by Eric Ugland
“Right,” he said, and took a breath. “You are right, my lord.”
“It’s just us here — you don’t need to talk like that.”
“I know it means little to you, from your world and all, but there is some importance to it here, and I think it is better that I am reminded of it time and again.”
“Okay,” I replied with a sigh. I didn’t like it, but I understood it. Sort of. “I think we need to get Harmut down here. Or someone who’s got experience with this shit.”
“You think it’s shit?”
“I meant in the larger figurative sense. Not quite so literally. I’m hoping it’s not shit though. Not sure there’s a lot of difference, but it’s a semantic thing.”
Ragnar stopped and thought for a moment, nodding. “If it’s shit, then something left it behind. Given the size of this fucking tunnel, I hope it’s mud.”
“You feel like getting Harmut or you want me to send a horde of prinkies?” I asked.
“Why not you?”
“Because I’m not sure I can jump out of here, but I know I can throw you out.”
“Weren’t we supposed to be done with throwing me?”
I picked him up and tossed him up through the hole back to where we’d started.
I heard a thud, followed by a bit of a squelch. A furry, glitter-covered face looked back at me.
“Prinkies broke my fall,” he said. “But fuck you all the same.”
“Go get Harmut.”
“Aye-aye, my lord,” he said with enough sass to fuel a middle school.
Then he was gone.
I summoned a bevy of furballs, and set them about pulling all the rocks and whatnot out of the hopefully-not-poop so they might find my magic ring. Then I leaned against the curved wall of the tunnel and tried to think through what might have made the passageway. Was it old? Had it been here when we’d started digging in the mountain? If that was the case, how did the dwarves miss it? If it was new, was the maker going to return at some point in the near future? Would that necessitate a fight?
The tunnel had reasonably regular ridges, set a few yards apart and about a foot deep. And our initial judgement of the tunnel’s size was off a bit; we were looking at the upward edge. At full-bore, it was closer to twenty feet wide. Like Ragnar said: Big. Very big.
I kept my weapons ready, just in case.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the time I heard the none-too-subtle thud of Harmut’s boots on the granite floor, the prinkies had found and returned my magic little ring, which was safely back in my unfillable knapsack, and had a large pile up out of the knee-deep mud containing all sorts of minerals. Some of them gems, some more metallic, none of it stuff I could identify.
The footsteps got closer, then stopped. I looked up and saw Harmut’s bearded face looking down at me. He appeared to have just gone to bed, since he was wearing his nightcap and something I had to imagine were his pajamas. There was a lot of flannel involved. As soon as he realized what he was peering at, his eyes went wide and he shook his head.
“Gods,” he said. “We might have a real problem.”
“Care to elaborate?” I asked.
“You stand in the tunnel left behind from what I have to guess was a banded worm passing through.”
“A banded worm?”
“Aye, and this one is a monster. A true monster.”
I grabbed a gemstone from the pile and tossed it up at Harmut. He caught it and lifted it up to one of the glowstones above him. Then he popped a loupe out of a pocket on his pajama pants and used it to examine the stone in greater detail.
“You have a loupe in your pajamas?” I asked.
“Keep it on me nightstand,” he said, looking at the gem this way and that. “Grabbed it when I was told there was a mystery tunnel to see. And by the look of it…”
He drifted off.
“Like what you see?” I asked.
He was too entranced to respond.
Skeld pushed gently by the dwarven clan leader, and hopped down into the muck below.
“Evening, your grace,” he said. He had his spear out and wore armor. He scooped some of the muck up with his spear butt and gave it a sniff. His snout curled up in disgust.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Doing my best to keep my hirðmaster alive.”
“Did you find Emeline?”
“Tarryn is still working on that. Said he has plenty to research without me bugging him. And I have the feeling you aim to do something stupid here.”
“This is a fantastic stone,” Harmut said. “Not gonna say ’tis flawless, but damn close. A truly fine example.”
“Plenty more,” I said, gesturing at the growing pile.
“That confirms it, then,” Harmut replied. “This definitely be the tunnel of a worm.”
“Any relation to the forest wrym?”
“What do you mean?”
“I fought some forest wyrms recently. Is this guy related?”
“Not sure I know of a forest worm.”
“Big fuckin’ beast, scales, green—”
“Ah, right, I see the problem. They are not related in the slightest, my lord,” Harmut said, looking at me as if I were daft. “That’s a wyrm. This is a worm.”
“Okay, you just said the exact same thing.”
“You fought a wyrm,” Skeld interjected. “Roll your tongue more: Wer-rum.”
“The banded worm is not a wyrm,” Harmut continued, “rather, it is something more, perhaps earth-bound. The forest wyrm is a creature of this plane. It was born here, became what it is here. Related to dragons. If the legends are true, the banded worm, and others of its ilk, are native to an elemental plane. One of earth and rock. The banded worm is only called such because it moves through earth similar to the way an actual worm does. Eating its way. This muck is its, well, excrement.”
“Shit,” I said. “Had to be shit.”
“Yes, my lord, shit. But it does have certain peculiar qualities.”
“How about you tell me these qualities while we take a little stroll.”
“Through the tunnel?”
“That’s the plan.”
“After the worm?”
“We got a fifty-fifty chance of not coming on the worm.”
“Pretty decent odds where Montana’s concerned,” Ragnar said, carefully climbing down so as to avoid another face-plant into the muck.
“I am not the warrior you are, duke,” Harmut said.
“I mean, no offense, but I don’t want you along for your fighting skills. I need your knowledge.”
“If we come upon the beast, everyone with you will be forced to fight. The size of this creature is beyond compare—”
“Bigger than a wyrm matriarch?”
“Possibly. I cannot tell you the length of the banded worm, but the width of the worm is evident. If I come with you, I will be a liability. I am not a warrior. I am of half a mind to ask you to wait, to hold off until Wian or Nikolai can get a band of soldiers together to take this problem on.”
“Only half a mind?”
“The other half is wondering what will happen if we do not kill the banded worm and it comes back and smells all the food through this handy hole here.”
“Good sense of smell?”
“Lord Coggeshall, understand that most of what I tell you now is from books, legends, and the tales of old dwarves. I have never encountered one of these creatures before, nor has any member of my clan. But the banded worm supposedly has very poor eyesight. It makes up for this by possessing an excellent sense of smell and an ability to sense vibrations.”
“Like tremorsense?”
“I believe it is a variety of tremorsense, my lord. And they are known to fancy meat as a meal, though I am not sure they require flesh to survive. There have been few brave enough to study banded worms. There is no doubt in my mind that should this opening remain, the worm will return here in due time.”
“And if we seal it up
?”
“It will eat through whatever we attempt to seal this passage with, and then proceed to eat us.”
“So what do dwarven clans do when one of these beasts is encountered?”
“Fight, move, or die.”
You have been offered a quest by the holding of Coggeshall:
Fight, Move, or Die
A banded worm has discovered your home. It will likely return and eat any organic matter it finds inside, which currently includes all of your followers. Either move your followers to a new safe home, or destroy the worm.
Reward for success: XP, Morale bonus, (unknown)
Penalty for failure (or refusal): Destruction and dissolution of the Coggeshall Dukedom
Yes/No
“I’d really hate to move,” I said, accepting the quest, “I just got my bedroom set up.”
He smiled at me. “Then the sooner you get heading down the tunnel, the better.”
“Any tips on killing the worm?”
“Like I said, not much has been done on the study of the beasts. Dwarves of the past have relied on sharp steel and brave souls.”
“Stab him till he’s dead?”
“Likely a recipe for success, my lord. Also, if’n you do not mind, perhaps you might leave me some of your furry little helpers to get as much of this muck as we can.”
“Why would you want all this shit?”
“Because it grows rock.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“My lord, ’tis a complicated conversation to have, and I would prefer you kill the worm further from here than closer.”
“Fair point.”
I summoned all the prinkies I could, and bade them obey Harmut. Then I asked the dwarf, “You know which way the worm went?”
He leaned into the worm tunnel, then looked one direction and then the other.
“That way,” he pointed.
“Why?”
“You can see the tooth marks on the stone.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ragnar, Skeld and I marched slowly through the muck. Every once in a while, one of the lutra would step on something hard, trip a bit. The first few times, we’d stop, pick up the rock, try to figure out what it was. We found more gemstones, which was exciting, and bits of pure metal, which was cool, but it definitely stopped being fun the after the twentieth find. Our boots were just simple leather things, so stepping on hard rocks hurt.
“Question,” Ragnar said while Skeld threw a large chunk of metal over his shoulder.
“Go,” I said.
“When are you going to use your hirð points?”
“Excuse me? My what?”
“Hirð points. The points we all earn by doing cool stuff while in your hirð.”
“I didn’t know those were a thing. I suppose the next time I’m somewhere safe and I can look at them. Can I lose them?”
“Haven’t seen any disappear so far,” Skeld added. “They seem to be accruing.”
“Well why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me about it?” I asked, feeling my face flush and anger start to dance about my emotions.
“Just figured you were waiting on something,” Ragnar said. “Plus, it’s hard to keep track of what you know and don’t know.”
“There seems to be a lot I don’t know. How do you guys know all this?”
“This is the sort of stuff you learn just growing up here,” Ragnar said.
Made sense. This was part of their life, so lots of it would be innate knowledge gained from years of exposure to it. Listening to adults talk about levels and stats over dinner. Educational systems had to have some of this included, just as we would have classes focused on physical sciences, there’d naturally be whole studies devoted to abilities.
“Nikolai has been on me to work on using my abilities and stuff more,” I said.
“Probably be pretty useful,” Skeld piped up.
Ragnar stopped to pull a stone out of his boot. Then he added: “You do seem to collect them rather quickly. Is there anything to get through this horrible tunnel quicker?”
“No,” I said, “unless you’d like me to serenade you with the ballads of my land.”
“I thought we were your allies.”
“Fuck you,” I replied with a smile.
A momentary lapse for humor in the dark tunnel, and then we were moving again. Step by step through the muck and murk. Even with my darkvision, there was something distressing about the place. The monotony of it all, the resolute sameness, it had a way of breaking down my mind. It was impossible to really tell how long we’d been walking, or even how long we had yet to go. I had a strong sense of the path we had taken, but not the distance. It was a long way. We had been walking a while. But there were no specifics I could give. The tunnel headed down occasionally, and angled up at other points. It didn’t seem to do much veering left or right. But never any sharp turns. This worm, whoever it was, whatever its intensions, it certainly had a direction it wanted to go.
“Is there a Lutra language?” I asked to break the tedium.
“Sure,” Ragnar said. “You feel like hearing some of it?”
“I’d love to,” I said.
Ragnar made a quick quip over to Skeld. Skeld laughed.
“Oh,” I replied, in perfect Lutra, “your mother know you speak like that?”
Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Lutra.
Both Lutra stopped and gave me a look. The one where they were sure I’d run out of surprises, and yet, here I was surprising them.
“When did you—” Ragnar started.
“How did you—” Skeld asked.
“Tricks of the trade,” I replied.
Skeld’s eyes immediately glazed over. I could tell he was reading something. “Motherfucker,” he said.
“What?” Ragnar said, even as his eyes glazed over and he started to read. “Well fuck me. Listen to three words and you know the language? How do you like that shit?”
“Seems cheat-y,” Skeld said, resuming his march.
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied. “But now we can talk in Lutra when we want.”
“Not exactly a subtle exchange, is it,” Ragnar. “Plus, being as you’re kind of the shiny example, there are plenty of ways around language in Vuldranni.”
“How many languages do you speak?” I asked.
“Lutra, Imperial Common, Agachnern.”
Skeld nodded. “Pretty much the same, but I have studied some Elven.”
“I didn’t realize there were so many languages in the Empire,” I said.
“Plenty of ‘em,” Ragnar replied. “There’s a reason some long-dead emperor decided there needed to be a common language.”
“How far has the common language spread?”
“Imperial Common?” Skeld asked. “No idea. Probably as far as the Emperor’s coin has spread. Not sure you noticed, but the Imperials prefer to do everything the Imperial way. So if you want to trade with the Empire, you better speak Imperial.”
“Clearly not something you need to worry about,” Ragnar interjected, “seeing how you can just speak any language you damn well please.”
“I was just curious,” I said. “I’d like to get a larger picture of the world.”
“Asking the wrong otters,” Skeld said.
“I know plenty,” Ragnar countered.
“Not this again. You know what you overheard at the tavern.”
“The tavern is the centerpiece of life in the Empire.”
“Not the tavern in Saumiers. That’s the centerpiece of drunks and liars.”
“How would you know? You weren’t there.”
“I know who was there.”
“Besides me?”
“Shut up you two,” I said. “I think I hear something.”
Something echoed down the tunnel in front of us. A low sort of rumbling, with the occasional sharp crack. It was a sound I’d never heard before, but it made me think we’d probably come close to our quarry. Both Lutra crouched, weapons out.
We moved slower, sliding our feet along so we didn’t make the loud sucking noises that came with pulling them all the way clear of the muck. The muck had grown increasingly viscous, and the acrid smell coming off it more pungent. If I had to make a guess, it was another sign we were getting closer. Fresh worm poop. Or slime. Poop slime. The thought made my stomach turn.
The tunnel made a sharp angle upward, and the incline let the poopmuck flow down in slow waves. I pushed forward, until I could see up the hill. It went up about five hundred feet, until my view was blocked by what had to be the butt of the banded worm. It was big. Really big. All I could see was that butt. The tunnel was completely taken up by worm’s bulk. I could just barely make out the bands around the worm, so I sort of understood where the name might have come from, but the colors were basically impossible to detect with my darkvision.
“Plan?” Ragnar whispered, so close to my ear I felt his whiskers dance across my cheek.
I shrugged, and mimed moving closer.
He nodded.
I pointed to the muck, and did my best to indicate that we should stay within the muck boundary. I was hoping the liquid might hide our vibrations.
It seemed like an excellent plan in my head.
But as per usual, reality wasn’t quite as clean.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skeld slipped first. He took Ragnar out on the way down. Since both of them were holding spears and wearing armor, it was not quiet.
But the worm’s movements didn’t seem to change much. The butt had a large spike surrounded by other lesser spikes. Closer up, I could tell that the two colors of the worm were due to two different materials. The darker color didn’t have the same flex and move as the lighter bands. There were small spikes all over the both colors, which I guessed were part of the creature’s locomotion process. But the spikes on the more flexible segments seemed longer and more mobile, and I had a feeling those longer spikes were the worm’s main method of motion. What the little spikes were for, no idea. How the worm made the tunnel though, I wasn’t quite clear on. Harmut had said the marks on the stone walls were a result of the worm’s teeth, and it certainly seemed like the thing was eating rock, given the rather prodigious expulsion of poopslimemuck out its backside. But there wasn’t one exit hole, it seemed more like the creature oozed it from a variety of places. I wondered if it had a lubricating property for the worm, if it was part of the way the creature managed to move through rock.