by Tim Johnson
TOWN OF BEAVERTON - 2 MILES
ASTRAL CAVES - 6 MILES
The sign also signaled where he had run from: KINGDOM OF THE RED FIST - 1 MILE.
He looked back upon the fortress dominating the horizon.
The Kingdom of the Red Fist. Just like the golden writing had said.
So, he knew where he had come from. As for where he should go next, a town sounded better than the caves. Plus, it was closer. So, he made his way in that direction and stuck to the side of the path. Beyond that was a forest which was wrapped in the black of night, on the other side was open fields.
If he heard horses, he could slip into the forest until they passed.
He ran at a fast clip along the side of the road. He should be there in fourteen minutes, as long as the cryo-sleep hadn’t damaged his nervous system.
He cracked on; his feet swishing through the grass was the only sound in the dark.
Until he heard a piercing shriek from the forest.
He skidded to a halt. Then he heard it again: a very human scream of pain.
“Helllp!”
Christian cursed and ran towards the sound.
He fought through the branches of the forest, heading towards the cries.
There in the clearing, was a beast with its jaws clamped down on a little boy’s leg. The creature swung to the side, dragging the boy through the dirt, and the boy screamed again. At first, Christian thought it was the rounded back of a bear, until he saw the giant paddle-like tail of… a massive beaver?
As he stared at it, information popped up in his vision, floating above the creature.
Giant Beaver
Level: 1
Health: 32/40
The little boy tried to kick the creature in its face with his free leg and let out another yell of pain.
Christian didn’t hesitate but rushed to the aid of the kid. He raised both his hands high and brought the dagger down in an almighty arch on the back of the creature’s neck.
Critical hit!
Damage dealt: 22
The giant beaver was still somehow alive. Christian bought the dagger down again and the animal slumped down, dead.
A little bell sounded in Christian’s mind and words unfolded in gold again.
Victory!
The child stared up at Christian, with wide eyes and a face etched with fear. He raised his arm and pointed behind Christian. “B-b-behind you!”
From the dense brush two more of the monsters emerged.
Christian stood in front of the boy protectively. He held his bloody dagger out ahead of him and slowly crouched down into a better knife-fighting position.
The beavers stepped forward into the clearing.
Everything else melted away as his breath evened out. It was just the dagger and his enemies. This was a dance he had done before.
Christian circled, lining up the beavers behind each other to fight them one at a time.
One rushed forward with a snap of its jaws. Christian side-stepped then leapt upon it, burying his dagger deep into the animal’s ribcage. He stabbed again and again, until the thing was down. He shoved himself off the body, palms covered in hot blood.
The other beaver made a menacing growl, preparing to attack. But Christian’s blood was up, and he charged it. The beaver countered, balancing on its thick tail and raking its claws down Christian’s front.
Damage: 12 HP
Christian’s Health: 88/100
Christian fell back and lost his knife.
The beaver leapt on top of him, but he caught the animal by its throat. The beaver’s jaws snapped inches from his face as its powerful claws ran down his front, cutting his top to shreds. Christian tried to throttle the creature, as notifications flashed up in his vision.
“Hey,” the boy shouted. He had the dagger and flung it back to Christian.
Christian snatched the dagger and struck it into the animal’s throat.
He watched as the beaver kicked out and its dark eyes rolled up into its head.
More bells rung and words of victory scrolled across his vision.
Christian stood up, staring at the dead mounds of fur.
He didn’t know as much about natural history as he did military history but was pretty sure giant beavers didn’t overlap with any medieval time period, if they had ever existed at in the first place.
The notifications were becoming more useful. Health and damage reports, like an advanced internalized heads-up-display.
Ultra-advanced tech in a time period so deep in history that I can’t place it? He hated how little sense this was making. But I must have gone back in time. That can be the only explanation.
The boy was staring up at him, eyes shining with admiration. Christian felt sorry for the kid. Everything about him seemed so spindly. Blue eyes looked out from under a mop of red hair and freckles dotted over a long nose. Arthur’s arms and legs were also too long, awkward and skinny. He was probably only six, or maybe ten. Christian wasn’t sure when it came to the ages of children. The now familiar gold script flowed over the boy’s head.
Arthur Podsworth
Peasant
Level: 1
“You okay?” Christian said. He crouched down and inspected the boy’s leg. The beaver’s sharp teeth had cut him badly. Without immediate medical attention, the wound would surely become infected and the boy might die.
Christian also had a wound of his own to tend to, the bastard giant beaver’s claws had raked his chest. Out here without modern medicine, it could be trouble. He needed to get back on track. The soldiers were probably on their way by now. Christian had a feeling they weren’t the type to care for an injured child.
“We have to get you out of here.”
He noticed a discarded bow a few feet away.
“Is that yours?”
“Yes,” the boy said pitifully.
Christian picked it up. He looked at the item and this time was not surprised to see a notification float in the air above it.
Simple Hunting Bow
Bow
Level requirement: 1
Damage: 6 – 9
Christian passed the bow back to Arthur who secured it over his head.
“Listen kid, we need to get out of here and fast. I’m headed to Beaverton.”
“That’s where I’m from.”
A small chime pinged in Christian’s head.
Quest: Take Arthur to Beaverton.
You’ve slain three beavers with your trusty knife, now take the boy to Beaverton to save his life.
He thought ‘Yes’, and it disappeared.
Some cutting-edge military cybernetics could supposedly help out like this, but even they usually required the user to wear some kind of screen or helmet. Had he picked something up in his uncle’s lab without remembering? There was always the chance he was still in his uncle’s lab, frozen in that white paste and dreaming this entire crazy thing.
He looked down at himself. His sweats were shredded to muddy, bloody rags and his shoes were caked in mud. At least his modern clothes weren’t quite so noticeable now.
“Alright, let’s go.”
He picked up the boy who whimpered but clung on to Christian’s neck. Christian pushed through the dense forest, back onto the road, and began to jog as fast as he could back on the path towards Beaverton, this time carrying a wounded child in his arms.
5
In the distance, the lights of Beaverton glimmered in the dark. He loped towards it, breathing hard. His pants and hoodie were a mess, more blood, mud and sweat than actual material. The wound on his chest stung and his arms were stretched and sore from carrying the boy.
High stone walls ringed the town, the perimeter lit by lanterns. The cobbled road lead straight to a main gate. Two guards stood there.
Christian glanced behind him again. He had frozen twice on the way, thinking he had heard the echoes of galloping horses, but so far, the night had been still.
He weighed his options. T
he boy needed urgent medical attention, but while it was still night, he still had an edge over those who would be pursuing him. The soldier in him was loath to give up his position by entering the town in full view of the guards. In an ideal world he would have had the time to scope out the town and find a discreet way in.
But the boy needs a medic. It’s a risk worth taking.
He sighed. Such an attitude had got him into trouble before.
Christian padded towards the guards, not wishing to startle them into aggression.
“I’ve got an injured child,” he called out.
The guards looked at each other, then peered into the dark.
“Who goes there?”
Arthur called out, waving his skinny arm. “It’s me, Arthur Podsworth, I was attacked by the beavers in the forest! This kind man saved me.”
One guard dropped his suspicions and rushed to help. Gold writing unfurled.
Gordon Nesbitt
Town Guard
Level: 4
“Golem’s ass, Arthur! Your father’s been in the sergeant’s office causing a ruckus and trying to raise a search party. We’ve been worried about you.”
The guards waved up at the ramparts and the gates to the town were dragged back. They revealed a cobbled town square surrounded by stone and thatch buildings.
As they walked through the gates into the town, another notification pinged in Christian’s his head.
Quest: Take Arthur to Beaverton: Success!
That’s nice but what does that mean?
Christian followed the guards now carrying Arthur into a small guardhouse, where they placed Arthur on a table and inspected his torn-up leg. Unless Christian’s eyes were deceiving him in the forest, the boy’s leg had already begun to heal at a rate which seemed impossible.
The men checked over Arthur with care. They seemed provincial, a little green and filled with genuine concern. These were good men, not like the killers he had seen back at the Kingdom of the Red Fist. And if a lost peasant boy meant this much to them, then Christian already had a measure of the scale on their problems.
This isn’t a town affected by war.
Despite being separated by a thousand years in time, they were all soldiers. With their attention on Arthur, it seemed like they hadn’t noticed Christian’s modern-day clothing or, as they had become, bloodied rags.
“I found him in the forest,” Christian said. “Some giant beavers tried to tear him apart.”
“By the dragons,” gasped Gordon. “Arthur you’re bloody lucky to be alive.” He looked to Christian gravely. “Thank you, sir.” Gordon looked like he had more to say but Christian placed his large palm on the man’s shoulder, interrupting him.
“Can I be of help?” Christian said. “You have an entire town to keep safe after all. I could let his parents know that the child is alright?”
Gordon nodded. “Thank you. There is just his father. The mother passed some time ago. I’ll take the boy to the town’s healer. If you can let Leon Podsworth know his son will be there, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
“Of course. Where can I find him?”
“The tiny house, just behind the blacksmith’s, you can’t miss it.”
As he walked through the town, a few streetlamps rocked in the breeze highlighting the shop signs: World of Potions, Gerald’s Grocers and so on. Almost all were closed with the doors bolted. But up ahead he could see the local inn was open. Light poured out from the window and the sound of voices and general merriment echoed out along with the rich scent of food and beer. The sign read The Hobgoblin Inn above an image of what Christian took to be a ‘hobgoblin’ brandishing an ax.
Christian kept his distance, walking to the other side of the square, away from the light to keep himself hidden.
But across the street, striding towards the inn was a woman. She checked behind her again. Something about her movement seemed suspicious to Christian. By the faint light spilling out from the inn he could make out that she was tall and Asian, with dark hair falling past her shoulders. She was wearing a figure-hugging outfit of black-leather and a longbow was strapped across her back along with a quill of arrows. Her stance clearly spoke of an athletic energy, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
What’s your story, I wonder? He could tell right away that she didn’t quite fit in here.
He stayed away from her, tracing around the inn until he was past the blacksmith’s, then he found the road that led behind it toward the little cottage he’d been told he’d find. As he walked, he kept track of the layout of the town so he could make his way back blindfolded if necessary. That training was etched into him, part of his DNA.
Eventually, he found the tiny ramshackle house. Inside he could see the shimmering lights of candle flames. He gave the front door a knock and it creaked open, showing a room. There stood a skinny man with the same long features as the boy.
“Hello?” the man said, pulling the door open and looking terrified at the sight of Christian in his doorway.
“You’re Arthur Podsworth’s father?”
“Yes! Yes, have they found him?” The words Leon Podsworth, Blacksmith, Level 2 unfurled in gold text.
“I’m Christian, and I found him. I’m afraid he’s been hurt, but he’s alive. The guards have taken him to the healer. He’ll be okay.”
Leon sagged with relief. “Thank goodness for that. Please, please, come in.” He opened the door wider and Christian had to duck under the lintel to step into the man’s home.
The house was tiny and in sore need of repairs. Christian had been in houses that had suffered blast damage and fared better. A small combined kitchen-living area was littered with pieces of strange black metal. Christian raised his brow at that.
“I’m an assistant at the master blacksmith’s,” Leon said. “Things have been hard since his mother passed. I think Arthur got it in his head to try and collect the bounty on those damn beavers.” The man was babbling and looked like he was about to burst into tears.
“He’s a brave lad then.”
Leon smiled wanly then gestured to a chair. Christian took up the seat, grateful for the chance to sit for a while. As he relaxed, Leon bustled over to the hearth. He must have already been brewing tea before Christian had arrived as he began pouring out two cups.
Christian thanked him, letting the warmth of the cup ease the tension in his hands before taking a sip. It wasn’t good but, in that moment – after being defrosted, sent back in time, killed and hunted – he hadn’t tasted anything quite so wonderful either.
“I’d like to give you something for saving my boy,” Leon said. “But… I don’t have much to offer.”
Christian considered him. Leon was skinny but as tall as him. His clothes could be a fit. Even clothes would be expensive for this family, but he absolutely had to get out of his bloodied modern clothing.
“I’d take something to wear.”
“That I can do,” Leon said. “If you need a place to stay – you have one here. It’s not much but it’s a roof over your head.”
Christian inclined his head.
Arthur’s father loped up the narrow staircase and soon came back with a bundle of clothes and some strong-looking boots.
As he passed them to Christian a notification pinged:
Peasant Tunic
Level requirement: 1
+1 armor
Peasant Trousers
Level requirement: 1
+1 armor
Peasant Boots
Level requirement: 1
+1 armor
Christian tried on the clothes. They were snug and tatty with stitches on the knees and elbows where they had been repaired, but they fit. He examined his chest where the beaver’s claws had ripped into him. The skin was smooth, just small white lines of scars that looked years old. He had healed.
Was I mistaken, in the dark of the forest?
He grunted. A man has never complained about being less injured. He would take it as a
blessing. But all these inconsistencies began to gnaw at him.
He pulled on the boots. They were perfect: strong and well made with some sole left.
It’s probably half of what this poor man has.
Christian held up his prison garments in a ball. “I think these are trash.”
“No, no. They’ll make fine armor polishing rags after a good clean.”
Now he had clothes and a place to sleep, Christian’s stomach rumbled loudly. He realized he hadn’t eaten a meal since he woke from cryo sleep, so, two years ago.
Leon seemed to read his mind, or at least part of it. He pressed some coppers into Christian’s hand.
Copper Coins +2
“Please, have an ale and some meat pie on the Podsworths. Thank you again for saving my son.”
Christian wanted to refuse, the poor man had barely anything, but the thought of the hot food he had smelled walking past the pub made his stomach growl again.
And it will give me a place to make inquiries about my uncle, and that’ll be easier to do if I’m a customer.
“Thank you,” Christian said and meant it. He was about to leave but thought he should try his luck once more. “One last thing… James T. Lee. You know him?”
“James T. Lee… no, no I don’t,” said Leon. “Perhaps ask around in the Hobgoblin Inn when you’re there. It’s full of merchants and adventurers who know far more people than I. If you need anything else, Christian, I’ll be here or at the blacksmith shop. I don’t have much to offer but I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
Christian headed to the Hobgoblin Inn, now blending in with his new disguise.
As he approached the inn, the sounds of merriment and the scent of beer and fresh meat pie greeted him first, making his mouth water. He entered and was enveloped in the warmth of the space. The Hobgoblin Inn was a pub of a decent size, with a staircase along the back wall that led up to the rooms. The inn was busy with patrons crowded around tables, warming themselves by the roaring fire, and a crowd stood around a fat bearded man who strummed a guitar.