Gamers

by Cambry Varner

  Even in Rage mode a level 1 barbarian would have trouble fighting two enemies unarmed. Darcy laid a hand on Mina’s shoulder and concentrated. The healing spell flowed from her fingertips and into Mina’s flesh as it had before in the Lair of Tears. A bruise forming on Mina’s shoulder faded away and the swollen corner of her mouth reduced in size until it was gone. The barbarian woman gingerly prodded the spot with her tongue and found no pain.

  Then she looked away, refusing to meet Darcy’s eyes. “I tried to kill you.”

  Darcy took Mina by the arms and had to use extra force to turn the larger woman around. “It’s alright. You got us free. Let’s focus on getting out of here.”

  The guards had dropped their clubs during the beating, and Darcy picked them up and handed one to Mina. “We should both be proficient in simple weapons. Try not to throw this, okay?”

  Mina took the weapon in both hands and muttered, “I’m not going to throw it. Except maybe at your head.”

  Darcy perked up, feeling almost proud. “See! That’s the spiteful spirit.”

  Chapter 8

  Tom

  McRando was not a happy man. Too many strange things were happening in his forest, and he didn’t like it. The damn letters were lost, and his men had yet to find them. It was a shame the blighter that lost the letters was already dead, or McRando would have made his hide into a pair of shoes. Then there was a lone half-elf in the area, but the damn ingrates had lost her and brought him two strange women who didn’t even have the letters. Worthless.

  Well, that last thought wasn’t true. They were both handsome women who could still line his pockets with coin. There was, however, something queer about them. Being the bastard son of a dockside whore in Alexandria had exposed McRando to all manners of cultures and foreigners, but he had never seen the likes of these two. Their mannerisms contradicted their appearance, like poor actors in elaborate costumes.

  He rubbed his bearded chin in thought. Were they spies? Spies could have discovered knowledge about the letters and so would steal them, but if they were professionals their lies would have been far more rehearsed and plausible.

  Members of a rival gang? No, his men wouldn’t have caught them so easily if that was true.

  He thought of more possibilities, but none of them seem likely, and it disturbed him. McRando’s intuition had never let him down. It had protected him from the many dangers of a childhood in the slums. It had led him to taking leadership of a gang and had kept him out of the hands of the city watch. When he was shanghaied onto a pirate vessel, he served as a cabin boy until he engineered a mutiny and took over the ship, naming himself captain. When the King’s warships finally caught up to them, he survived and, along with a handful of his most loyal crewmen, followed this river to find the hidden cavern and the villa, which became a haven for his Cut Throats. He had been here for nearly twenty years, and here he was determined to stay for another twenty, if the gods didn’t smite him first. Even if that were to happen, he would still survive.

  McRando had always been able to anticipate his enemies’ moves and circumvent them thanks to his intuition, which he trusted more than he ever had his own mother. And his intuition was plaguing him about the women, but he didn’t know what he ought to do about them. Killing them would end the matter, but if they knew about the letters or, worse, about the man in the cells below…No, better to keep them alive and find out what they knew. If his men could find the half-elf and if she had the letters and answers, then all the better.

  There was another problem. Someone was out there killing his men. When the letters had failed to arrive, he had sent men to look for the courier and when those men didn’t come back, he sent more men after them. They found the bodies riddled with white, elven arrows and had gotten it into their foolish heads that the elves from Saige had come north to reclaim their lost land, but McRando knew better.

  On the edge of the desk was a white arrow his men had brought back. Picking it up he twirled the shaft between his fingers. McRando had seen such arrows as treasures stolen from museums or forgotten tombs. The arrowhead gleamed like moonlight and the white shaft, though wood, was as hard as steel and smooth as glass. The leaf blade arrowhead was still sharp, he merely tapped the tip with an index finger, and blood welled up from the tiny wound. These were masterwork arrows, a craft lost to the elves for many centuries; yet this one was newly crafted.

  The Cut Throats weren’t the most skilled of fighters, but they knew these woods well and had ambushed many an unwary traveler. It would take a great deal of skill to put one over on them. At first, McRando believed this killer must have been the person who had taken the letters, but the gang member who had been robbed of the letters had been pummeled to death, not perforated by arrows. The killings had continued, and it was not only his men who were the victims.

  A scout had brought word that a caravan leaving from Everguard had been attacked, with all the participants—merchants, free riders, guards, and mercenaries—dead. Their bodies were riddled with white arrows, many having died where they stood or as they fled. Among the deceased had been dignitaries from far off lands and from across the sea. Some of those found murdered were in their elaborate vardos, where they had hidden in cowardly fashion as their guards died defending them.

  Most astounding of all, the one aspect to the ambush on the caravan that brought a chill to McRando’s dark heart, was that nothing had been taken. The cargo was untouched: no pockets turned out; no jewelry cut from fingers or necks; and no children or women kidnapped.

  McRando was not a man to turn down an easy profit, but even he knew the danger this could bring the gang. When word of the slaughter reached the capital city, the kingsguard would come to investigate. McRando ordered his men not to touch the caravan, not one bauble or coin was to be taken, as suspicion for the act would otherwise fall on the Cut Throats, and until the true killer was found and hanged they would be made to pay. For in the eyes of the guards the Cut Throats were as low as rats.

  McRando wasn’t worried that the king’s men might find the villa, no one had found it in all this time, but the king could increase security along the roads and rivers, preventing their smuggling operation from turning a profit. He might have to send word to Riker to not expect any cargo until this mess was sorted.

  There was too much mischief happening in his forest, and none of it was his own. And his intuition told him that there was more to come. No, McRando was not a happy man at all.

  ***

  The tunnel brought them to a hole in a wall that branched out into a stone hallway with sconces providing light, and the dust on the floors muffled their footsteps. The torches offered very little warmth, but Sally barely noticed the temperature.

  Since their Sneak skills were high, they took turns scouting a hall; Sally leading until she found a spot with a good view and then motioning Naomi to come along and take over. It was Sally’s idea that if one of them was seen, then the other could ambush the attackers. They communicated through simple hand signals to prevent any whisper giving them away.

  Every room they came across, they checked whether someone was present. First, Naomi would listen with her higher Perception (+5) for any noise. If she heard anything, they moved on, but if there were no sound, Sally would check the door for traps and pick it if it was locked.

  So far, they had only found empty rooms with supplies, stolen loot, and beds. They didn’t dare take the time to search the rooms for anything useful as sometimes a Cut Throat would come by. When that happened, they ducked inside the room and hid until he passed.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Sally whispered after the footsteps of a Cut Throat faded out of hearing. “I say we grab one and make him tell us where they are.”

  “They may miss him or find him tied up,” Naomi pointed out. “And they’ll know we’re here.”

  “And they won’t find that out when they discover the men we left by the pier?” Sally was desperate to locate Darcy, and each empty r
oom they came across made her fear more and more that she had been taken elsewhere or was dead. No, she didn’t dare give that inconceivable notion another thought. Darcy was alive and she would find her alive. That was the only way this could end.

  “The men at the campfire were getting drunk,” Naomi said in a calm voice that contrasted with Sally’s agitation. “If they were seriously guarding the place, they would have been alert or patrolling. I don’t think the dock gets much protection since the cave is well hidden. It’ll take a while before anyone checks on them, if they even bother to do so.”

  “This is still taking too long,” Sally muttered.

  “We’ve only been looking for ten minutes. We haven’t gone far because we’ve been taking it slow to stay hidden.”

  Has it only been ten minutes? It felt longer with her nerves and fear making each second crawl by. The world would not right itself until her sister was found.

  Naomi checked the next hallway and froze at the end of it. Flattening herself against the wall, Sally gripped the dagger close to her chest. The Monk made a halting motion and then slowly backpedaled to her and held a finger to her lips as she pointed to the room they had just vacated. They ducked inside the room and eased the door closed.

  Naomi said, “Around the corner, I saw two guards standing in front of a door.”

  “Did you see Darcy?” Sally blurted.

  The girl shot her a fixed look. “Sorry, Sally, but seeing through solid walls isn’t a Monk ability.”

  “I mean, they could have Darcy and Mina behind that door.”

  “I will agree that there’s a reason the Cut Throats are guarding that room, but that doesn’t mean your friends are inside,” Naomi said diplomatically. “Attacking those guards is a big risk for something that isn’t a sure thing.”

  “It’s them,” Sally said, taking Naomi by the shoulders, her fingers biting into the gi’s fabric. “I know it’s them. Please, we have to take the chance.”

  Naomi shrugged off her hands. “Ow, alright, alright. Calm down. We need to come up with a plan first.”

  “I already have one. We make sure there’s no one else along that hall, then we surprise them. I take one, and you take the other. We do it fast before they have a chance to run or yell for help. Use a ki point if you have to.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll take the one furthest away.”

  Creeping back out, Naomi paused at the end of the hallway, gave Sally a nod, then the short girl in the white gi sprinted forward. Sally tried her best to keep up. Ducking the swing of the cudgel of the first guard, Naomi was past and launching herself onto the second with a flurry of blows to his face that bore him down to the floor.

  Encouraged, Sally crashed into the first guard, jabbing an arm across his throat to cut off a shout and catching his wrist and twisting it hard until he dropped his cudgel. The man punched her in the side with his free hand, making her flinch, which was the opportunity he needed.

  Shoving Sally, he pulled away, but she caught him again. With an arm hooked across his throat, she hauled him back, again stifling any yell for help. “Naomi, help me!” she hissed as she struggled with the Cut Throat.

  “In a second!” Naomi grunted from where she was still wrestling with the Cut Throat beneath her. She grabbed his head with both hands and smashed it onto the floor. When his body went slack, she leaped off him and went to help Sally.

  A roundhouse kick ended the man’s struggles. Sally set him down against the wall, panting and angry with herself for almost failing. If she had sneak attack bonuses, then she should have managed this man when she caught him by surprise. Perhaps she should have used her dagger to kill him instead of choking him. No, killing him wasn’t necessary and it shouldn’t be the solution to every problem.

  “Someone’s definitely in there,” Naomi said with an ear to the door.

  Sally snapped out of her deep thoughts and pulled her thieves tools from her pocket. “Stand back.”

  Her heart was pounding in exuberance at having found Darcy, her imagination running ahead from the rescue to the thought that they could finally leave this dangerous place. The lock was a bit trickier than the ones she had picked before. It took a few tries before she managed to tame the tumblers.

  As soon as the lock gave in, she opened the door. “Darcy?”

  The room was lit by a single candle on a table where a man was sitting. His dark hair was unkempt, hanging loosely about his temples and he wore a torn white shirt and homespun breeches. A half-eaten meal was on the table before him and he held a spoon paused before his mouth. Lowering it, he studied her, bright blue eyes bright like bits of glass. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  Sally scanned the room but saw there was no one else in this room: no Darcy or Mina.

  “Dammit,” Sally hissed. She struck the doorjamb with the flat of her hand in frustration. It was as Naomi had warned; they had taken a risk for nothing.

  “That isn’t a greeting I would expect from a rescuer.” It was hard to tell if the man was annoyed or surprised.

  There was a long chain from the center of the room connected to a fetter around his ankle which rattled across the floor as he pushed back the chair and stood. Sally felt an irrational resentment for this man rise in her gut. How dare he be here expecting her to rescue him when she meant to save Darcy!

  “I didn’t come here to save you,” Sally said coldly.

  His eyebrows rose, and his mouth dropped open in utter astonishment. Recovering quickly, he looked bemused, “Then pray tell, why are you here if not to rescue me?”

  Sally ignored his question and asked her own. “Have you seen two women? A tall Barbarian and a dark skin Cleric? They would be prisoners too.”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve seen in weeks,” the prisoner replied. His eyes stayed on her face with such an intensity that it made her uncomfortable and angry.

  She lowered her eyes and cursed at how they had wasted their time and effort for nothing.

  Naomi squeezed pass Sally to get a better look at the chained man. “Who are you?”

  The man’s eyebrows rose as he took in Naomi’s appearance. Sally couldn’t fault his reaction upon seeing the short, barefoot girl with tangled pigtails wearing a gi. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Sally noticed him nervously licked his lips before speaking, “You can call me Tom.”

  “And why are you here, Tom?” Naomi asked, standing on her toes to see him better without getting closer.

  There was a brief pause before he said, “I’m the son of a merchant. These bandits attacked our caravan and took me for ransom. If you free me, my father will reward you handsomely.”

  His eyes were cast to the left as he spoke, and he scratched the edge of his jaw. There was a tiny bead of sweat forming on his brow. All of this stood out as if Sally were watching him through a microscope.

  He’s lying. I don’t know how, but I know he’s lying to us.

  “Sure, we’ll help you! Sally can pick the lock around your foot,” Naomi said, giving the man a thumbs up.

  It was all Sally could do to keep from bobbing her on the head. Instead, she caught Naomi by the arm and hissed in her ear, “He’s hiding something.”

  Naomi wrung her arm free. “So?”

  “We don’t know anything about him.” Sally shot the man a glance. He was fiddling with the spoon as if to entertain himself while they spoke politely, but he was listening to every word they said.

  “We do know he’s a prisoner here so he can’t be a Cut Throat,” Naomi said gently as if reassuring a child. “And remember, I’m Chaotic-Good. If I see an unlawfully imprisoned person, I have to help them.”

  Sally pinched the bridge of her nose, as Naomi’s prattle was grating on her nerves. “We can’t sneak around while dragging him along. We have a hard enough time defending ourselves, much less a third wheel.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by calling me a ‘third wheel,’ but I assure you I can defend myself,” Tom said, dropping h
is spoon on the table in a dismissive manner. “I know how to wield a sword, and I’m willing to help you find your friends before we flee this place.”

  “See?” Naomi held out her hands towards him as if he had offered a solution to a quagmire of a puzzle. “That settles it.”

  It did make sense, Sally wouldn’t deny that, but something about the man bothered her. He was lying about his identity; but did it really matter? Naomi had a point about his not being a Cut Throat, and he was offering help, which they dearly needed. Caving, she slipped the thieves tools from her pocket and approached the man.

  In the candlelight, she could see him clearly. He was much taller than she, standing little over six feet. His body seemed stable, strong, and long of bone. Dark, unruly hair hung in his eyes and down to his shoulders, almost blending in with his matching beard. Blue eyes gleamed like polished stones, and they watched her come closer in a way she didn’t find comfortable.

  “Put your foot on the table,” Sally ordered, wanting to be done with this as soon as possible.

  He obliged, and the chain slithered across the floor as the motion pulled on the slack. It took only a few moments, and the manacle fell from his ankle and thumped onto the table. He moaned in relief as he rubbed and scratched the reddened skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve had this itch.”

  “Scratch it on your own time. Let’s go.” That came out ruder than she intended, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Right then. We can’t keep your dear friends waiting,” he said with a sardonic twist in his mouth.

  Sally clenched her jaw to keep from saying sorry as she would have in the real world whenever she unintentionally offended someone. Sometimes she came across as rude when really she was anxious. To avoid this, she generally stayed away from unfamiliar people. Unfortunately, since arriving in this world, she had been thrown into the company of several bizarre strangers.

  Naomi bounded over to him, holding one of the guard’s fallen clubs. “Think you can use this?”