The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

“It was Narsul,” Mercer told her. “Or at least, one of his people. I’d wager they went through all of our bags.”

  He checked the hall, locked the door, leaned his axe against the wall, and motioned Allison to a chair by the window.

  She ignored the chair. She shook her head. “But he’s in charge of the whole city. He has ByteCoin mines,” she said. “Why would he go through our stuff? What do we have that he could possibly want?”

  “The location of the money,” Mercer said. “We have it and Narsul wants it. He was hoping one of us had it written down somewhere.”

  “But why?” Allison asked. “He’s already rich.”

  “Not as rich as you might think,” Mercer said in a quiet voice. He perched himself on a corner of the bed and the wood frame groaned. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Thunderside is a free market Barony. Narsul is in charge because he was elected. He keeps the peace and secures the borders, but he makes his money on taxes, and taxes in Thunderside are low. That’s how Narsul attracts so many workers. People want to live and work here because they get to keep most of what they produce, but Narsul himself lives on a small stipend.” Mercer motioned to the richly appointed bed chamber. “He might have the most impressive house in the city, but it belongs to the people. If they vote him out of office, he’ll be looking for another meal ticket.”

  Allison was nodding along, finally getting the picture. She dropped her voice to a whisper and sat down next to him on the bed. “And with the cave-in, the economy will take a hit.”

  “Bingo,” Mercer whispered. “Whenever there’s a disaster, people want someone to blame. It’s only a matter of days before the finger-pointing starts. People will say the cave-in was a result of mismanagement and, who knows, maybe the resulting impact to the economy is enough that the Thunderside council calls for a vote of no confidence.”

  “Has that happened before?” Allison asked in hushed tones.

  “That’s how Narsul got the job,” Mercer told her. “Before that he was commander of the Thunderside Garrison.”

  “Ten million would make a tidy retirement if he gets voted out of office,” Allison said.

  Mercer nodded.

  “One question,” said Allison. “Why are we whispering?”

  “Because I wouldn’t put it past him to have spies outside our doors,” Mercer told her.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Allison asked.

  Mercer shrugged. “Too early to tell. He’s curious. He can’t be sure we have a line on the money, but he knows we have a good hunch, and he’ll do everything he can to ferret out our secret.”

  Allison groaned and raked a hand through her wet hair. “This is all my fault. I never should have opened my big mouth.”

  Mercer didn’t respond.

  Allison turned defensive and said, “I thought you trusted him. I thought he was your friend.”

  “Do you have any friends you wouldn’t betray for ten million in e-currency?”

  Allison sat up a little straighter, stuck her chest out, and thrust her chin in the air. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t betray any of my friends for money.”

  Mercer snorted.

  “So cynical,” Allison said. “Would you betray Trix or Drake for ten million?”

  “They’d both betray me for a lot less,” Mercer told her.

  She turned to look at him, alarm in her eyes. “Do you think they will?”

  “Hard to say,” Mercer admitted. “Right now they need you to find the money and me to help find a path north. As we get closer to the goal . . .” He shrugged. “Who knows.”

  A bitter laugh, devoid of humor, worked its way up from Allison’s chest. “These really are savage realms, full of savage people. Isn’t there any honor? Any trust?” She thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “How do I know you won’t cut my throat as soon as we’ve found the money?”

  “I made a promise,” Mercer told her. “I’ll keep it.”

  She got up, like she would to leave, but stood there instead. “I hate this place,” she said in a small voice. “It’s full of ugliness and brutality.”

  Mercer shrugged. “No one is forcing you to stay.”

  “I need the money,” Allison told him. Tears, like iridescent pearls, gathered on her lashes and tumbled down her cheeks. “My father got sick. I had to drop out of college to care for him. Now I have no education and no job. I lost my car, and by now I’ve probably lost my apartment as well.”

  “What are you going to do if you’re wrong?” Mercer asked. “What are you going to do if we don’t find the money?”

  Allison made a helpless sound and plopped back down next to him on the bed. She sniffed and ran a hand under her nose. “I have no idea.”

  Mercer put an arm around her. She felt safe next to him. The scent of his freshly bathed skin invaded her nostrils and lit a tiny spark in her belly. He said, “I hear Thunderside has some open positions in the mining industry.”

  Allison tried not to laugh. A tear-choked snort came out despite her best efforts, and she gave Mercer an elbow to the ribs.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Allison eventually made her way back to her own room, but she didn’t sleep. Mercer didn’t think Narsul would try anything overt, but he wouldn’t rule it out either. With that in mind, Allison lay awake all night, one hand gripping her dagger, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  At breakfast, Narsul smiled and made polite conversation. Allison sat there, eating and pretending everything was normal. This, Allison reflected, must be what it was like to be a politician—exchanging pleasantries over breakfast all the while planning to double-cross the other person.

  After breakfast, Allison took a walk through the city, descending steep stairs cut into the rock and poking her head in the various shops. She intended to take her saddlebags with her, but Mercer had pointed out it was a useless gesture. Narsul now knew that they were carrying the location of the gold in their heads and not on paper. Taking her saddlebags would only look suspicious, and Narsul would realize they were wise to his treachery.

  “But keep this handy”—Mercer handed her a dagger—“and watch your back.”

  Allison stuck to the main boulevards, such as they were. Several people marked her as a newbie despite her dusty riding clothes and dirt-caked boots, and she found herself declining offers of help or directions. At least two of the “helpful citizens” had an unwholesome look about them. Allison supposed they were trying to lead her down a blind alley to rob her, or worse. And one man had propositioned her, offering her two hundred ByteCoin for an hour. When she refused, he offered another hundred and then cursed her for being a tease. But it wasn’t all bad. As she made her way along a busy market thronged with people, a street vendor thrust a kebab under her nose. “Perfect midday snack,” he said.

  The seared beef cubes and peppers smelled delicious, but Allison shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any money.”

  “Free for the pretty lady,” he said. “Welcome to Thunderside.”

  Allison thanked him and continued on, enjoying the kabab and looking at all the things for sale. The absence of modern technology didn’t seem to bother the residents one bit. They harnessed the twin waterfalls for everything from baths and crude elevators to powering bellows for the local metalsmiths, who turned out all manner of delicately crafted silverware, gleaming swords, hand tools, and hair combs. Water also powered looms for weaving colorful tapestries, rugs, and clothing. A water-powered sawmill turned out lumber in mass quantities.

  When Allison climbed the levels back to the baron’s residence at the top of the hill, Drake had finished casting his spells and was recovering from his labors in front of a platter of warm bread and soft brie. He gulped wine from a leather jack, slathered a hunk of bread with cheese, and spoke around a mouthful of food. “There are at least sixty-seven men trapped in the mine.” He stopped to clear his throat. “The tunnel is intact. The cave-in collapsed the mouth of the shaft, but the rest
of the passage is still holding, for now. The miners are working in shifts to clear the blockage, but they’re exhausted and starving. And they’re running out of oxygen. They won’t last long.”

  Narsul stood with his arms folded over his chest and a frown on his face. Mercer and Trix were there as well, along with Narsul’s routine of advisers. The shutters in the great dining hall were thrown open, and a cool breeze carried dust from the collapse into the room. Motes danced and swirled in shafts of sunlight spilling in through the open windows.

  “Sixty-seven,” Narsul said more to himself. He looked at Drake and asked, “If we try to dig them out?”

  Drake only shrugged. “That’s a question for a geologist.”

  “Any idea how thick the blockage is?” Narsul asked.

  “Hard to say for sure,” Drake told him. “This is not an exact science.”

  “Best guess,” the baron said.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen feet of rock.”

  One of the baron’s advisors said, “We could clear that before the end of the day.”

  Narsul nodded, “Or we could collapse the tunnel and cause an even worse catastrophe.” He hooked a chair with his toe, sat down, and propped his chin in his hand.

  “They can simply log back in after they die,” one of the advisors pointed out.

  “How long will that take?” another asked.

  “Starving to death is a slow and painful way to go,” Mercer said. “Some of them may have second thoughts about life in the Realms once they’ve had a taste of dying.”

  “Not to mention the bad publicity,” Trix said.

  A portly advisor with a gleaming bald pate rubbed his chin. “If we try to dig them out and the shaft collapses, it could take the western half of Thunderside with it.”

  Mercer crossed his arms over his chest and his mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown. “It would mean a lot to your governorship if you could save those men.”

  The baron turned his face up to the ceiling, closed his eyes, and gave a long sigh. “We had better try, whatever the cost may be.” Together with his routine, they laid out plans for the excavation. When they had finished and his functionaries hurried off, the baron thanked Drake and offered to put them up another night.

  “It’s the least I can do,” he said with a smile.

  “Very kind,” Mercer said, “but we should be on our way. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

  “It’s just one night,” Baron Narsul said. “Not like anyone has found that money yet. I’m sure it will keep another day or two. Stay. Have a good supper and then I’ll send you on your way in the morning with fresh mounts.”

  Mercer shook his head. “We’ll be moving on, if it’s all the same to you. With or without fresh mounts.”

  An unseen tension hung in the air between the two men. Narsul’s face froze in a false smile. He said, “Makes no difference to me. I’ll have horses saddled and waiting by the time you collect your gear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Mercer feared Narsul would try some treachery, but in the end, they were allowed to leave Thunderside unmolested. A waterwheel lifted the four of them, along with their mounts, to the precipice. The top of the cliff was crowded with low timber houses squatting between the arms of the mighty rushing rivers. The group led their horses along a narrow lane, past stone defense works, and the town gave way to farmland dotted with cottages and fields of golden grain growing tall as Mercer’s shoulder. Patches full of large orange pumpkins marched into the distance. An army of workers were busy with scythes, cutting wheat and bundling it into haystacks. Mercer led the way along a rutted wagon trail which carved a path through the farmland toward a line of grim mountains in the distance. The jagged range stretched across their path like the teeth of a rusty sawblade tipped with snow. In the middle of that impressive vista rose three peaks called the Devil’s Pitchfork.

  They were three hours out from Thunderside. The pleasant farmland had given way to a rambling green countryside and the sun was lowering in the west when they felt a faint tremor shake the ground beneath their horses’ hooves. The animals tossed their heads, stamped the dirt, and whinnied. Allison had to hug her horse’s neck or be thrown. Mercer checked his mount with a sharp yank on the reins and a soothing word.

  He twisted in the saddle and spied a thick plume of dust billowing into the blue sky. His stomach clenched at the sight. The shaft had collapsed after all. No telling how much of Thunderside it had taken with it, and a good portion of the city’s wealth had sunk as well. The shockwaves would ripple through the Realms, affecting every player in the game. Players who were wealthy yesterday found themselves homeless and penniless today. A proud baron might find himself voted out of office, or thrown out, and someone new would take the reins. It was hard to measure the full effects of a disaster like this, but Realm wars had started over less.

  Trix, who had been unusually silent today for no reason that Mercer could ascertain, shook her head. “Poor bastards.”

  Drake agreed with a nod. “At least those miners won’t starve to death down there.”

  “Quick and painless,” Mercer agreed. “That’s something.”

  He shook out the reins and led the group as straight as possible, making for the Devil’s Pitchfork. By the time the sun touched the western horizon, the last hamlets had been left behind and they were winding through a land of somber trees and low hills, crisscrossed by small creeks that bubbled over low rock walls into clear, cold ponds, where they stopped occasionally to water their horses and rest.

  They made camp on the shoulder of a small hill crowned with hardwoods and carpeted in a bed of orange and brown leaves which crunched underfoot. Drake was too exhausted from his labors to erect wards and Mercer didn’t think it was necessary tonight, but he waited at the edge of the tree line, watching their back trail while the sun slowly sank, turning the clouds into a patchwork quilt of vibrant reds and bruised purples. Allison appeared at his side, squinting in the twilight.

  “Maybe we were wrong,” she said. “Maybe Narsul had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was a servant looking to steal money or other valuables.”

  Mercer, standing in the shadow of a large elm, directed her attention to a collection of small, dark specks moving across the mottled landscape several miles south. “What do you see?”

  She narrowed her eyes and her lips formed a strict line. “Riders.”

  “How many?” Mercer asked. His eyes weren’t what they used to be.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Three.”

  Mercer nodded to himself.

  Trix had joined them. “Should we circle around? Try to catch them by surprise while they’re sleeping?”

  Mercer shook his head. “We’ll wait. If we kill them now, they’ll log back in and get word to Narsul. He’ll send another group after us. Besides”—Mercer turned back to their camp and the small fire—“we still have to cross the mountains.”

  “Is it difficult?” Allison asked.

  “Normally no.” Drake fed dead leaves into the fire to watch them blacken and burn. “There’s a saddle between two spurs of the Devil’s Pitchfork called Greensward.”

  “But with the Ravagers at war with Redgate, the pass will be blocked off,” Mercer said as he sat down in front of the fire. “Which means we’ll either have to go over the mountains or under them.”

  “Under them,” Trix said. “That’s funny.”

  Allison brushed dirt and leaves off a flat stone and perched on it. “What’s funny about that?”

  Trix flashed Allison an annoyed look. “There’s a path through the mountains, but it’s a dungeon crawl.”

  “A dungeon crawl?” Allison said. “That doesn’t sound like a day at Disney World.”

  Drake said, “It’s not.”

  “What is a dungeon crawl?” Allison asked.

  Mercer picked up a stick and poked the fire, stirring up the embers. “This is a game, right?”

  “That’s what they tell me, but so far it hasn’
t been much fun.”

  A grin turned up one side of his face. “There are several dungeons in the Realms. They’re typically abandoned castles or underground tunnels, full of monsters.”

  “Monsters?” Allison said. “Like the hodag?”

  Drake said, “You’ll meet far worse beasties on a dungeon crawl.”

  “I’m liking this idea less and less,” said Allison.

  “They’re also full of ByteCoin,” Mercer added.

  Her eyebrows went up.

  “No way,” Trix interjected. “No one has ever made it all the way through Eternal Night.”

  “If no one has made it through, how do you know it passes under the mountains?” Allison asked.

  “We know because there are two entrances to the dungeon,” Mercer explained. “One on the southern slopes of the Devil’s Pitchfork, and another on the northern foothills. They have to connect somewhere.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure?”

  “Adventurers have made it inside and come back out again,” Mercer told her.

  “No one has ever made it all the way through,” Trix pointed out. “It’s an epic level dungeon and one that only fools or mad men attempt.”

  She had turned to look at Mercer when she said fools and put extra emphasis on the word.

  He said, “You may feel differently when you’ve had a taste of the cold atop the Devil’s Pitchfork. It’s already late in the year and winter is coming fast.”

  Drake said, “We have another week in the saddle, at least, before we have to make that call.”

  “Agreed,” said Mercer.

  “Shouldn’t we be worried about this?” Allison said and waved a hand south, referring to the six henchmen riding their back trail.

  Mercer shook his head. “They won’t attack us tonight. They’ll hang back until we’re closer to the prize. With any luck, we’ll lose them on the other side of the mountains.”

  “If we can even find a way,” Trix said as she stretched out on her bedroll and closed her eyes.

  Mercer stared into the fire without speaking. It was a long time before he slept that night. He kept glancing in the direction of the mountains. He couldn’t see those infamous peaks—he could only see as far as the firelight dancing on the hardwoods—but he could feel the presence of the mountains rearing up on the horizon like ancient monoliths that had stood long before the dawn of men and would go on standing after they were all dead and gone. Hard to believe it was all an illusion inside a computer program. The mountains would likely kill them all. Illusion or no, Mercer was not eager to get his first Realm death, but he supposed it had to happen sooner or later. Before now, had he died, he would simply log back in and go on with life—or digital life as the case may be. Now, ten million ByteCoins was on the line and if he died, he would end up back at Tanthus, the group would move on without him, and he’d lose out on the money. He glanced at Allison. She was sleeping on her side, wrapped in a wool blanket with the light of the fire dancing on her pretty face. Did she really know where the money was?