey’s cellars. A note was pinned to the old oak by an ornate knife, which he realized was none other than King Rickard’s. The thing alone was worth a farm. Carefully, he pulled the note free.

My Dearest Friar,

Sorry for blowing in and out in such a way, alas we feared you’d be too busy for a goodbye. Within lies our parting gift. Use it wisely.

Your friends

With trembling hands, he peered inside and, as if a dam shattered, tears poured forth.

***

“Took you long enough,” Granders said, taking a bite of an apple plucked promptly upon his release.

“Seven vaults. Who in all hells keeps seven vaults of gold? You know how much energy teleporting took?” Frederick said, snatching the apple and chomping half of it in a single bite. “It’s the greatest bit of magic ever done, I dare say.”

“We’ve done good.”

“Not as good as Friar Dibbet’s, but yes, we have.”

“How do you think he’ll spend all that?”

“A nice wig, I hope.”

“I will hate both of you, won’t I?” The wizen wizard said, his tone betraying his curiosity of what was to come next.

They departed Willowshire just as the sun set.

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A/N:

Scored a nice 5/10 on this one. I'll take it, all things considered. Might do a full breakdown of my entry and feedback at a later date. If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. My best stories can be found below: