Attempted Adventuring (The Attempted Vampirism Series Book 2)

by L. G. Estrella

  One of the most important things to know about posturing was when to stop. It was customary for younger werewolves, often males in their first few decades of life, to pick fights with their elders. How else were they supposed to get stronger? Fighting a stronger opponent was a fantastic way to toughen up, learn, and get some real experience. Done properly, the younger lycanthrope could look forward to a sound thrashing and some lessons in real combat without any lasting injuries. It was sensible too. Younger werewolves were the future of the clan. Killing them off early would just be stupid.

  But if the younger werewolf pushed too hard for too long, well, they might make their elder angry enough to leave a more permanent injury – like a missing head. Moreover, younger werewolves were expected to be cunning too. Studying their opponents was mandatory since the exact level of provocation required varied from person to person. As a fairly amiable sort of werewolf, Eric had often been one of the first to be challenged by the pups. They knew very well that he wasn’t likely to take their challenge the wrong way although he had, on a few occasions, been forced to educate some of the stupider ones before they could anger a less merciful werewolf.

  It was a pity that most of the people here seemed to have missed those lessons.

  The duke had hired what amounted to an elite task force to enter Mordrath, and each of the teams had at least one vampire of noble blood with them. All of the vampires had already boarded and were safely below decks, away from the morning sun. That left everyone else on the docks waiting to board, which meant trouble. There were all kinds of adventurers, but any sufficiently large group was bound to have a few idiots in it that wanted to throw their weight around. Since these were the elite, this could easily escalate well beyond a simple brawl. In fact, he could already see several teams squaring off against each other as old rivalries and bad blood came to the fore.

  “This is another reason I chose your group,” Susannah muttered as she walked next to him with Roger clinging onto her back like a monkey. Actually, now that he looked closer, her cloak had a sort of pouch that made it easier for him. He looked absurd in his brightly coloured robes and hat, but Eric wasn’t going to make fun of someone who could use [Ash Bolt] and [Pyroclastic Flow]. “You guys are actually reasonable. I mean you were willing to give Roger a chance.”

  “We get into enough trouble as it is,” he replied. “And getting into a brawl before the mission has even begun seems kind of foolish. Mordrath will require all of our skill and power. Why waste our efforts here?” Behind his grin, he took careful note of how quiet Susannah was. Oh, she talked readily enough, but her footsteps were silent, and she made almost no sound at all when she moved. It reminded him of some of his stealthier kin although he would have noticed if she was a werewolf. However, if he had to guess, then going by her smell, one of her ancestors was a werewolf. “Besides, I might not have run into too many of them before, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. Building an empire isn’t easy, but keeping one around for as long as the raccoons have is even tougher. I’m sure Roger can punch above his weight, so to speak.”

  “Oh, he can.” Susannah scowled as Roger stopped munching on an apple long enough to point to where the leader of another group had marched up to Aria. Eric rolled his eyes. The interloper was another woman – another former paladin, actually – and she had somehow come to the conclusion that she and Aria were rivals. As far as he knew, Aria had never met the woman until she’d barged into one of their missions several months ago. “Should we go help her out?”

  “Nah. She can handle it. If she can’t, she’ll let us know.” Nearby another werewolf caught Eric’s eye. He recognised the markings on his clothing as belonging to an allied clan. Eric made a gesture to show which clan he was from and grinned. It was nice to see a fellow werewolf doing well for himself. He’d have to look out for him during the mission. The other werewolf returned the gesture and grinned back. “It won’t take long. The other woman – Melanie – isn’t half bad, but she’s got a temper, and it makes her careless.”

  He was right.

  In typical Aria fashion, his friend ignored the insults being thrown her way, which only made Melanie madder. When the other woman lost her temper and threw the first punch, she was sloppy, and Aria was more than ready. She ducked under the blow and drove her buckler into the other woman’s gut. Melanie wasn’t wearing all of her armour, and she crumpled around the blow. Aria shoved her back and then gave her a stout kick. Melanie went sprawling, and her teammates looked as though they were about to rush forward. However, Blue Scales put an end to the scrap by stepping forward and slamming the butt of his trident into the ground. Towering to his full height and baring his sharp teeth, the merman glared down at the other adventurers. Eric chuckled. His water-loving friend was an easy-going fellow, but his sheer size was enough to scare off most would-be attackers.

  “Not bad.” Susannah rolled her eyes as Roger finished his apple and tossed the core over his shoulder. “Stop littering.” The raccoon rolled his eyes back at her and used a Word to incinerate the remains of the apple. “We should get moving. It looks like a real brawl might start any second now.”

  “We could throw a punch or two and then run for it,” he said before a pair of knives whistled through the air. He caught one while she caught the other. “On second thought, maybe we should get going.”

  Aria passed them with one eyebrow raised, and Eric dropped the knife. “Really? A knife?”

  “Hey! I’ll have you know I only caught it. It wasn’t like I threw it. And why aren’t you giving Susannah that look?”

  Aria glanced at Susannah and Roger. The raccoon gave her another winning smile. “Because I know you. You were about to throw it back.”

  “Heh. You’re not wrong.” Eric followed her up onto the ship with Eileen and Blue Scales bringing up the rear. It would take more than cheap steel to pierce his scales. It was tempting to join the brawl, but they would need all of their energy later. However, as the brawl continued and the ships remained stubbornly in place, he turned to his friend. “Blue Scales…”

  “It would seem that we cannot leave until they are finished, and it would be a shame to be late.” He lifted his trident and spoke a Word. A wave rushed over the docks and swamped the brawlers. “There. That should cool their tempers.” His brows furrowed. “Although the water felt… odd.”

  “Odd?”

  “It is difficult to explain to someone who isn’t linked to water the way I am. It is… quiet here. Everywhere else, I hear the voices of the oceans, the seas, the rivers, the lakes, and the streams. Here, the water is silent. Dead. I can still manipulate it, but it is not as easy as it should be.” He made a sound that could only have been in his native tongue. “That is how I would put it in the words of my people.”

  “You do realise I don’t speak merman.”

  “I know, but there isn’t a word for it in your speech.”

  “That is not reassuring.”

  “It is to be expected. If the history we were told is accurate, then these waters are likely to be cursed.”

  “Wonderful.”

  While Jonathan spent his time below decks in his cabin – the sun was the enemy of vampires everywhere – Eric spent his time on deck watching the sea go by. It was hardly pleasant viewing although the breeze was welcome. The water here was dark and murky and covered in a thin layer of bone-coloured dust or powder. It reminded him of ash or silt in its consistency, but it had a much more solid look to it than either.

  More troubling was how small the waves were despite the stiff breeze, as though the water itself was lethargic or reluctant to move. Blue Scales was probably right. There was something wrong with it. At times, he could have sworn he saw faces looking back at him, but was probably imagining it. This place was creepy, so his mind could be playing tricks on him. Or maybe it wasn’t. This place could be cursed, and the lack of birds in the sky only added to the foreboding atmosphere. This close to shore, there should still be plenty of birds.
Oh well. He’d have to sleep with one hand on his spear and one eye open.

  “I have heard stories of this place.” Blue Scales settled beside him although he was careful not to lean on the railing of the deck lest he break it.

  “Is that so?” Eric offered him a slice of smoked beef. If monsters were going to show up, he wouldn’t be facing them on an empty stomach. “Can I assume they’re all horrible?”

  The merman laughed and accepted the beef. “Oh, yes.” The sea here seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and the waxy, oily sunlight that managed to pierce through the thick, dull clouds overhead lent an off-putting sheen to the merman’s scales. “I wasn’t sure until I saw it with my own eyes, but I am now certain this is the place one of my people’s explorers spoke of.” He chewed on the beef before continuing. “Few of my people have travelled here. Our waters are elsewhere, and such a long journey would be dangerous. The Deeps are not a place for reckless travellers, and the water here is unpleasant. No merman would enjoy swimming in it, and I would advise against falling in if you can help it.”

  Eric eyed the water warily. “Believe me, I’m not touching the water unless I have to.”

  “The explorer I speak of called this place the Sea of the Dead.”

  “That has to be the least confidence-inspiring name I can think of.”

  “The oceans are vast, my friend, and not even the children of the Deep know all that lurks beneath the waves. Part of that is because we seldom leave our waters. We are often at war, so we need every strong warrior we can find. It is only recently that peace has become more common. However, from time to time, there were periods of peace in the past, and there would occasionally be explorers amongst us, those who could not bear to stay in one place too long.”

  Eric smiled toothily at a passing adventurer. A few other adventurers were on deck, but they were keeping their distance. It was one thing to pick a fight on the docks where they could make a quick retreat if they needed to, but annoying a merman who could control water while on the open waves would just be stupid. “My people are much the same. For most werewolves, the pack and the clan are everything. They feel no urge to leave unless it is to seize new territory. Some of us, though, are born to wander. Since I asked to leave and was given approval, I will be welcomed back although I am expected to send word from time to time, especially if I encounter anything that could be dangerous to my kin.”

  “One of our explorers came this way many centuries ago, not long after the Bone Sea was created, or so the stories say. He had heard rumours from travellers that the sea had reclaimed this place, and he wished to see it for himself. His name, such as it was, can be translated as Seeking Fang. Although the stories are old and vague, they do mention his prowess as a warrior. He was allowed to leave because he was old and had already served with honour, and he had sired many sons and daughters to take his place. He wished to die exploring after living his life in service to my people, and they decided to grant his wish.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a bad way to go. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind dying exploring. It beats dying in my bed.” Eric leaned against the railing. “Although hopefully that’ll be many years from now and none of you end up joining me.”

  Blue Scales turned his gaze to the water. It was a sobering thought for Eric. He would likely outlive everyone in the group except Jonathan. But werewolves weren’t like some of the other long-lived species. They didn’t avoid contact because they feared watching their friends age and die while they remained strong. No. Werewolves loved as fiercely as they fought. When his friends passed, he would mourn them, but he would also treasure all of the time they had spent together. One of the few religious rituals werewolves engaged in was the Rite of Remembrance, a ceremony to remember and honour all of their beloved dead.

  “Seeking Fang made his way here. His writings, what little we have left, repeatedly point out the strangeness of the water and the presence of a strange powdery substance. He described it as lifeless. As you know, my kind can breathe underwater, but the waters here left him short of breath. It was not unlike standing on top of a mountain and trying to breathe thin air. He wished to explore the ruins, but he was… distracted.”

  “Oh?”

  “He claimed to have heard fell voices in the water, dark whispers promising death and defeat. Shortly after, he was attacked by a variety of creatures. He did not say much about them, but they were numerous and strong enough to force him back. He barely escaped with his life, and his story ends with a stern warning for all others to stay away.”

  “It’s a little lacking on details,” Eric said. “But it matches.” He frowned. “Although I haven’t heard any voices.”

  “I imagine you have to be in the water to hear them.”

  Eric grimaced and shook his head. “No way am I going in the water.”

  * * *

  Jonathan was enjoying a pleasant nap in his crate. True, he was below decks, so he could have used the bed in his cabin instead. It was certainly nice enough. However, his recent brushes with death had instilled a healthy dose of caution, some would say paranoia. If the ship ran aground or something breached the hull, he could easily find himself receiving a less than healthy helping of sunshine.

  He was in the midst of a pleasant dream involving his castle’s library and an esoteric text about the hunting habits of the famous frost wolves of the far north when a thunderous crash awakened him. The whole ship shook, and a second impact followed only moments later. He reflexively moved to open his crate to see what was happening, but Miles’s voice snapped out like a whip.

  “Stay in your crate, sir! The hull has been breached!”

  Jonathan froze. If the hull had been breached, and Miles wanted him to stay in his crate, there must be sunlight in the room. They were above the waterline, and he couldn’t hear water rushing in, so they should be able to stay afloat for the time being. On the upside, if they did sink, the water here felt as though it lacked the usual power the ocean had when it came to weakening vampires.

  “All right.” Unwilling to leave himself completely in the dark, he used [Scry] and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  There was too much magic flying around for him to see as clearly as he would like – and his growing panic was making him sloppy – but he saw something massive, serpentine, and made of bone. The eerie hum of necromantic power filled the air, and he swallowed thickly. One of the problems with being a scholar with a broad knowledge base was knowing about all the scary monsters that could potentially kill him.

  This was most definitely one of them. He gulped. “Miles… I think we’re being attacked by a bone serpent.”

  Interlude One – Survivor

  Blue Scales clutched at his side. The wound there was far deeper than he would have liked. There were few weapons on land that could pierce his scales – scales that could withstand the rigours of the Deep and its denizens – but the claws of a dragon were far beyond the swords and spears of men, elves, or dwarves. If anything, he should consider himself lucky. Had the blow landed cleanly or had the dragon cared to exert anything close to its full strength, he would be dead. Unfortunately, the caravan he’d been travelling with had not been so fortunate.

  He stumbled along what had once been the road, the scorched, melted earth cracking beneath him as he used his trident to help stay upright. His mind wandered, as much from the pain as the stifling haze of heat that had settled over the area. The air was bone dry, and every breath was like torture. His head spun, and he forced himself to focus on the pain in his side. His movements had turned it from a dull ache into something sharp and pointed – exactly what he needed to keep his mind from wandering. Even so, his mind refused to obey, and each step he took was accompanied by half a dozen stray thoughts. His lips curled. Was this the haziness so many of his people believed came before death?

  The caravan had been headed west toward a nearby town. Halfway there, they’d seen smoke. The other mercenaries and adventurers who’d accompanied
the caravan had immediately called the group to a halt. They had drawn everyone together to make any potential defence easier, and they had dispatched scouts and readied themselves for battle. Bandits were not supposed to be common in this area, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d swooped in on an unprepared town, razed it, looted whatever they could take, and then fled before organised resistance could confront them.

  If it was bandits, they’d not find the caravan easy prey. Its protectors were veterans with years of experience against all manner of foes, yet all of them trembled in primal, instinctive fear when a terrible roar shook the air. If there had been any doubts whatsoever about what manner of foe they faced, they vanished when a vast, winged shape launched itself into the air above the town.

  Only one winged beast was so closely connected to smoke and ruin.

  Dragon.

  Even in the Deep, they knew of dragons. Some of the oldest krakens and leviathans, the ones from the Age of Oceans when the seas had almost swallowed the world, occasionally talked of their battles against the sons of wind and fire. Blue Scales had met one such being, a titanic kraken known simply as the Maw that dwelt in the deepest trenches of the territory his people had claimed. The Maw could sleep for decades, even centuries at a time, but when he stirred, he would occasionally deign to talk with the lesser creatures that frequented his domain. He had spoken of dragons, of their cleaving claws and their piercing fangs, of the fire that could burn even the ocean. Yes, the Maw knew of dragons, and anything that could give such a gigantic creature pause was something to be feared and respected by lesser beings.