Into the Hells

by Christopher Johns

  Quest Alert!

  Sunrise for Vilmas – Shellica Light Hand has ordered that you take care of Vilmas while she works on the wall surrounding the village at your request.

  Reward: Furthered training.

  There is no refusing this request.

  Damn, man, I thought to myself as I dismissed the notification.

  “Yeah, she’ll be taken care of.” She nodded and began to gather some more things. “You going somewhere?”

  “I’ve petitioned the royals of the high elves to come and learn how to make their damned weaponry.” She grinned again, and it looked like some of the years she had on her melted away. “They’ve agreed to see if I ‘have what it takes’ to keep up with their artisans. HA!”

  I couldn’t help but fear for the poor bastards. And they had invited her in of their own free will. Like inviting a vampire in. I shuddered.

  “Well, I hope that goes well for you. Do you have a way to communicate with anyone while you’re gone?”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small figures that looked like birds. No, ravens. I reached out and touched the one closest to me and yelped as a burning sensation took my fingertips.

  “Silver,” I hissed before I could stop myself.

  My lycanthropy, you know that word. I know you do. Don’t give me that look… Fine. It means my Werewolf nature, the curse I had, made silver highly painful to me. I had been “gifted” this monster by Pastela, a former Alpha Werewolf who had wanted to try and take over the Fae Realm.

  “They are messengers,” she admonished me with a glance. “They carry my voice and the voice of the person who holds the other for communication purposes. Highly advanced. At least master level.”

  “Well, I won’t be trying it right away, no worries there.” I cast Heal on myself, and the pain numbed a little.

  “Well, good. So that you know, I will be leaving it with someone who matters.” She eyed me with a mischievous glint to her gaze before adding, “Not you.”

  I snorted. “As if I wanted that fuckin’ thing. Besides, having you yell at me from where you are now is bad enough when I’m here. Anywhere in this realm? You really are nuts, lady.”

  She snorted at my response, dismissively waving a hand at me, then returned to her task.

  I watched silently as she packed some clothing, a few knickknacks, and some items I questioned the very existence of. If they did what I thought they might, it looked like she expected a fight. I didn’t say anything, but I was a little worried for her.

  The high elves weren’t exactly the nicest people. Sure, I had met a few, but the ones I had met had been recent enough for me to still think of them as dicks.

  She finished, then looked to me with a sack in hand that was much larger on the inside than it was from the outside. Dimensional pouch of some kind most likely. Cool as hell. If she hadn’t been so busy, I’d have grilled her about making one, but I let it slide. Maybe I could convince Vilmas to show me?

  “Get out, lad,” Shellica ordered gruffly. I had to laugh; the little thing ordering me around like that would make any man’s ego rage. I didn’t want to fight her, though.

  I stepped out into the sterile hallway, the door clattered shut, and the clunks of several locks reached my ears. My head tilted left on its own, and I looked down to see the Dwarf counting as the tumblers caught.

  Once she was satisfied, she waved for me to follow her, and I obeyed. After a couple of minutes, we stood in front of a closed door.

  “Vilmas!” Shellica knocked loudly.

  The younger Dwarf opened the door. Her face was red; her eyes were splotchy and red as well.

  “You’re packed, I trust?” Shellica’s voice was measured and full to the brim with warning.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Vilmas held out a pack the same size as Shellica’s, and the older Dwarf nodded in satisfaction.

  “Good, lass. Don’t keep the villagers waiting for their protections. Be safe, learn something of yourself, and for the Mountain’s sake, Vilmas, stop crying!”

  “Okay,” the mousy Dwarf replied as she swatted the tears from her cheeks.

  I sure had my work cut out for me here.

  “Let’s go then Vilmas.” I tried to be reassuring, but she just seemed to get down on herself.

  Shellica left us at the entrance to the compound, claiming that she was going to be going another direction to save some time on her trip to the northern lands of the high elves.

  Once Vilmas and I were alone, things grew drastically quieter, and I suddenly needed to fill the void with conversation. Yay, social anxiety.

  “So, uh—Vilmas,” she looked my way a little, “do we need anything for the enchanting? Any components or anything like that? I’ll cover the cost, of course.”

  She stopped moving and turned toward me with her eyes closed. “What is the wall made of? Wood?”

  “That’s correct.” I added, “The planks are thick cut, roughly hewn and workable. Roughly sixteen feet high, and there are support logs around every fifteen feet or so.”

  Vilmas began mumbling to herself, and her fingers began waggling in the air as if she were doing complex equations. After a moment of this, her feet began to move on their own. After a while of walking in tense silence, we came to a vendor at a stall with a large smelter behind him.

  His scarred and burnt visage was intimidating, if I was honest. I didn’t know whether it was the crazy look on his face or the fact that half of his beard was singed away.

  “What can ah do ye fer?” he grumbled.

  “I require twenty-five ingots of the purest mithral you have, please.” There was a slight quaver to her voice, but other than that, Vilmas was fine.

  “That’ll be,” the Dwarf counted on his hands, “six hundred and seventy-five gold.”

  I began to reach into my funds when I saw Vilmas actually crack a smile and laugh. A bellowing laugh. Almost like a bray.

  When she was done, she wiped a tear from her cheek. “Oh, that was a wonderful joke, good sir. I think we will take our business to someone who doesn’t mean to swindle us.”

  The enchanter began to turn to go when the vendor's good hand shot out and grasped her arm roughly. I stepped forward without thought and lifted him, with one swift motion, by his apron and shirt until his feet dangled uselessly beneath him.

  “You ever touch someone in my presence again, and I’ll even up those burn marks.” My voice had taken on a menacing tone.

  “Put him down, Master Zekiel,” Vilmas ordered gently. Turning back to the Dwarf, she said, “You would do well to heed his words. He is a chosen and adopted member of Clan Mugfist, a close friend to Granite Light Hand, and apprentice to Shellica Light Hand.”

  “So?” the Dwarf grunted after I set him down. He shook out his apron and shirt a bit.

  “So? That means he’s by all rights a Dwarf. He can fight, and he’s also a powerful and talented Mage.”

  I cast Aspect of the Ursolon to enlarge my form until I towered even further over the Dwarf. My muscles thickened, and my features broadened a little.

  “Not to mention, I know that pure mithral ingots are not that expensive by far.” She crossed her arms before her. “Maybe we should go to the king and report a violation in our stringent trade laws?”

  The other Dwarf growled uselessly before conceding, “Three hundred gold and I never see you again.”

  “Two hundred and I don’t call the Ironnoses to see what goods you have hidden there.” Vilmas cocked her head to the side. “Gnome.”

  The Dwarf gasped, and then I saw it. The illusion spell that was hiding the gnome was fading before my eyes. Why had it eluded my True Sight for so long? How?

  “Two hundred and you go away forever!” the gnome whispered harshly. He hurriedly counted out twenty-five ingots of uniform height, width, color, and purity on to his stall counter. Vilmas began to inspect it as I forked over the two hundred gold and was about to walk off before Vilmas reached over and took twenty-five gold b
ack.

  “The quality is not what I need, but it will suffice.” Vilmas’s dismissive tone made the gnome rage silently as we put the items into my inventory and walked away.

  “Vilmas, what the hell?!” I whispered. “That felt like robbery! Where did that come from?”

  “Lady Shellica taught me from a young age to always spot the fakes among us and to exploit their lies to great effect. The gnome has been here for weeks exploiting what few visitors we have here in Djurn Forge and knows so little of our culture or us as a people that he failed to know that I would see through his deceptions. That he thought we actually have a king was laughable.”

  “You don’t?” I asked, suddenly aware once more that I was an idiot.

  “No.” She smiled sweetly, then blushed. “We have a council of the Clans that makes decisions for the city. They oversee commerce, diplomacy, and all other matter of issues so that the common Dwarf can focus on their Way.”

  That was pretty cool to hear. I could see a drunken but dignified council of the stout folk talking politics and taxes while tossing axes at a target to see who was best. I liked this fantasy.

  We spent the rest of the slow walk to get outside of the city in amiable silence. Once we were outside the rune walls to Djurn Forge, I touched Vilmas on the shoulder and cast Teleport to get us back to Sunrise Village’s square.

  By now, I was starting to become accustomed to the sensation of traveling great distances in the span of a heartbeat. Really should remember to warn people about that though.

  Vilmas—was not. The poor Dwarf landed with me and immediately fell to her knees and tossed up everything in her stomach. Her horrid retching and the wet sound of vomit littering the grass almost made the gorge rise up in my throat.

  I turned away and began trying to breathe in through my mouth so that I wouldn’t scent the disgusting ground paint.

  “You have returned,” I heard Vrawn’s drawn and careful tone behind me. “Sir Dillon told me that you arrived here last time you teleported back.”

  I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders, and while it was a new sensation, it irked me for some reason. Maybe a sudden closeness from someone I didn’t know well enough? Maybe it was her forwardness at seemingly all times?

  I took a breath, held it, then relaxed a little as I let it out. I turned to find her face a careful mask of emotionless bearing. Either it didn’t bother her that I had up and cut out, or she was furious and her bearing was fucking insane.

  See, bearing is the way you carry yourself and what you let people see of you from your face and mannerisms. A lot of people in the military have good control of their bearing and tend to hide their emotions behind a mask of blank faces and dispassionate observation. They seem detached or uncaring at times. To have good bearing means to have good control. So whatever Vrawn was feeling at that moment, I had no clue because she didn’t want me to know.

  “Lieutenant Vrawn, this is Vilmas of the Light Hand Clan. A master enchanter on the cusp of attaining the grandmaster rank in her craft. Vilmas, this is lieutenant Vrawn of the Sunrise Guard. Vrawn, Vilmas is under my care, so I would like you to help me keep her safe.”

  “I can do that.” The weight of Vrawn’s limbs left me, and she walked around the vomit to help Vilmas to her feet.

  Vilmas took one look at Vrawn, squinting in the bright light, and I instantly remembered that Dwarves and Orcs didn’t like each other normally. Dwarves usually hated Orcs outright. I should have fucking remembered this from my earlier justifications.

  Pull your shit together, Zeke! I growled at myself. I would watch for now, but I had to be ready to step in if shit got heavy.

  But I was surprised to see the Dwarven woman take the lieutenant’s offered hand and stand shakily to her feet.

  “You’re so big.” Vrawn, probably used to hearing that assertion, cast her eyes downward—hurt. Vilmas put her hand on the Orc’s bicep, then pulled her down closer to look at her face. “It’s so bright here; it hurts my eyes.”

  As the larger woman knelt down to get closer, Vilmas’ eyes shot open wider, and she exclaimed, “You’re an Orc! Are all Orcs so beautiful?”

  I watched in stunned silence as Vrawn’s cheeks glowed a deep red. “I do not know many of my kind. I was adopted, but I thank you. I am Vrawn. Would you like to be my friend?”

  Vilmas looked as though she was about to explode in excitement. “I’ve never had a friend before! I would love to be your friend!” She looked at me and splayed her hands in a questioning gesture. “What do friends even do?”

  I couldn’t help the belting laughter that threatened to choke me on the way out. All that escaped was an “oh god” and chortled, choking sobs of laughter.

  After I calmed down, the girls didn’t look like they would string me up and do terrible things to me for laughing at them. So, I figured I was alright.

  “Vrawn, will you take me to the wall so that I can take a look at it?” Vilmas held her hand out to the taller woman.

  “I would be more than happy to.” Vrawn took the proffered hand, and they walked toward the wall around the village.

  Vilmas looked over the structure before her, then began to touch it with her hands and inspect it with a monocle that she held to her right eye.

  “The wood is crude, but it will do, as it seems to be sturdy.” She took a fist and rapped her knuckles against the wood. “I will need to speak with the smith. We will need to acquire nails and have the supplies we bought taken care of so that we can begin engraving them and pouring mana into them.”

  I nodded, understanding the task that was to come, “Well, then let’s get you to Rowland’s place and start this process. The sooner this is done, the sooner we will be able to rest easier.”

  The walk to Rowland’s wasn’t all that bad, except for the fact that Vilmas had lost that odd round of sureness that she had with Vrawn. She was more than a little jumpy, and the Orc with her had to hold her close at times. But neither seemed to really mind the other. I thought of that as a blessing.

  We came to the smithy moments later; the light hit the wooden building lighting the dark wood and highlighting the beauty of the wood. A stone section of the wall around the forge portion itself attached to the fenced in yard where he kept wood and other materials. It was all the same as it had been.

  I love Rowland, the dwarven blacksmith who ran the forge in Sunrise, and I loved to mess with him. We were basically family by now.

  I kicked in the door with a huge grin on my face, only to find Jaken and Rowland in conversation.

  “There’s the bastard!” Rowland roared and rounded the counter coming straight at me. “Come here.”

  Rowland, his stout body, covered in thick muscle that would make any bodybuilder quiver, stalked toward me. His black eyebrows were furrowed, and his beady black eyes glinted in the muted light of the room. His fists were packed tight, and when I looked to Jaken to see if he knew what the hell was wrong—the stout man slugged me in the stomach.

  It wasn’t the hardest I had been hit, by any means, but I was confused as to the treatment. “Rowland, what the fuck?”

  “Yer out there doin’ gods know what, and ye don’ come an see yer pal Rowland?” The Dwarf pulled me into a headlock. “Ye don’ share a drink with the man whose life ye helped save afore ye went ta risk yer neck? Maybe I oughta beat manners into ye lad?”

  I growled, and we tussled playfully. His grip on my neck and head lost when I shifted into my fox form and then back once my head was out of his grip. We traded good-natured blows for a second before we clasped hands and shook.

  “What can I do fer ye, Zeke? Jaken an’ I were just discussin’ some further things he needed to work on.” Rowland turned and noted the two with me. First he addressed Vrawn, “Lieutenant. I hope the weapons ye requisitioned from me are provin’ useful?”

  “They are, Master Rowland.” Vrawn’s head dipped in acknowledgment. “I would ask that we have weights welded on to our training weapons soon so that th
e guards can train a little harder. If you have the time?”

  “Yer a monster.” He chuckled evilly. “I’ll be more than happy ta help ye. Bring ‘em in when ye need ‘em. I’ll do me best.”

  Rowland’s gaze fell to Vilmas, and he swallowed once deeply before speaking, “Welcome to me shop.”

  “Thank you. I heard your name is Rowland?” Vilmas began timidly. “The hammer falls.”

  “And rises again,” Rowland finished a greeting that Dwarves usually spoke to each other on a first meeting. It let them know that they were aware of the toil their god went to while crafting each of them and that they were equal along the way.

  “Zeke says that you are a talented smith. I will have need of your skills for a project to assist in protecting the village from further attacks. Are you well versed in smithing with mithral?”

  “I can hammer basic things if needed. I know the theory for hammering the metal, but it’ll be me first time,” Rowland admitted. “But if it be for the village, I’ll be at yer aid.”

  “Basic is all that will be needed.” She motioned for me to do something, and I figured it was lay out the mithral, which I did.

  Every ingot after the first two made Rowland’s black beard dip lower as his mouth fell further and further open.

  “I need for you to hammer three inch by three inch squares of the metal that need to be at least an eighth of an inch thick.” She eyed the smith as he kept staring at the metal. “Rowland?” She waved her hand in between him and the ingots.

  “Three by three and a eighth, aye. That’s within me skills.” He blinked a few times. “Jaken, lad, I take it ye learned a lot more in Djurn Forge yerself?”

  “I can forge mithral.” Jaken’s shoulders squared proudly. “Give me a piece to go off of, and I’ll be able to mimic it.”

  “How quick ye need it?” Rowland began to hand off the ingots to Jaken who ferried them into the back.

  “I need as many as you can make out of that as quickly as you can,” Vilmas replied.

  “Very well. It’s nearly noon now. Have Yohsuke or Muu bring the two of us lunch and dinner. We’ll have ye what we can by mid-morning tomorrow.” Rowland rubbed his chin for a second, then looked to Jaken. “Get me splitter out. I’ll make the one, then split others while ye make what ye can. Then we can work together.”