The crimson witch

Tree.”
        “I won't move,” Kaliglia said.
        Jake entered the pub, his Thob sword banging against his thigh where he had it rammed through his belt in a makeshift sheath. The main room was octagon shaped, though the exterior of the place did not show this, Jake thought that, in those places where space appeared to be wasted by not having the interior conform to exterior, there would be private rooms where gambling and sexual tete-a-tetes could be held in discretion. This main room, however, was not secretive in any way. It was open and full of randomly scattered tables, most empty at this hour. Against the back wall was the bar, and behind that were kegs and barrels, bottles and crocks on a shelf that ran the entire length of the establishment.
        The two patrons and bartender looked up as he came in.
        The tapkeeper, behind the bar, was a burly man in rolled shirtsleeves and a colorful yellow and orange gypsy headband. He was washing out a row of mugs and drying them, setting the cleaned pieces on the shelf with the kegs and bottles. All three men turned to stare at Jake as he crossed the room, the Thob sword still banging against his thigh.
        “What can I do for you?” the bartender asked, stopping his dishwashing.
        “I'm in need of a little information.”
        One of the two patrons raised his eyebrows knowingly, as if all who asked for information of a pub-keeper were either miserably poor or up to no good whatsoever.
        “What's that?” the burly pubkeeper asked.
        “I'm looking for the Great Tree.”
        “And Mordoth?” the bartender asked.
        “Yes.”
        The three men turned to stare openly at him.
        “What do you want with him?” one of the patrons asked, a skinny man with a bushy yellow mustache.
        “I believe that's my business,” Jake said.
        The mustached man stood and took a step toward him, the second patron standing behind. Jake touched his hand to the hilt of the Thob sword, and both men froze.
        “Calm down now,” the bartender said, picking up a glass and polishing it in an attempt to look nonchalant.
        “I am calm,” Jake said. “It's these two that want trouble.”
        “Luke, Fed, sit down,” the bartender said.
        The two men hesitated but finally sat. They looked ready to pounce.
        “Now what did I say wrong?” Jake asked, still letting his hand play over the sword hilt.
        “Look,” the bartender said, leaning over the counter, resting elbows and thick arms on the polished wood surface, “Mordoth is important to us. You understand. He heals the sick people in town. We haven't had a death from sickness since he's been here. It's old age and accidents that claim us now. For the farmers out on the edge of town, he makes the crops grow. We'd be very upset if anything happened to Mordoth. And now you come in with a sword-a Thob sword yet-swinging at your side, asking questions. Maybe if you explained yourself-”
        “I-I need help to retrieve a prisoner.”
        “What?”
        “King Lelar has taken a young witch prisoner, and I mean to take her back. I was told Mordoth would help me.”
        “You were told?” the bartender said.
        “Yes.”
        “By whom?”
        “Yeah,” the man with the yellow mustache snapped. “By whom?”
        “I don't see where that is any of your business. I mean Mordoth no harm, and I-”
         Thunk! A dagger sunk into the table next to where Jake was standing, quivered in the wood and hummed like a tuning fork. He looked up, his stomach suddenly flopping over and over like a fish out of water. The bartender had put down his rags and had withdrawn a set of knives from under the counter. He held another dagger in his hand, weighted in his palm and ready to throw. “I can get you,” he said matter-of-factly, “before you have that sword drawn,”
        He took his hand away from his hilt and held both arms out to his side to show that he did not intend to argue. He was perspiring, and it wasn't particularly that hot. “What do you want?”
        “Just to know who told you to come to Mordoth,” the mustached man said.
        He hesitated. If they knew that a Talented in the employ of King Lelar had sent him, what would be their reaction? They were trying to protect Mordoth, after all. Wouldn't that other dagger come lightning quick across the counter and bury itself up to the hilt in his