Her body tensed. Her face contorted in surprise and pain. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand and squeezed.
“Let it pass,” Mercer told her. “That will disinfect the wound. I’ll clean and wrap it. You’ll be good as new.”
She took several deep breaths, causing her small chest to swell and collapse. Mercer dabbed at the cut with a wad of cloth and then wrapped her slender torso in clean linen.
“Will it scar?” Allison asked.
He nodded. “Any scars you take in the Realm will stay with you, but it won’t affect you in the Real.”
“I’ve never been in a fight before.”
“You can’t say that anymore,” Mercer told her. He tied off the bandage and Allison lowered her shirt. Mercer caught her eye and gave her smile. “You did good. Maybe your Realm name should be Bone Killer.”
A weak smile turned up one side of her face. “I’d rather it wasn’t.”
“Boney?” Mercer suggested. “Bones?”
Allison was shaking her head and laughing.
Mercer climbed to his feet and put a hand out. Allison allowed him to help her up and their eyes met again. A blush formed in her cheeks and then the moment was over. She motioned to Mercer’s arm. “We should probably clean and wrap that.”
“No arguments there.”
He leaned against the sarcophagus while Allison tended to his wound. She doused the gash with disinfectant and then started to wrap it. Mercer didn’t flinch when the witch hazel ran through the cut like liquid fire. Pain is relative, and Mercer had experienced a lifetime of it. The sudden sting of disinfectant barely registered. Allison started on the bandage, and then Trix inserted herself.
“I’ll take over,” she said and crowded Allison out of the way. She wound the linen gauze around his forearm and gave it a good hard yank. Mercer’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of showing the hurt. Allison went over to help Drake, and Mercer asked, “What’s gotten into you?”
Trix tied off the bandage with another sharp jerk. “Don’t pretend.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Mercer asked. “Let her bleed out?”
“She’s got a thing for you,” Trix said. “And you’re obviously into her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not blind, Merc.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” Mercer told her, but realized the words weren’t true even as they left his mouth. He had feelings for Allison, he just wasn’t sure what they amounted to. She was young and cute, and good-natured to a fault. She was the type of girl he wanted to meet in real life, but even if he did, he knew she would never be interested in a guy like him. The Savage Realms was no place for someone like Allison, and that made Mercer protective. She was like a kid sister, someone he needed to watch over, and at the same time he wanted to grab hold of her tender body and smother her in kisses. He didn’t tell any of that to Trix. He just said, “You’re imagining things.”
“Whatever.” Trix sniffed.
Mercer was about to say more when they heard a rattle of bones come up the darkened stairs. A cold weight sank into his belly at the sound. His eyes closed and he fetched a heavy sigh. He could fight off the next wave, and maybe one or two after that, but he was wearing down. Sooner or later the endless waves of skeletons would simply overrun him and that would be the end of their quest. If Allison met a grisly death at the hands of the crypt guardians, she might lose her nerve and never log back in, taking her understanding of complicated mathematical algorithms with her.
Mercer pushed off the sarcophagus and picked up his axe. “Trix and I will hold them off, but Drake, you might want to heat up another miracle.”
The caster gripped his staff for support and shook his head slowly. “It will be hours before I can throw even the simplest of spells.”
“Haven’t you got any more potions?” Allison asked.
“Two,” he said, “and even if I drank both it would only give me enough to cast a simple light spell. Who knows when I’ll get a chance to make more. The ingredients don’t exactly grow on trees.”
“Light,” Allison said. “The light! Daybreak!”
Mercer’s eyes went to the crumbling roof and realized the shafts of light pouring in through chinks in the masonry had waxed brighter. The sun had come up while they were fighting, and they hadn’t even noticed the gradual brightening of the tomb. The shadows were receding and dust motes swirled in the pale gray rays filtering through the cracked roof.
Drake put his hand against the door and—feeling only the cold of the lifeless stone, not the deeper chill of the revenant—said, “She’s right. The sun is up.”
By this time the clanking, clattering sound of bones was coming closer and getting louder. Mercer’s heart hammered gently against his chest. If they could move the door in time, they might save themselves a long weary fight. If they didn’t get the stone moved, they might very well be overwhelmed and chopped to bits. He had to die sooner or later, but he sure didn’t want to get chopped into kibbles by rusty swords.
“Pry bar!” he shouted.
Trix herded one of the horses out of her way to get at Mercer’s animal, pulled out a length of black iron with a hooked end from his saddlebags, and tossed it. Mercer caught the tool one handed and wedged the flat end into the narrow gap between the stone slab and the frame. He tightened both hands on the shaft, put his weight into it, and his powerful muscles flexed. Veins stood out on his neck and forearms. His wound broke open and dark blood stained the bandage. The door scraped open an inch, then two. He was moving the door, but not fast enough.
Chapter Forty-Five
Another wave of skeletons had almost reached the top step. Any second now and they would come pouring into the chamber. Then Mercer would have to stop and fight. If they kept coming in waves like before, he might never get the door open.
Trix came to his aid. She gripped the iron bar and added her weight, then Allison joined them. The three of them heaved and grunted, sweat beading on their bodies and their faces turning red. The first grinning skull appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by four more. Rusty swords were gripped in their boney hands. Behind them came the sound of even more. The noise filled the chamber and echoed up from the black stair like the crypt had vomited up the last of its minions in an effort to kill the intruders before they could escape.
“Heave!” Mercer ordered.
The door scraped across the stone floor.
“Heave!”
A little wider.
“HEAVE!”
This time they moved the slab enough that Mercer could fit his body through. He wedged himself into the gap, braced his hands on the door, and strained with all of his considerable strength. In the Real, Mercer could push three hundred and twenty pounds on the bench press. The stone slab easily weighed twice that. More than a dozen skeletons had mounted the stairs and came clanking across the chamber. Mercer took a deep breath and shoved. A low growl escaped his throat. The stone slab swung open with a grinding noise, and Mercer stumbled through into the light, exhausted and dizzy. His world spun.
If this were real life, he would probably have a hernia, but thankfully, so far, Mercer didn’t think it was possible to get a hernia inside the Realms. Regardless, he had just maxed his bench press and maybe set some kind of world record, though nobody would ever know it.
Drake slipped out the door behind him, and then Trix and Allison came spilling out, leading the horses. Two of the skeletons slid through the gap behind the animals, swords whistling through the air. Trix jerked her short swords and trade blows with them, keeping the rest bottlenecked inside the tomb while Drake climbed into the saddle.
Allison’s horse was a decaying corpse drawing flies and there was no time to remove the saddlebags. Mercer grabbed his own mount, swung one leg over the saddle, and then put out a hand to Allison. “Come on.”
She threw a glance at her dead horse and her provisions.
“No time,” Mercer told her. “Come on.”
She reached up and Mercer gripped her forearm. He lifted her up and she came down on the pommel with a yelp. Her eyebrows went up and her mouth opened in a surprised O.
With three deft cuts from her short swords, Trix hacked down two of the skeletons, then turned and vaulted into the saddle. Skeletons came issuing from the open tomb into the dull grey light of the swamp. Mercer, clutching Allison in one arm and holding the reins in the other, wheeled his horse in the direction he thought was north and dug in with his heels. Trix and Drake were close behind. They galloped across the dry ground, along a finger of loamy earth, and then over a series of tussocks. When they stopped to look back, the fog had swallowed any sign of the skeleton army and the ancient tomb.
“Will they follow?” Allison asked.
“Doubtful,” Mercer told her.
They spent the rest of the day in the saddle. Allison rode behind Mercer, her head resting on his broad shoulders and her eyes closed. They picked their way through the swamp, trying to find dry ground and slogging through shallow pools when there was no other choice. Drake was bent nearly double over his saddle horn. Maybe it was the dull green light of the swamp, but the lines in his face looked deeper and he had bags under his eyes. He revived some by midday. He kept lifting his beard for a peek at the fresh streak of white and his face would curdle. Even the horses were tired. They walked with plodding hooves and sagging heads.
By the time the sun was lowering in the west, the boggy green pools gave way to solid ground and the fog broke up into patches laying in divots and hugging the roots of twisted alder trees. The ground began to climb again and in the far distance, lit by a twilight glow, stretched a vast range of majestic peaks, larger and more magnificent than any Allison had ever seen in the Real. The sight took her breath away and caused her to crane up in the saddle for a better look.
“Quite a sight,” said Mercer. “Isn’t it?”
Allison could only nod in silent agreement.
Half an hour later they were riding at an easy pace across a sparse wilderness dotted with scattered hardwoods when Mercer pulled rein and thrust his chin at a high shoulder of rocky ground crowned with trees. The last of the light was slowly leeching from the sky, stars were out, and between the smooth trunks, they spied the flicker of a campfire.
“I was hoping we had lost our tail when we got sidetracked in the tombs,” Mercer said.
“We don’t know it’s them,” Trix said. “Could be travelers.”
“It’s them,” Mercer said.
“How can you be sure?” Allison said.
“They’re camped on a hill of land that overlooks the road leading out of the swamp,” Mercer said.
Drake said, “That doesn’t rule out travelers.”
Mercer turned his horse toward the hill and shook out the reins.
“What are you doing?” Allison asked.
“If they haven’t spotted us already, they will soon enough; there’s no place to hide in this land,” Mercer said. “Might as well go over and introduce ourselves. Give us a chance to size up the competition.”
“So we’re just going to ride up and say hello?” Allison asked.
Mercer nodded. Drake and Trix spurred their mounts and fell in beside him. None of them seemed particularly concerned at the idea of riding into a camp of men sent to kill them. Allison said, “Won’t they attack us?”
“Maybe,” said Mercer. “If they do, at least it will be done and over with, but I suspect they’ll wait until we’ve got that money in hand. All the same, sleep with one eye open.”
“Great,” Allison said to nobody but herself. “This is a great plan. What could go wrong?”
Twenty minutes later, the horses were climbing the west bank of the hillside. Light from the fire blazed on a canopy of autumn leaves and stars wheeled in the black vault of heaven. A scout stood with his shoulder against one of the tree trunks. He was silhouetted by the light of the fire, but hailed them with a wave as they got closer. Allison was gripping Mercer’s chain mail shirt and he said, “If it comes to a fight, don’t grab my arms. I’ll need those. Hold onto my waist and don’t let go.”
He felt her hands slip around his belly and tremble with nerves.
They reined in twenty paces out, well within bow shot, but far enough they could turn and gallop away at the first sign of trouble. The man pushed away from the tree and took a few strides in their direction. The moonlight fell on his features, and Mercer recognized Hardin’s swarthy face.
He nodded in greeting. “Hardin. Saw your fire. Thought we’d ride over and say hello.”
“Mercer,” he said and returned the nod. His lips spread in a smile, showing small yellow teeth sticking out of diseased gums. “Fancy meeting you here. Seems we just keep running into each other.”
Drake said, “Hell of a coincidence.”
Hardin ignored that and said, “Who’s the newbie?”
“We call her Cinder,” Mercer said. “She’s turning out to be quite the caster. Got a real knack for fire spells. Isn’t that right, Drake?”
“Trained her myself.” Drake agreed with a nod.
Hardin thought that over and hitched up a shoulder. “Must be talented.”
Mercer said, “We’re making camp for the night and there’s safety in numbers.”
Hardin stood there for a moment. His beady eyes narrowed, like he was looking for some hidden treachery in Mercer’s words, and the lines around his mouth tightened. At last he said, “Yeah, sure, okay. Can’t see why not.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Hardin and his crew had made camp atop the hill and tucked their fire under a small rock shelf. Sparrow and Kid Creole were there as well. The light from their cook fire would be shielded from the main road by a stand of thick trees growing close together. It was a nice little spot to watch the highway without being seen. Too bad Mercer and his group had come out of the swamps two miles west of the road. If they had been on the main highway, they might have ridden right past Hardin’s crew without ever knowing it. Instead they had gotten turned around in their escape from the crypt and veered off course.
Mercer introduced Allison as Cinder and from that moment on, she had her Realm name. It had no meaning, other than intimidation; that’s the way it goes more often than not. Sometimes players get their names doing something heroic or foolhardy, sometimes they took the name of a job, like cook or fletcher, and sometimes it got pulled from a hat. Necessity is the mother of invention.
The campsite separated itself into two distinct groups. Mercer and his crew sat on one side of the fire and Hardin’s crew gathered on the other. They made a meager supper cooked over the dancing flames. Kid Creole had boiled a pot of coffee in a dented kettle and offered to share. Mercer shook his head, but the others accepted. Allison held a blackened tin cup in both hands and drew in a deep breath.
“I haven’t smelled coffee since I logged in,” she said.
“It’s tough to come by,” Kid Creole said. “Mercer? Sure you won’t have none?”
“No thank you, Kid.”
Kid Creole ducked his head. A pale white scar ran across his neck where Mercer had cut his throat. There was an unspoken understanding between them. Mercer had killed him, sure, but he had also spared him, and Kid Creole was painfully aware of the fact. It showed in his deferential treatment.
Sparrow looked Cinder over and said, “You here for the prize money like all the other newbies lately?”
She shook her head. “I wanted some place where I could live life on my terms and I heard there was a lot of ByteCoin to be made. So I logged in to try it out.”
Sparrow nodded as if that answer satisfied him.
A nasty grin spread across Hardin’s face. “Like what you found?”
Cinder inclined her head. “Sure. Good times. I love it here.”
“Well, you haven’t died yet,” Hardin said.
“Which way you headed?” Mercer asked, trying to steer the co
nversation away from Allison/Cinder.
“South,” Hardin said at once. “We left Redgate a week ago. Heading to Thunderside to help in the recovery efforts.”
Drake grunted, and Hardin questioned him with a look.
“Didn’t know news of the cave-in had reached Redgate,” Drake said around a mouthful of food.
“It didn’t.” Hardin cleared his throat. “Not yet anyway. We crossed paths with a messenger headed north.”
“That explains it,” Drake said.
“No shortage of work in Thunderside,” said Mercer. He sat on a fallen log with his axe across his thighs and the firelight reflecting on his features. “They need all the strong backs they can hire. There was a second cave-in just after we left.”
“Is that right?” Hardin said.
Mercer nodded. A knot popped in the fire and sent a shower of sparks into the dark sky.
“Damn shame,” Hardin said.
“Damn shame,” Drake agreed.
Trix held out her cup and Kid Creole tipped some more coffee into it.
“Where’re you lot headed?” Hardin asked.
“The pass,” Mercer said. “Help drive back the Ravagers trying to push south.”
“Way I hear it, Redgate won’t last another three months,” Sparrow said. “Order of the Magi picked a fine time to split.”
“You’d know better than us,” said Trix. “You came from there.”
“We did,” Sparrow said.
“That’s right,” Kid Creole agreed.
“What happens if the Ravagers win at the Pass?” Cinder asked.
Everyone fell silent for a while. Finally Mercer said, “They’ll control Redgate.”
“Could push as far south as Thunderside,” Sparrow said.
Hardin shook his head. “They haven’t got the numbers to push that far south.”
“If they have the numbers to defeat Kriss, they can march all the way to Tanthus,” Mercer said.
“We’ll see,” said Hardin.
Mercer agreed with a nod.
The Savage Realms Page 17