The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  “Pretty good,” said Mercer. “All things considered. How about you? Getting a little round about the middle.”

  Baron Narsul circled the table and chucked Mercer on the shoulder. “What can I say? The man tits of easy living. You look like you spent the last month sleeping in a ditch.”

  “That’s not far off,” Mercer told him. “We’ve been a week on the road and it rained most of the way.”

  “I’ll see that you get rooms and a hot bath,” Narsul said. He shook Drake’s hand and then turned to Trix. “You’re still hanging out with these two scamps?”

  She smiled. “Just until I can find a rich baron who will make an honest woman out of me.”

  Narsul’s eyes crinkled in a smile and then he turned those eyes on Allison. He said, “You must be new.”

  “How did you know?” Allison said, shaking his hand.

  He shrugged. “Once you’ve been playing for a while, you learn to spot newbies. Got a name yet?”

  Allison shook her head and felt her ears turn red. Everyone but her had a cool Realm name. It marked them as true players, part of an elite club. She was just Allison, an outsider looking in. She hadn’t known anything about Realm names before she entered the game, or the culture and lingo; she had only been interested in the ten million dollars. But now she wanted a name. She felt like she needed one. Without it, she felt naked.

  “Well, hang out with these three long enough and you’ll end up with a fitting moniker,” said Narsul. “If you live long enough that is.”

  “Don’t freak her out,” Trix told him. “She’s green.”

  Mercer said, “Heard about your cave-in. How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” Narsul told him. He waved them over to the maps. “We’re still taking stock, but we’ve lost several hundred feet of tunnel, over two hundred buildings, and we still don’t know how many people. It’s hard to get an accurate count under the best of circumstances. People come and go. Lot of folks picked up and fled shortly after the cave-in, fearing the whole city would come crashing down; more are displaced. Worse, we’ve got people trapped.”

  Allison covered her mouth with a hand.

  “How many?” Mercer asked.

  Narsul shrugged. “Difficult to say. Could be one, could be dozens. We really don’t know.”

  “How long before you can dig them out?” Trix wanted to know.

  “That’s the damnable thing about it,” said Narsul. “I’m not sure we can. Not without risking another cave-in. We can hear them knocking, but we can’t get to them.”

  “You’re just going to leave them?” Allison asked.

  A pained look crossed Narsul’s face. “Not if we can help it, but first I have to look to the safety of the men and women aboveground. We’ve got over two hundred thousand people who live here. Another cave-in could wipe out all of Thunderside. One of my best geologists, the man I’d be looking to for advice, is missing. He’s either buried under the rubble or trapped.”

  An idea occurred to him and Narsul turned to Drake. “Could you give us an idea how far back our trapped miners are and how many of them are in there?”

  Drake leaned on his staff and his face curled like he had sniffed something foul. He said, “You’re asking for a lot of magic.”

  “I’m giving you food and lodging,” Narsul pointed out. “Something you won’t find anywhere else in the city.”

  “And fresh mounts,” Drake said.

  Narsul nodded. “Done.”

  “It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick.”

  “Whatever it takes,” said Narsul. He waved to the routine of men still hovering around the table. “Let one of my men know if you need anything to work your spell.”

  Drake went to a window and peered down at the destruction. “I’ll need a crystal roughly the size of my fist and a quiet place to concentrate.”

  Baron Narsul turned to his routine still huddled over the maps. “Send runners to every shop in the city. Pay any price.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Baron Narsul had rooms prepared for them in the royal residence and a dinner was served shortly after sundown. Allison was invited to a long banquet hall lit with candelabras. A stout, dark wood table was laid with dishes piled high with food and tankards of wine. The windows had been shuttered to keep out the dust from the cave-in, and the only light came from the dancing flames of the spitting candles.

  “You’ll have to excuse the meager portions,” Narsul said as they sat down to eat. “There’s little enough to go around these days. Fully half our storehouses are empty. I’m not sure how we’ll get through winter.”

  “It looks delicious,” said Allison as she eyed a large game bird garnished with rosemary and thyme.

  “After weeks on the road,” Mercer said, “we’d have been happy with warm bread and strong ale. This is a feast.”

  “Help yourselves.” Narsul waved to the spread.

  Allison filled her plate with candied sweet potatoes and a leg of roasted hen. Her mouth watered at the smell of the fresh meat and her stomach gave a loud rattle.

  Narsul sat at the head of the table, picking at a plate of food and favoring the wine. He didn’t have much appetite. Mercer sat next to him, gnawing on a leg with a goblet of wine in his other hand. He had already stripped the meat down to the bone. It was like watching a wild animal eating a kill. Trix was more reserved, but she still attacked the food. Drake was the only one not present. The baron’s routine had scoured the city, found an appropriate crystal, and the mage was currently shut up inside the highest tower.

  Two of Narsul’s advisors were in attendance, sitting at the far end of the long table conferring quietly among themselves. They ate little and drank less, absorbed in the work of digging out the survivors and rebuilding.

  “What news do you hear out of the north?” Mercer asked around a mouthful of food.

  Narsul downed his goblet and poured more. “All bad,” he said. “The war is heating up and Baron Kriss will be hard-pressed to hold back the tide. I was about to send a regiment of men to help in the war effort before the cave-in. Now . . .” He spread his hands. “I need every able body to help with the rescue and rebuilding process.”

  “What war?” Allison asked.

  Narsul cocked an eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “We came to Tanthus out of the Old Forest and from there we travelled north,” Mercer told him. “It’s been weeks since we’ve heard any news at all.”

  “The Order of Magi broke away from Baron Kriss, taking a full third of her forces with them,” Narsul said.

  Mercer put his goblet down with a bang and Trix dropped her fork.

  “What caused the fraction?” Mercer asked.

  Narsul shook his head. “No one knows for sure,” he admitted. “What we do know is that the magi left and took a large part of Baron Kriss’ army with them. Reports say the magi have taken over the old watchtower north of Frosthold Pass. No one knows what they are up to, but I’d bet my hat it’s nothing good.”

  Trix scowled. “If the magi are holding up in the watchtower, who’s at war with Redgate?”

  “The tribes of the norther planes,” Baron Narsul said. “With nearly half of Kriss’ army gone, the Ravegers have banded together under the leadership of a radical called Sandman. He united the tribes and marched south. They made it as far as the GreenSward before Kriss’ forces managed to stop them. Sandman means to take advantage of the situation and force a path south. From what I hear, Kriss is barely holding out. She’s called on any and all magic users to aid her in battle, and she’s paying top dollar. I thought that you lot were headed north to join the fight.”

  “Who are these Ravagers?” Allison asked.

  Mercer said, “Tribes of savages who control the Wild Wastes north of the Pass. They pay allegiance only to themselves and renounce the Real.”

  Allison’s brow wrinkled. “How’s that different from any of you?”

  Trix said, “These guys haven’t just che
cked out of reality, they think the Realms is reality, and the Real is an illusion, but that’s not what makes them dangerous. They despise the open market economy created in the south and want to return the Realms to their original, unaltered state—namely, survival of the fittest. No baronies, no markets, just kill or be killed and live off the land. Nature at its finest.”

  “And now they’re trying to take over the south?” Allison said.

  “They’re trying to destroy it,” Baron Narsul corrected.

  Mercer dropped a greasy bone onto his plate and scooped up his wine goblet. “If they overwhelm Redgate, they’ll sweep south like a plague, killing and destroying every hamlet they pass. They’re like locust.”

  Narsul quaffed wine, swallowed, and muttered, “The bastards.”

  Mercer frowned and stared at his empty plate with a thoughtful expression.

  Allison said, “You aren’t thinking of joining the battle? You promised to help me.”

  “Don’t blow a gasket,” said Mercer. “I’m just concerned.”

  “About what?” asked Allison.

  “Let it go,” Trix cautioned.

  Baron Narsul said, “Why are you here if you didn’t come to fight the Ravagers?”

  “I’ve got an idea where the prize money is,” Allison told him. “Mercer and his friends are helping me find it.”

  Trix closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

  Mercer gave Allison a hard look and turned his head a fraction. The movement was so slight, Allison was hardly sure she had seen it.

  Narsul’s eyebrows went up. He sat back and inspected Allison with a long, searching glance. A smile turned up one side of his face. “Think you know where the money is do you?”

  Trix kicked her under the table and Allison hissed in pain. Trix and Mercer kept their faces carefully neutral. Allison picked up her fork and speared potatoes. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Baron Narsul gave a laugh. “Everyone has an idea about that money. People been searching for six months solid and no one’s found it yet. What makes you think you’re any different?”

  Allison shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

  Narsul’s eyes went from Allison, to Mercer, then Trix and back again. He said, “Where do you think it is?”

  Allison cleared her throat. She looked at the baron and tried to think up a lie. But what would she say? She didn’t know anything about the Savage Lands and certainly didn’t have any other place names she could offer up. She groped for words.

  “The canyons,” Trix supplied. “She thinks it’s in the Coldfire Canyons.”

  Narsul nodded slowly. He picked up a goblet and swirled the wine around inside the cup. “Have to have been a hundred adventurers through those canyons since they announced the prize money,” he said. “No one’s found it yet.”

  “Yeah, well,” Mercer said. “Can’t hurt to take another look.”

  They sat in uncomfortable silence. Even the baron’s advisers had fallen quiet. They sat at the far end of the table listening to the exchange. Narsul used his tongue to dislodge food stuck in his teeth. At last he picked up his goblet and said, “Hope springs eternal. Good luck!”

  They raised their wine and the advisers returned to their whispered snatches of conversations. The rest of dinner was a muted affair.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  After dinner, Allison had the luxury of a hot bath for the first time in days. A servant escorted her to a small windowless chamber with a drain set in the floor and a copper tub filled with steaming water. Boiling vats provided heat, and the vast system of waterwheels delivered an intricate system of plumbing throughout the city.

  “Ring the bell if you need anything,” the servant said before withdrawing.

  Allison found everything she needed on a silver tray next to the tub; there was a bar of soap, a sea sponge, a straight razor, and a thick cotton towel for when she finished. She stripped out of her riding clothes and tested the water. It was piping hot. Allison put one leg over the rim, then the other, and slid into the steamy embrace. The water came up to her neck. She rested her head against the rim, closed her eyes, and sighed. The warmth felt great, and after a while, the knots in her back started to relax. She reached for a small bottle on the service tray, uncorked it, and sniffed. The sharp scent of rock salt filled her nostrils and Allison tipped some into the water, listening to the fizzle.

  She took her time, shaved her legs and underarms, scrubbed every inch of her body with soap, and then relaxed until the water started to cool. When it was too cold to stand any longer, Allison got out, toweled off, dressed, and made her way back to her room.

  The lamps were low and the windows shuttered. Allison was getting ready for bed when she was hit by the idea that her belongings had been rifled while she was gone. A shiver crawled up her back. Everything was there, nothing stolen, but several of her things were out of place. A buckle on her careworn pack which she had left open was now clasped, and her second pair of socks was at the top of her bag. Allison knew for a fact those socks had been all the way at the bottom. She only had two pair and she was going to change them after breakfast, day before yesterday, but Mercer had been ready to ride and she didn’t have time to dig them out.

  A breeze rattled the shutters and the lantern danced, threatening to go out. Allison glanced around the dimly lit chamber like she expected an assassin to leap from the shadows.

  Who would go through her stuff and why?

  She bit her bottom lip and considered the implications. Certainly, Baron Narsul would not steal from her. He was the Baron of Thunderside, with his own private ByteCoin mines. What could she have that he would possibly want? Nothing, Allison decided. That left a burglar. But how likely was that? Could a thief have snuck into the house, past all of Narsul’s guards? That didn’t seem any more plausible. If a rogue had managed to break in, then he might still be skulking around in the shadows, waiting. Allison, her hair hanging around her shoulders in damp tangles, felt another icy finger trace up her spine. She peered into the pressing shadows gathering in the corners of the chamber and then, slowly, bent down and peered under the bed. Nothing but darkness and dust bunnies.

  Allison straightened up and then went to the door. She peeked to be sure it was empty, then slipped out of the bed chamber and along the corridor. She had to choose between Mercer and Trix. Their doors were on opposite sides of the hall, facing each other. Allison stood there a moment, trying to make up her mind.

  She felt more comfortable with Trix. After all, Trix was a woman and had saved Allison from pirates, sort of. She was smart, capable, sexually liberated, and she’d been playing the game long enough to take care of herself. Allison had to admit, she was a little bit jealous.

  Mercer, on the other hand, was solid, dependable, and arguably the leader of the group. No one said it out loud, it was just one of those unspoken truths. Every group, whether friends or soldiers, formed a natural hierarchy, and Mercer was indisputably at the top of their social structure.

  After a full minute of silent debate, Allison rapped gently on Mercer’s door and realized, too late, he might not be alone. They had been on the road a full week. In all that time, he and Trix had no alone time. Maybe they had taken this opportunity for a hookup before another long stretch in the wilderness? Allison winced. She was going to be dreadfully embarrassed if they were in there together. She put her ear to the door, listening for the soft slap of skin on skin or moans.

  She heard the soft pad of bare feet on the stone floor and the door opened while Allison was still leaning forward with her head cocked to the side. Mercer stood there in a pair of simple linen trousers, one hand on the door, the other gripping his battle axe. Pale scars crisscrossed his bare chest and shoulders. He’d had a bath as well, and the clean smell of sandalwood tickled Allison’s nose.

  Her ears burned and a nervous smile flicked across her face. She took a step back, cleared her throat, and said, “I’m sorry . . . I was just . . . there was . . . Am I interrupti
ng?”

  Mercer cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder at the empty chamber before saying, “No.”

  “I thought maybe you and . . .” she trailed off, shook her head, and said, “I think someone went through my stuff.”

  “Yeah,” said Mercer. “Someone went through my stuff as well.”

  He stepped aside and motioned her in.

  Trix stood on the other side of the door, her eye to a crack in the aged timbers, peering out into the hall. She was naked with a pair of daggers in her hands and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She had known right away that someone had gone through her saddlebags. She took precautions against tampering by tying strands of hair around the buckles. When she came back from her bath, those small hairs were gone. Her winter gloves, which she always kept rolled and the fingers inside out, were separated, and her scarf was bunched into a ball instead of folded at the bottom of the bag.

  Damn Narsul, she had thought and then heard movement in the hall.

  She snatched a pair of daggers without worrying about clothes and crept to the door on silent feet, holding her breath and straining her ears. What she saw was Allison, standing in the corridor with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Trix narrowed her eyes and waited. Allison summoned up her courage, raised a hand, and then knocked. Then she put her ear to Mercer’s door.

  Little tramp. Trix’s knuckles turned white on the dagger hilts.

  Mercer opened it and Allison stammered out an excuse. Trix couldn’t make out the words through the door, but Mercer stepped back and motioned her inside. A solid lump formed in Trix’s throat. She turned away from the door, tossed her daggers on the bed, and seethed.

  It was bad enough little miss sunshine was going to get the lion’s share of the money, now she wanted Mercer too. Hot tears welled up in Trix’s eyes. She dashed them away with an angry swipe of her hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven