Son of a Liche

by J. Zachary Pike

  “But why let it come to that?” interjected Heraldin, stepping forward. “Why not make a deal?”

  “A deal?” said Benny.

  “What’s he doing?” Kaitha hissed in Gorm’s ear.

  “Improvisin’,” Gorm whispered.

  “You’re not in on this?” Jynn looked at the Dwarf in alarm.

  “My life for the doppelganger’s.” Heraldin extended his arms. “Or more accurately, my body.”

  “What?” Gorm and his party chorused in disbelief.

  The doppelganger lurched forward against the goons’ grasp, as if to yell out in protest.

  “Your friends don’t seem to like the idea,” laughed Benny Hookhand. “Besides, I had an agreement with you before, and look how that turned out for me.”

  “This would be different,” said Heraldin. “There’s no contract this time, and that means no escape clause. Even if I could get disarmed again, you could just have your goons make me pick you back up.”

  Benny shook his vessel’s head. “No. I don’t make deals. There’s always a catch. You’re planning something.”

  “What could I be planning?” The bard unbuckled his belt, letting his rapier and supply pouches drop to the floor. “Benny, you said yourself that this whole building could burn and you’d come out on top. I have no other chance to save a friend.”

  “So you say, but I wouldn’t be stuck in this two-bit body if you weren’t such a conniving snake.” Benny gestured at his host body with a derisive scowl.

  “I’ve no weapons, no more tools, and my hands are empty.” The bard displayed his bare palms with an elaborate flourish, ending with his arms straight up above his head like a prisoner’s. “You’ve got the upper hand, Benny, and I’m offering you what we both know you really want.”

  Benny Hookhand thoughtfully scratched at his host’s chin, carving another bloody line down it. “You always were my favorite flesh puppet… But you’re still not the sort to be trusted.”

  Heraldin glanced at the doppelganger. “Sometimes you have to trust people who don’t really deserve it.”

  Heraldin’s double stared at the bard with an inscrutable expression on his face, but he stopped fighting the goon behind him.

  “All right,” said Benny. “We’ll give it a shot. You wield me again, and I let your doppelganger go. But keep those hands up in the air, or my boys there are going to start slitting throats.”

  “Of course.” Heraldin stepped forward, holding his hands above his head.

  “Shouldn’t we stop him?” Laruna whispered.

  “We do, and they’ll kill Gaist for sure,” murmured Gorm. “And Heraldin won’t fare much better, given that the fool left his blade behind.”

  The former assassin holding Benny Hookhand was extending the enchanted weapon to Heraldin now. Its handle was a t-grip formed from great spikes of iron woven together. “You better not try anything funny,” said Benny.

  “There’s nothing left to try,” said Heraldin. He looked at the other adventurers with a final smile for the doppelganger. “Goodbye, my fellows.” With that, he grabbed the handle of the hook.

  Immediately, the Daellish assassin dropped to the floor as though cut down from a hangman’s noose. She gave a choking sob as she scrambled away, but it was overshadowed by the hideous, warped laughter rumbling up from the bard’s throat. “Finally!” shouted Benny Hookhand with Heraldin’s mouth. “Finally, a little closer to my old self!”

  “So ye’ll honor the deal, then?” said Gorm.

  Benny Hookhand cracked his neck and shook out his legs. “Give me a second, here. It takes a moment to—ergh—get used to a new body, you know? But yeah, the doppelganger’s fine to go.”

  The goons gave Heraldin’s impersonator a forceful shove, sending the doppelganger crashing into a pile of crates and crab traps.

  “As for the rest of you, well, you weren’t really part of the bargain,” laughed Benny. “And now the cavalry has arrived.”

  Gorm turned to see a long line of well-armored men and women creeping into the room behind him, brandishing an assortment of wicked looking weapons. Unlike the goons that Gorm and company had already dispatched, these licensed thugs had the right experience and certifications to combat professional heroes.

  “Bones,” swore the Dwarf.

  “Yeah, we’ll get to those eventually,” said Benny, stretching Heraldin’s legs. “But we’re going to start with your skin, fingernails, that sort of thing. It’s going to be slow and… eh?” The crime lord stopped and looked at his left hand with a confused scowl. He was holding a small slip of paper.

  “Thought his hands were empty,” Benny Hookhand said, flipping the paper over.

  The blast from the anti-magic rune sent ripples across reality with a low thrum. The flames around Laruna’s fists winked out. Jynn staggered back, clutching the glove that covered his left hand. Magical weapons wielded by the encroaching thugs flickered and went inert. And Heraldin began to laugh again, though now in his own voice.

  “It’s called sleight of hand you worthless hunk of sharpened scrap!” the bard hollered. Before any of the nearby goons could stop him, he hurled the enchanted hook through the trapdoor in the floor.

  Gritty dove to catch the flying weapon, but he was too late. Benny Hookhand disappeared beneath the burbling Tarapin River with an unceremonious plunk.

  “Ha! Right on ye, lad!” shouted Gorm.

  “Oh, you’re going to regret that,” snarled Gritty, climbing to his knees.

  “I don’t believe so, my friend,” said Heraldin with a confident smirk. “You see, this is the signal.”

  “What are you—” The goon froze mid-sentence, cut off by a series of ominous tearing sounds.

  All eyes turned to the pile of crab traps and fishing gear, where a dark figure was rising like some ancient horror from the grave. He had the ebony skin of an Imperial, and much of it was visible as his muscles had recently burst through the tattered bard’s costume hanging from his chiseled frame. In one hand he held a broken oar, and with the other Gaist wrapped a torn piece of red fabric around his face in place of a red scarf.

  “Oh spug—” Gritty’s swear wasn’t an inspired choice for last words, but the goon didn’t have long to regret them before he was stabbed in the throat with an oar handle and flipped through a window into the rushing river, the oar still protruding from his throat.

  Many within the Heroes’ Guild consider the term “weaponsmaster” to be something of a misnomer. While all agree that anyone worthy of the title must show considerable mastery of a wide arsenal of bladed and blunt implements of death, the defining characteristic of the profession is that its members do not need an actual weapon to kill. Anything is deadly in the hands of a weaponsmaster.

  Gaist charged into the nearest pack of surprised goons with a length of knotted rope in one hand and a small anchor in the other, and put both to work with gruesome effectiveness.

  “I didn’t know that could be done with a rope,” said Gorm.

  “Even if it can, I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t,” said Jynn.

  “We’ve got bigger problems!” shouted Kaitha, loosing an arrow. It ricocheted off the shield of an advancing thug, a massive woman with dark hide armor and a frost-encrusted mace.

  Gorm grinned. “Aye, but they’re the right kind of problems to have,” he said.

  “How so?” hollered Laruna. Magical flames sputtered back to life in her hands.

  “They’re the kind with a straightforward solution!” Gorm launched himself at the nearest foe. His target parried deftly with a wicked falchion, but Gorm slammed his shield into the thug’s side and put the man off-balance. The Dwarf’s next swing cut into his opponent’s side, and the one after that put a definitive end to the thug’s career. Gorm barely had time to pull his axe from the twitching body before the next foe was upon him.

  “My friends, I don’t like to be dramatic—” Heraldin danced out of the path of a thug’s hammer.

  “Could have f
ooled us!” shouted Jynn, throwing a spell at an approaching pair of bola-wielding thugs.

  “Hilarious, I’m sure.” The bard bent backward to dodge a goon’s iron flail. “You may recall that I dropped my gear, and some assistance would be most appreciated.”

  A strangled scream rang out amidst the chaos as Gaist put a fishing net to creative and deadly use. The goon’s corpse hadn’t yet slumped to the floor before the doppelganger was at Heraldin’s side. Without irony, he offered the bard a riverman’s gaff.

  Heraldin sneered down at the gaff. “And what am I supposed to do with that?” he demanded.

  By way of demonstration, Gaist reached out to snag the face of the flail-wielding thug with the thin hook, snapped the struggling man’s neck, and flipped him through the trapdoor and into the river in one fluid motion.

  “Well, we can’t all do that!” snapped Heraldin.

  Gaist wore a hint of a smile as he shrugged. He turned back to face the thug with the hammer just as the man was immolated by an arcing bolt of strange energy.

  “What the blazes was that?” hollered Laruna, hurling a blast of fire at her own opponent, a gnarled woman with one eye and an ensorcelled tower shield.

  “Sinusoidal weaves of fire and lightning.” Jynn pursed his lips as he watched the thug stagger for the trapdoor and hurl himself into the river. “Somewhat effective, but I didn’t expect the fractal helix pattern.”

  “Stop your silly experiments and fight!” The solamancer dodged back to avoid a quick series of sword thrusts, then countered with another ball of flame. The tower shield deflected it easily.

  “I’d say I’m effectively doing both!” snapped Jynn. He hurled another blended weave at the tower shield just as the solamancer loosed her own spell. Jynn’s tiny weave bounced off the shield and into Laruna’s onrushing mass of flames. Surprisingly enough, the omnimancer’s spell split the fireball as a stone splits a river. Half of Laruna’s weave splashed harmlessly against the gnarled thug’s tower shield, but the rest skipped up into a tight arc and rained down on the unfortunate woman’s head. She was blown through the rickety floor in a torrent of raging flames.

  “What did you just do?” yelled Laruna, staring at the charred hole in the floor.

  The omnimancer looked just as surprised. “I think the helix weaves formed a polarized lattice that—!”

  “You messed up my spell,” said Laruna, more shocked than angry.

  “No, I re-wove your spell!” Jynn sounded much happier about it. “Let’s try it again!”

  “That’s going to be difficult,” said Kaitha, loosing an arrow. It caught a goon in the back, and he fell screaming through a window.

  “No, it’s quite simple,” said Jynn. “I think I could rework the lattice to—”

  “She means ye’ve run out of targets.” Gorm pulled his axe from the remains of one of the thugs.

  Jynn and Laruna looked around the wreckage of the room, covered in splintered wood and the mortal remains of Benny’s henchmen. “Ah, so we have,” sighed the omnimancer.

  “But not for long,” added Heraldin. “Listen.”

  Gorm could hear angry shouts in the distance. “More thugs?”

  “Or the bannermen,” said Kaitha. “So, either way…”

  “We should get going.” Gorm turned to Gaist, who—in the fashion of a true professional—had looted a long, black cloak from a fallen thug. With the cape concealing his shredded garments, the weaponsmaster looked almost like his old self again. “Welcome back,” said Gorm. “It’s good to see ye.”

  Gaist set a huge hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, and nodded once.

  “Oh, don’t get all emotional on us now,” Heraldin told the weaponsmaster. “Look, there will be plenty of time for talking and-or stoically glaring later. For now, we need to get out of here.”

  “Soon as we collect our fee.” Gorm bent down and grabbed a coin purse off the corpse of the thug.

  “You want to loot Benny’s henchmen now?” asked Heraldin.

  “Well, we won’t get to do it later,” said Kaitha as she deftly relieved an ex-goon of his Arthly possessions.

  “And it’s been a long while since our last bit of income,” agreed Laruna, pulling a steaming coin bag from some charred remains.

  “Plus, stopping my father will be incredibly difficult,” said Jynn. “There’s bound to be significant expenses.”

  “Yeah, probably more than you can afford!” shouted Burt.

  The Elf snickered as she walked away, the heels of her shoes clicking on the brick streets of Stonewood Summit.

  “Gutter scarg anyway,” Burt muttered, running painted claws through a recently-dyed coif of fur.

  “Hey, now,” said Ginner, a gap-toothed Kobold in a garish pink vest. He lit a cigarette. “No need for that. There’s plenty more here.”

  “Yeah, plenty more gutter scargs,” grumbled Burt. Despite its lofty name, Stonewood Summit was firmly set on the Ridgeward side of Andarun’s sixth tier. The bricks on the streets and in the houses were cheap and crumbling. Most of the street torches were broken or burnt out. Unsavory characters lurked in the few pools of light along the damp road, including the pair of Kobolds.

  Any Elf forced to live down here was scraping at the bottom of Elven society, the kind of immortal that Burt used to turn his nose up at back when he lived at the embassy. Times had changed.

  “Heads up.” Ginner stamped out his cigarette and nodded at a pair of Elven women making their way down the street.

  Burt was already up and dancing. “Hey, miss! Nice purse, miss!” he shouted to the pair.

  “That purse looks a little light!” yelled Ginner.

  “Might look nicer with a little accessory, eh?” said Burt.

  The Elves rolled their eyes, but otherwise ignored the Kobolds.

  “What’s wrong, Miss?” barked Ginner. “We know some good tricks!”

  The flap on the closest Elf’s purse opened, and a Kobold with long rows of brass earrings poked his head out. “Hey, I got a trick for ya!” he growled, and raised a paw in a rude gesture.

  “That the best you can do?” Ginner snarled back. “Why not get a real Kobold, miss?”

  “Your friend has a Kobold, miss!” Burt hollered to the other Elf. “Why not get a matching one?”

  “Hey, maybe there’s a Halfling down in Tenderfoot Lane that needs a way to get rid of table scraps,” yipped the purse Kobold. “You guys could probably do that!”

  The Elf carrying him clucked her tongue and tapped the Kobold on the nose. He gave a placating whine and dove back into her handbag. The Elves continued on their way, quietly talking as though the exchange had never happened.

  “Yeah, all right, keep walking!” Ginner shouted after her.

  Burt couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm for a parting insult. He dropped to sit on the curb. “Did you see those earrings? Are those in now?”

  “They did look fantastic,” Ginner conceded.

  “I can’t wear earrings like that.” Burt shook his head and stared at the brick pavers. “What’s left of my ear is too floppy.”

  “I couldn’t afford earrings like that,” said Ginner.

  “What am I gonna do?” asked Burt. “I mean, I can’t even keep up with mid-tier fashion. And I’m not getting any younger. Plus, look at my ear! It might never heal right! How am I gonna get back to the upper tiers? Bones, how am I gonna eat?”

  Ginner sat down next to him. “We’ll get by,” he said. “It will be tough, but you and me, we can—”

  “Hey!”

  The Kobolds turned to see that the pair of Elves had returned. The woman without a Kobold presented her empty purse. “You in the pink. You want a job or not?”

  “Best of luck, buddy.” Ginner gave Burt a pat on the shoulder before scampering off and jumping into the Elf’s purse.

  “Thanks,” muttered Burt. It was hard to bear Ginner too much ill-will for abandoning him; Burt would have done the same in that position. Bones, h
e had planned on being in that position; Burt had paired up with the older Kobold because he thought he’d look good by comparison. It had been a poor assumption, he reflected as he watched the Elves walk off into the gloom. For a while he sat watching the darkness where they had been, letting the weight of the world press in on him.

  “What am I gonna do?” he wondered aloud, dropping his head into his paws.

  “Well, hopefully wash that dye out of your fur, for starters. Ye look ridiculous.”

  “Gorm?” Burt looked up as the Dwarf stepped into the torchlight, flanked by the old party. “But… But what are all of you doing here?”

  “Searching for you,” said Kaitha.

  “Which took all day, by the way,” said Laruna.

  Burt felt a lump in his throat. “You… you all came back for me?”

  “‘Course we did,” said Gorm.

  “I wouldn’t make Patches wear this otherwise,” added Jynn.

  The wizard stepped aside, and behind him Burt could see Patches padding into the torchlight. Thin leather straps traced dark lines across the dog’s fur, connected to a small saddle on his back.

  “We assumed it would be more comfortable, yes?” said Heraldin.

  Burt leapt up and threw his arms around Patches’ neck. He couldn’t have spoken anyway, and burying his face in the dog’s fur conveniently hid the tears streaming down the Kobold’s muzzle.

  “All right,” said Gorm, giving Burt an uncomfortable pat on the shoulder. “All right, lad. It’s only a saddle.”

  “Yeah.” Burt sniffed as he tried to compose himself. “It just says something, you know?”

  Chapter 25

  “Sometimes I wish you’d say something,” said Heraldin, advancing a bannerman.

  Gaist’s only reply was to advance a knight. Suddenly Heraldin found his last piece under a dual threat.

  “I suppose I should count my blessings,” said the bard with a grimace. He knocked over his king, conceding the match. “If you spoke right now, I’m sure you’d be intolerably smug.”