by Troy Osgood
“Good evening,” he said, tilting his head. “Or is it morning now?”
Hall shrugged.
He stepped onto the hard floor of the inn. It had been dirt when they had first found it, but thick boards had replaced the original floor. Under Duncant’s supervision, the Valedale Gnomes had set spacers across the floor, leveling it, before installing the planks. They’d done a remarkable job. There was no flex to the floor, the planking tight.
“How was the dungeon?” Bradberry asked as Hall made his way through the maze of tables.
“Not the greatest for loot. But the experience was good. Managed to level.”
“Congratulations. What did you encounter? Was it Caobolds?”
“Cavlyn and Gangori,” Hall replied. “Idita, the Witch who arrived with Captain Hart, said that Gangori were from the Arashi islands.”
“Indeed. I have not heard of these Cavlyns, but the only Gangori that I know of were in the deeps of the Arashi islands. It is very odd for them to be here. How would they get to the deeps of Edin?”
Hall was wondering the same thing. There was nothing connecting the underground of Edin to that of Arashi. The islands, none of them, were connected in any way. Something living beneath the surface of one would not get to another. And there wasn’t that much underground. The tops of the islands were relatively flat, only hills and mountains, but the underside was different. Jagged rock, sloping down to a point, like the island had been pulled out. Some were dozens of miles deep, others half that. It amounted to not much land for any kind of underground.
He had played games with incredibly rich and vibrant undergrounds. Cities, kingdoms, lands that were greater than anything on the surface. Not in Sky Realms Online. Any other game, Hall would have just said the Gangori had been deeper underground, just now coming to the surface for some reason. But that didn’t work in Hankarth.
Edin was a large island, but its underground was not that deep. If there had been Gangori before, they would have been encountered.
In the long run it didn’t matter how or why the Gangori were in the dungeon, just that they were. Hall wanted to learn more about them, see if they returned to the dungeon or if something else replaced them.
He looked down at the map Bradberry was working on, recognizing the landmarks. It was a more detailed version of the sketch showing the tunnels that led from the stone houses on the side of the Thunder Growls, what they were now calling Sagewell. Hall could see the one that ran to the valley, everything in the valley sketched out. He was surprised to see the other side of the Thunder Growls, the plain side, visible, with the location of Bastian the Sage’s workshop called out. His eyes traced a line from the workshop to the other tunnel that left the valley.
“Yes,” Bradberry said, seeing Hall’s eyes tracking across the map. “I scaled your map of the plains, managing to locate the workshop. It is very close to the other tunnel.”
Hall set his spear against another table, leaning in close to the map.
“I don’t remember there being another entrance into the workshop,” he said. “But we didn’t do that thorough a search. The tunnel could connect to it.”
“That would make sense,” Bradberry said. “It seems the Sage wanted a quick way to connect that strange well in the tunnels on the sky side of the Thunder Growls to his workshop on the land side.”
“But why? What is the point of it all?”
Bradberry shrugged. “Whatever is in that well would be my guess,” he said, looking up at Hall. “You have found a very interesting land here.”
Picking up the spear, Hall started for the stairs in the back. Bradberry was right. Skara Brae was in the middle of strange and interesting places and events. Gangori, Duntin raiders, Trow. Dungeons and a strange well. Even the Grove. In the pre-Glitch game, Skara Brae would have been a major quest hub.
“I kind of wish it weren’t.”
Chapter 21
Hall woke with a headache.
He looked for a Vitality notification, hoping to see that it had been replenished. There was nothing. He’d had a pretty good night’s rest, but the late night and ales hadn’t helped.
Sighing, he pushed himself out of the bed. The morning was chilly, the cold seeping into the room. He stood up, stretching his back. Muscles were tight and sore. Walking over to the dresser, he pulled out a pair of brown wool pants, a cotton shirt and a wool jacket. Pulling the clothes on, he searched the room for his boots.
Sitting on the bed to pull them on, he paused. They were a mess. Covered in dried blood, smelling a little.
Good way to start the day, he thought, pulling them on, realizing he needed another pair. Or a couple. With a leatherworker in the village now, there was no reason not to have more. His armor was repaired, finally, but still in need of replacement. So why not the boots as well?
Would the Cavlyn hides give armor and clothing crafted from them any kind of bonus? Tusho had been excited to get the hides, eager to start working with them.
Standing up, Hall stretched, taking a couple of steps.
No hangover, just a headache. Less a byproduct of the drinking and more of the late night and lack of rest.
He walked out of the room, moving quietly to not wake the others in the inn. They needed a name for the inn. There had been nothing left to give hints about what the original name was. A blank slate. Something else to put on the list.
The stairs creaked a little as he walked down into the empty common room. No one was in the kitchen yet. How early was it? Or how late had everyone stayed up? Crossing the room, he went up the far set of stairs and outside.
It was cold, the sun barely risen off to the east. Not yet high enough to drive away the shadows in the sunken village, making it that much colder. Not quite cold enough where he could see his breath, but cold enough that he wished he had brought a cloak with him. He walked through the silent village, no one else up yet. Everyone else taking advantage of another day off, sleeping in. The farmers and ranchers would be up, but they were to the south in the meadow.
He passed through the tunnel, short enough that it needed no lights, but it was much colder. Formed of tight-fitting stones, Hall was always amazed that it had managed to withstand the test of time and remain up with the weight of the grass above. Walking out the other side, he headed for the nearest set of stone steps up to the meadow.
Out of the village, Hall really wished he had brought a cloak. The always present wind blew across the meadow, the grass swaying in the breeze. Like the village, it was quiet in the meadow.
Hall started walking, heading for the Frost Tip Mountains. He could see the shelf with the Grove on it, the two waterfalls. The trail ran up the mountain to the higher shelf, where he could just see the frame that would become the watchtower.
He shivered as a cold wind blew. There was a lot he could be doing back in the village, getting ready for the celebration later in the day. But this was important too.
“I’ve never heard of Gangori,” Leigh said.
She was running her hands over the silver tree. At its base, her animal companion, the highland cow named Angus, lay curled in a ball. His shaggy fur ruffled in the slight breeze. Most of the Grove was built along the eastern side of the mountains, protected from the wind that blew across the meadow. Hall stood at the edge of the small island that held the Branch of the World Tree. Branches with silver leaves hung over him, the ground covered in thick silver roots that disappeared into the water of the pond. Only a couple of feet deep, the water was crystal clear, revealing the dark brown muddy bottom. A couple of small fish swam by, their passage making small ripples. The water, coming from the mountains, was cold.
“Me either,” he replied, looking out into the Grove itself.
He had found Leigh at the Branch. Already awake and going about her daily duties. Even though the dark iron nail had dissolved, turned to metal shavings, the Branch still bore the scars from the unholy deal the former Custodian had made with the Feardagh. For more power, Ve
rtoyi had corrupted the Branch. Bringing the Grove to ruin, the corruption spreading to the surrounding lands.
Leigh and Hall had stopped Vertoyi, or more accurately gave Vertoyi the means to stop himself. The corruption had ended, but the repair had just started.
There was a lot that went into being the Custodian of a Grove. Her duties kept Leigh busy, even with the aid of Bealee, Seo and the Craobh, Grayleaf. They had almost cleansed all of Meadow Grove, the work starting on the rest of Breakridge Meadow and Greenheight Vale.
“Remember that Witch from Land’s Edge Port,” Hall asked. “The one we paid to identify the stuff we found in the treasure chest? She arrived with Dyson and Captain Hart.”
“Really? That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?
Hall turned, seeing that Leigh had stopped her work. She walked around the tree, tilting her head so the antlers would not get caught on a low branch.
“I think she’s running from something,” he replied. “But she did say that the Gangori are seen more in the Arashi lands.”
“How’d they wind up down here?”
“No clue. But they’re here,” Hall said, walking toward Leigh. “Brandif isn’t sure if they were a onetime occurrence in the dungeon or if they’ll be a regular spawn.”
He opened his arms, pulling her in. There was a bit of shifting until she could rest her head against his chest without the antlers stabbing him. They weren’t large, but the ends were sharp.
A sign of her being the Custodian, the antlers had taken some getting used to.
Angus shifted, letting out a low moo before lowering his head again.
“No peace,” Leigh said quietly.
Hall barely caught it, nodding in agreement.
Leigh pulled back, smiling up at him. Her thick and curly red hair hung past her shoulders, her blue eyes bright.
“But today isn’t a day for worries,” she said, walking away, grabbing his arm to pull him toward the stones only an inch or so below the water. “It’s a day for celebration, and we have some time before the party starts.”
“Where are Bealee and Seo?”
“Greenheight Vale. The Gnomes found another patch of corrupted plants.”
Letting go of his hand, she walked across the stones. Each was almost two feet in diameter, flat and smooth, under an inch of water. Perfectly placed to make for an easy stride across the small pond. There were two sets, the one that led deeper into the Grove and across the pond, the other leading toward the entrance. Hall followed her onto the stones, stepping off into the forest.
Back on the island, Angus lifted his head, mooing. It sounded annoyed, with a note of warning. The cow still hadn’t warmed to Hall and Leigh’s relationship. At least he didn’t try to get in the way anymore, Hall thought.
The sun disappeared as they entered the thick growth. Hall saw many different types of trees, some that shouldn’t have even been in that area. But the Druids’ Grove was a special place, where nature didn’t seem to follow any of the rules.
A dark shadow appeared before them. It was large, hunchbacked, moving in an awkward shamble. Heading in their direction, not directly toward them but on an angle. It came out of the shadows. At least eight feet tall, six at the shoulders. It had long arms that hung to the ground, ending in large hands with sharp claws. The creature resembled a walking pile of sticks and mud held together in a somewhat humanoid shape.
A Shambler.
Guardians of the Grove.
They had been corrupted by Vertoyi. With the former Custodian dead, his power over the Grove fading, the Shamblers had all disintegrated. Their corrupted hearts could not sustain them. It had been a corrupted Shambler heart that had finally convinced Vertoyi that he was destroying the Grove, not saving it. Leigh had managed to replace the Shamblers. It had taken some time, having to start off with smaller ones before managing to create a larger one.
Hall watched as it walked by. The Shambler was more solid. It still looked made of roots, vines and moss, but the form was more defined. Green instead of brown. More alive. The red eyes that looked at him seemed to do more than just stare. Beyond just cleaning the corruption, Leigh had brought life back to the Grove.
The creature disappeared into the shadows of the trees. They continued on through the forest. Leigh reached for his hand, and he gladly clasped hers, adjusting his pace to match her. He could hear birds in the branches above, see squirrels and chipmunks running up the trunks, through the leaves on the ground. A fox glided by, not afraid of their presence.
It was only a short walk through the small forest, stepping out into the clearing. Hall had been through it many times since the first, but each time brought back memories of that fight with Vertoyi. Cliffs rose on three sides, the cave nestled in the back, the green grass rocky with small shrubs. There, to the left of the cave, was where he’d been thrown into the rock wall, some ribs cracking.
They had almost died in that fight. Him, Roxhard, Leigh and Sabine. They should have died, but luck had been on their side. That and gaming mechanics. Hall had played games with impossible fights that weren’t meant to be won, allowing story progression to complete the fight. That was what had happened here. Leigh had shown Vertoyi the corrupted Shambler heart. It was enough to snap the High Elf Druid out of his madness, temporarily at least. Enough to make him destroy the black iron nail that was the symbol of his contract with the demons. Enough to make him take his own life and appoint Leigh the new Custodian.
A clear case of gaming mechanics.
But Hall had a hard time believing that.
More and more the game was feeling less like a game. The more time he spent, the more it became his life, the more he stopped thinking of it as a game.
Leigh was helping with that.
An NPC, what he was now calling a native, she was every bit as real as he was. His relationship with her was real. Even the physical parts. As real as any relationship he’d had back in his former life in the so-called real world. Better in many ways.
Leigh led him into the cave, which she had taken as her own. It had been Vertoyi’s, but no trace of the former Custodian remained. The other two Druids of the Grove shared a small treehouse in the forest, nestled tight to the cliff. The cave served as Leigh’s office and sleeping quarters. The wide mouth opened to a round room, a small tunnel off it leading to the actual room. A bed against the far wall, a dresser and a table. Mostly it was filled with shelves, empty for now, and bookcases. Cabinets held supplies. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration, but Leigh really only slept in the room.
Walking toward the bed, she looked back at Hall.
“How much time do we have?”
“Enough.”
Chapter 22
Tables and chairs were brought up onto the meadow for more room. A large firepit, ringed with stones, had been built away from the homes a hundred feet, benches made of boards laid across cut trees arrayed around it. The fire had been started midafternoon, a great stack of logs and brush off to the side. It burned high, the flames snapping in the wind. Poles had been set into the hard ground, lines hanging with lanterns running between them, starting on either side of the steps leading down into the village, widening as they spread out to surround the tables.
The sun was setting to the west, sending a red glow across the horizon, the glowing orb just visible off the island’s edge, partially hidden by other islands. The temperature was dropping from the heat of midday, but wouldn’t be that cold. Autumn was coming, but not quite there yet.
Every seat at the table was filled. All of the citizens of Skara Brae, all forty of them, were mixed with the guests.
Dyson and Captain Hart, along with his crew, and the Witch Idita. Jackoby’s mother, the Matriarch of the Brownpaw Clan of Firbolgs, with four elders and a half dozen guards. Davif, the leader of the Valedale Gnomes and a half dozen others from his village. Smol, the Guardian Leshy of Greenheight Vale, had been invited, but he didn’t enjoy crowds. Hrothgar and his crew had been invited, but
their decline had come earlier in the day.
Hall was disappointed. He would have liked to have seen how the two captains, Hart and Hrothgar, got along with each other. Hart and Gorid, the Ridgerunner’s captain, were deep in conversation.
And ale.
Another added to the mix would have been interesting.
But there would have been nowhere for the Frozen Blade to berth in the dock. Hall and Duncant had thought it forward thinking to make the dock have three berths. Now it seemed that wasn’t going to be enough.
Hall got up from the table, leaning down to give Leigh a quick kiss. That was met with cheers and some good-natured jeers from the celebrating crowd.
Smiling, he moved away from the tables, mug in hand, to stand in front of the fire. Turning, he faced the group. The citizens of Skara Brae and the others who had made the rebuilding of the village possible.
Raising his hands, Hall called for quiet. The loud murmuring faded, all eyes on him.
Even a month ago, being the center of that much attention would have made him nervous. Not now. He still didn’t enjoy being the leader, being the center of attention, but he was growing into it.
Taking a deep breath and a quick gulp of the ale, Hall started speaking.
“I want to thank you all for coming. This is a night to celebrate all that we have accomplished. In such a short time, Skara Brae has come from ruins to a true village. And that is thanks to all of you here. In some way, you are responsible for this.” He paused, waving his hands around to indicate the village and the farms beyond. “It started out with just four of us. Adventurers coming here on a quest to save the Meadow Grove, finding the ruins of Skara Brae. Soon others joined us, taking it on faith that we would be able to build a home here. But we have and will continue to do so. Skara Brae is growing and will continue to grow.” He paused again as clapping swept across the meadow. “Skara Brae is an odd place. Isolated, alone. Those of us living here, we’re not outcasts, but we’ve all had our lives changed for a wide variety of reasons. But that has brought us all here. From Edin, Cumberland, Axestorm Hall, Green Ember and even far to the west from the Jaden Empire and the island of Cuthers.”