He turned to the hooded figure, whose head was bowed so that the face was completely hidden within the shadows of the vestment.
“For hire? Maybe, for the right price” Luther replied.
There was a heavy thud on the wooden bar top as a leather drawstring bag about the size of Luther’s mighty fist was deposited there.
“Money is no object” rasped the voice from within the darkness of the cowl, barely audible in the crowded marketplace.
Luther eyed the bag, then, wary of thieves, grabbed it and turned his attention back to the robed individual.
“A certain Grand Magus, in a land far from here.”
“You will travel to the farthest of the Western Reaches; there you will go to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. There is a citadel nearby, called Zenith. You will stay a night at the Old Hawk Inn, where you will receive further instructions.”
Luther hefted the weighty bag in his left hand, considering the offer. The bag felt heavy. He loosed the thongs at the top of the bag and peered inside; gold glinted in the sunlight. This would do for a start.
“Your reputation is known, you are known.”
“Why so much gold up front?”
“You will need to buy weapons, those you have will not serve” the voice continued. “You may find something here, perhaps. You will need something quite rare to slay the Magus, ordinary steel will not harm him.”
“He won’t be the first wizard I’ve slain; steel felled them well enough” replied Luther gruffly, pushing the coins around inside the bag with an index finger.
“Whoever they were, they were mere conjurers – charlatans. The blood of an ancient line of sorcerers flows in the veins of the one of whom I speak, far too powerful for common weapons to pierce his flesh – no, you will need something else.”
“Like what?” Luther asked as he looked up from the bag of gold, but the figure was gone.