Run Like Hell

by Elliott Kay

  “Nice work cleaning up the place, Yargol,” said Scars.

  The magician tilted his head to the side. “Thank you.”

  “Why do you sound surprised?” asked Shady Tooth.

  “I’m not used to appreciation. Such things have always been expected of me.”

  The bugbear’s face turned to a frown. “You didn’t exaggerate before? That wizard only used you as a magical maid?”

  “And a handyman, yes. I performed other work, but the chores were a base requirement. Never worthy of praise or compensation, but plenty of complaint when not performed to satisfaction.”

  “What else can you do besides cleaning and fixing things? And throwing those weird icicles?” she asked.

  “I can throw much more obnoxious spells in combat,” he replied with a grin she could hear in his voice. “Most of my spells have less tangible effects. Protection, detection, comprehension. I’ve had little practice with battle magic. One suspects Zuck preferred it that way.”

  “Asshole seemed fond enough of throwing his lightning and frost around,” grunted Scars.

  “Indeed. Perhaps without him around I’ll find more chances to work at such magic.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “What’s truly ironic is his misplacement of talent. Zuck truly can innovate. My spells of mending and repair are far more encompassing than those cast by most wizards. Usually they can fix a tear or a break; I can return a broken item to its original shape and pristine condition as long as it isn’t too large. And it costs hardly more energy than, say, walking from one end of this room to another.

  “Zuck could change the face of arcane magic as a practice with that sort of spell. Instead he puts twists on spells to add new effects. He comes up with ice that burns and acid that screams at you as it…well, as it also burns.” Yargol sighed. “I could make all these homes comfortable again with no more effort than a day’s cleaning. Zuck knew it, but he kept me working on his stupid fireball replacement. He wanted to conjure up a naked elf maiden of fire who explodes in even hotter fire.”

  “Don’t you need to have those spells written down or something?” asked Shady Tooth.

  “A funny thing about endlessly cleaning a wizard’s library: one has a great deal of time for copying the pages of arcane tomes while the master isn’t looking. Once upon a time, Zuck patted down my robes and searched my belongings almost every day. Eventually, he grew complacent. I did not.”

  “I’m glad for that,” said Scars, sitting down on the floor beside Yargol. “We need to get ourselves sorted. This place should be safe for now. We can sleep here and the pipes have running water. Let’s see what food we’ve got.”

  He led by example, though he had little enough to show for it. Scars pulled off his belt and emptied his pouch in front of his crossed legs. Most of it wasn’t edible: pieces of chalk, a whetstone, a couple of rags, and a small, folded-up sack. He unfolded it to reveal some nuts and jerky. Scars fished another bit of jerky wrapped in cloth from a pocket in his pants.

  Shady Tooth looked over his offerings with reluctance. Honesty came easily when one truly had nothing to hide.

  Teryn joined in without question. She’d recovered her backpack from the prison. With mild surprise, she found most of its contents still intact: small tools like a hammer and knife, an iron fork and spoon, a couple vials of oil and a box for flint and tinder. Everything seemed new, or at least in good condition. She even had a spare change of clothing. Like Scars, she kept food wrapped in small sacks, but she had considerably more of it. Some was wrapped in paper and tied with twine. “I knew they’d steal all my coin,” she muttered.

  “They didn’t take what matters. Coin wouldn’t fill our bellies,” said War Cloud.

  “You’ve got all the basics for a dungeon here, which is also good,” added Scars. “Everything but rope, and we’ve got that.”

  “And a ten-foot pole,” Teryn added, shrugging. “I’m lacking that. What?”

  Scars rolled his eyes. “You don’t need a pole.”

  “I see them in shops with adventuring gear all the time.”

  “They have shops for adventurers?” asked Shady Tooth.

  “Some merchants keep little displays in packages, yes,” said Teryn. “And there’s always one set with a ten-foot pole.”

  “You don’t need a ten-foot pole for a dungeon,” Scars repeated.

  “Why would you want that?” asked Shady Tooth. “What would you even do with it?”

  “How do you get around with that in a dungeon?” DigDig croaked. “Too many tight corners. Low ceilings. What if you have to run?”

  “And what if you get in a fight?” Shady Tooth agreed.

  “What’s it for?” DigDig wondered.

  “I don’t know,” said Teryn. “Checking for traps? Probing?”

  “With a pole?”

  “I’m just saying, adventurers buy that stuff.”

  “Oh gods, it’s a scam, alright?” Scars groaned. “Every adventuring party has some idiot who thinks everything in a gear shop has some vital use. Then they buy all that stupid shit and carry it around just waiting for the moment they can engineer some use for it so they can look smart to their friends. Until then, the shopkeeper makes an extra couple silvers for nothing and the clowns who buy it are lugging around ten-foot poles like idiots.”

  “Ah.” Teryn nodded, accepting his explanation. “You seem to know a lot about adventurers.”

  “Little bit.”

  “You’ve had experience with them?”

  Scars didn’t answer. He turned his attention back to the other little sacks in her collection. “What’s in the rest?”

  “Pemmican, some salted pork and smoked fish, a little hardened bread, and some cheeses sealed in wax. I’ve got a little dried fruit, too. Enough to last me a couple days on my own. Three, if I was frugal about eating.”

  “Humans always provide the best eating,” murmured Shady Tooth.

  “Do we?” asked Teryn, looking back at her.

  “Yes, but not like you’re thinking. I’m talking about your food, not you. Don’t worry about ending up over a fire. It won’t happen.”

  “So the stories are all untrue?”

  “How long have you waited to broach this subject?” Yargol chuckled. Teryn shrugged awkwardly.

  “My people have known desperate times,” said Shady Tooth. “They’ve also learned to hate. But predators taste terrible, and humans are predators. Even the elves are predators. Eating another person seems more like an act of self-harm than good taste to me. Maybe a sign of sheer contempt for an enemy, but why give yourself a bad meal just to insult a dead foe?”

  “It isn’t going to happen,” Scars agreed. “Chatter would have, if given the chance. Not the rest of us.”

  “Humans have the best food because you put so much time into it,” Shady Tooth explained. “Our food might be as good if we bothered, but we never do. And the elves might eat a rabbit or a deer once in a while, but usually they’re all eating the same leaves. Stuck up prigs.”

  Though it seemed involuntary, Teryn turned her eyes to War Cloud. His lip curled back to reveal beastly teeth, but his grin carried no threat. “Oh, my kind will eat everyone, but you’re part of my crew. You’re safe. And I am a heretic,” he added.

  “I’m ready to eat any of you right now,” complained DigDig from his makeshift bed.

  Teryn scooped up one of the smaller sacks from her collection, bringing it to the goblin with a chuckle.

  “I regret that I have nothing to share,” said Yargol. “My magic can improve upon what we have, but I cannot conjure food.”

  “I don’t have much, either. Been too focused on grabbing weapons or taking care of our wounded,” said War Cloud.

  “My pack,” said DigDig. He lay on his side, facing the crew as he chewed on a bit of smoked fish. “Grabbed stuff off the table in the prison. Guards weren’t watching me.”

  War Cloud followed their guide’s offering, producing from the little backpack a few bits
of roasted bird. “Not exactly wrapped,” he said. “There’s grease all inside your pack now.”

  “More food than you got,” said DigDig.

  “It is. Gone cold now, but it’s cooked. There’s enough for one belly in here, anyway.”

  Shady Tooth held her silence until Scars looked up at her. She realized he wasn’t alone. War Cloud and Yargol waited, too. “What?” she asked.

  “You were coming back from a hunting party,” said Scars.

  “More like a patrol,” she said.

  “If you say you have nothing, you have nothing,” Scars replied. “But you haven’t said.”

  Her lips turned to a frown. “I’m used to going ignored.”

  “You are used to fools who do not know your worth,” said Yargol.

  Shady Tooth looked from one companion to the next. She unslung her backpack, slipped it open, and unwrapped the hunk of cold ham and the loaf of bread she’d swiped from the prison guards’ table. The wine bottle came out, too.

  “Yes, I am,” she said.

  * * *

  Only a couple glowstones stayed out, each draped by a thin bit of cloth to dim the light. Half the crew lasted only long enough to eat, divide up the rest of their food, and agree on who took what turns on watch. DigDig was out cold before any of it was settled. Scars and Yargol drifted off in minutes, both having been through the nearly fatal fight that kicked off their troubles before running into the others. Of the three survivors of the library battle, only War Cloud remained awake once the conversation ended.

  He knelt in front of the cold hearth at the end of the room. Despite his fatigue, the gnoll carefully cleaned out the ancient ashes and dead coals with what meager tools he could find in the dwelling. He hadn’t asked for Yargol’s magical aid. An aged brush and an old rag were enough for him. That, and the occasional chant or murmur under his breath.

  Shady Tooth watched him in the relative darkness. She laid on the floor like the others, her backpack serving as her pillow as it often did. Many of her kind scoffed at even that much comfort, but she rarely woke up with a sore neck or a grouchy mood like so many other bugbears. She no longer had to care about their opinions in any case. The thought made her wonder if War Cloud had left behind similar differences with his own people.

  He had to be as exhausted as the rest. Perhaps more. Yargol’s duties as the wizard’s personal servant were at least less taxing than most other jobs. Scars had a hard life, but even as a half-orc he wasn’t a complete outsider among the guards. War Cloud was unique in more ways than one. In a place such as this, one suffered for being unique.

  His armor sat in a pile with his belongings. He kept quiet. Yet rather than sleep, he stayed awake to perform this chore in a home they would leave as soon as everyone woke up.

  As it happened, one other member of the group was also still awake. Teryn rose from her spot on the floor, leaving her cloak behind to tentatively crouch beside War Cloud. “May I ask you a question?” she whispered.

  “You want to know what I’m doing?” Like Teryn, he kept his voice low. Shady Tooth only heard by virtue of particularly good ears tilted toward the pair.

  “The what is obvious. My question is, why?” asked the human.

  “Ritual and prayer.”

  Teryn glanced backward. She didn’t seem to notice Shady Tooth watching. “The others said you’re a heretic.”

  “Shady Tooth said that. The others don’t seem to care.”

  “Seem? You don’t know for sure?”

  “We only know each other at a distance. I’ve worked with Scars and DigDig. We’re together now mostly out of chance.” War Cloud tilted his head and added, “Maybe some good judgment after that chance. Everyone here made their choice.”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “I have fought gnolls before.”

  “And I’ve fought many humans.”

  “It is said your kind are the spawn of a demon lord.”

  War Cloud chuckled softly. “Yes, and the orcs were the true rulers of the world cast down by the elves in ancient times. The goblin folk are the children of the earth fighting to reclaim the world from all others, who are mere thieves and pretender races. The elves are a race of gods themselves, their blood and power diluted by life in the mortal world, and the dwarves are the sons and daughters of the stone.” He shrugged. “Isn’t it said that humans are the most favored by the gods? It’s almost as if there’s a pattern here.”

  “That’s all very different from descent from demons,” said Teryn.

  “How else are we supposed to compete with a line of origins like that?”

  “So you don’t believe any of it?”

  “I don’t see why it matters.”

  “Is that your heresy?”

  “No. My heresy is in following a true war god rather than the demon father of my kind. A human god according to many, which makes it so much worse. As far as I can tell, race makes little difference to most gods. A soul is a soul to them.” He winked. “Don’t tell the faithful I said that.”

  “You follow a war god? You mean Malis?”

  “No. He’s all bloodlust and rage. That’s only a part of war.”

  “Valant?”

  “Heh. No. The answer is in front of you.”

  “Not Dastia? The hearth goddess?”

  “She’s that, too.”

  “Since when is Dastia a goddess of war?”

  “Always. Some have forgotten. Some have been encouraged to forget. Her clerics remember. Many gods have more than one role.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of her holding that role,” said Teryn.

  “How often have you spoken to a cleric of Dastia? Or a scholar of religion?”

  “Are you such a scholar?”

  “I thought for myself and questioned my people. For that, I was cast out. For a while, I found shelter in the ruins of a temple. I slept. I had dreams. In those dreams, I learned of Dastia. I also learned to fight better than my people had taught me. When I moved on, I came to a modern temple in a human village. I knew what to say to the cleric. He listened before he shouted out an alarm. When I explained myself, he took me in for a time.”

  “What happened then?” asked Teryn.

  “He taught me until he could no longer hide me. The villagers might tolerate his mercy, but they wouldn’t tolerate demon-spawn that might eat human flesh.”

  Teryn let out a breath. “That’s quite a story.”

  “You were rescued today by five monsters and none of them want to eat you. To us, that’s common sense. To many of your people that would be quite a story. Or quite a lie.”

  “You’re asking me to believe the clerics of Dastia don’t tell people she’s a war goddess?”

  “Dastia protects the hearth from all dangers, correct?”

  “That isn’t war.”

  “Then what else is the point?” War Cloud turned to face her, still as calm and patient as ever. It was more behavior Shady Tooth had rarely seen from gnolls. “Hatred of the enemy? Looting? Glory and power for some lord? Land?”

  “Those are all common reasons for war.”

  “Yes, and they’re all shit. The only good war is one of protection for the home and hearth. Family and friends. You protect your own, or others under threat. Everything else is shit.”

  “This would seem to be a broad brush for painting the whole world,” said Teryn.

  “Have you known men who go to war for glory? Who come back claiming to have found it, and who show no regret?”

  “A few.”

  “And were those good men? Or were they bullies and braggarts not worth the dirt under your feet?” War Cloud let the question hang in the air. “The world is full of such people of every race. That is why there are so many good reasons to fight. Someone’s hearth is always threatened by those who would loot, or find glory, or who serve the power of some lord. The question is: which side of that hearth are you on?”

  “What of those who venture out to take on a foe before it threate
ns their hearth?” she asked.

  “Then it’s on them to know if the threat is real, and if that is truly why they fight.” War Cloud gestured to the hearth. “Kings and lords need soldiers to do their bidding, hearth or no. That is why they venerate other gods of war so loudly. That is why you do not hear of Dastia as a war goddess. She is not useful to ambitious lords unless the hearth is truly threatened.

  “You might listen to the prayers to Malis and Valant. Listen to the calls for brave sacrifice and the glory of death on the battlefield. Those prayers aren’t just inspiring; they’re useful. Malis and Valant would have you die in service to your lord. In service to them. Dastia wants you to win and come back home alive.”

  Teryn shifted on the floor, sitting back as she took in his words. “I have never heard all this about Dastia, but I have heard similar arguments before. Ordinary faithful have them all the time. So do clerics. It doesn’t strike me as heresy.”

  “It’s heresy when it comes from a mouth like mine,” said the gnoll.

  “Do you…do your people have your own gods? Or the others?” she said, tilting her head to the rest of the group.

  “The orcs worship Kravass, who claims war as one of his domains, but he is first the god of the race. The goblin folk have Loonkth. It’s much the same story. Many ‘monsters’ also pray to Ravaj, who is only Malis under another name and face. And then there’s the demon father of my kind. They’re all the same. They look for useful tools.” War Cloud flashed a grin. “And that is heresy.”

  “Why was your heresy tolerated here, then? I realize now how little I truly know about your people. All of your peoples,” she said, tilting her head to the others. “But I have seen enough first-hand to know how monst—how your people deal with dissent. Why weren’t you run out of here? Or killed?”

  “I’ve been run out of plenty of places. The wizard was only the latest to take me in, and even here I was an outcast. Still, I can fight. I have more of an education than most. Beyond all that, I am blessed with a few gifts by Dastia for my devotion to her faith.”