by Deck Davis
The old bird-like mage glared at him. “Damned harpies. Should never have trusted them to do the job. Couldn’t keep them away for a few measly hours, could they? They’ll be long gone now, I suppose.”
Kordrude came running toward them from the side of the guildhouse, his bird eyes wide in alarm. From behind him, a long, drawn out groan filled the air, so loud that everyone turned around.
“What the hell was that?” said Carlisle.
Kordrude ran to Joshua. “I’m sorry, they came here ten minutes ago and…”
“Where’s Faron? Why didn’t she do anything? I thought the idea of having a dragon here was that she’d stomp on any intruders,” said Joshua.
The groan rose over the guildhouse again; it was full of pain, and it set Joshua’s hairs on end.
“She’s in labor. The whelps are coming early.”
“Early? They’re due in two years!”
“Dragon pregnancies are different; this happens, I have heard.”
Terry grinned. “It doesn’t matter; the old lizard is useless anyway.”
Another groan met their ears, this one worse than the last. “You better see to her,” said Joshua.
“I never delivered a dragon whelp before.”
“You can’t let her go through it alone.”
“Run along, you overgrown chicken,” said Terry.
Keate pointed his sword at him. “You can talk, with that beaky nose of yours.”
“This is what it amounts to?” said Reben, twirling his dual-ended weapon. “This is the heroes’ guild you were building? A useless dragon, a washed-up old warrior, and you, a boy who’s probably never used a knife before. I bet you don’t even cut your own meat, do you, boy? You get your momma to do it for you. Oh, wait - I see you have a couple of goblin friends with you too. Carlisle, Harrie, make sure they don’t bother us.”
Harrie. That was the name of Benjen’s killer, then. Joshua stared at him. I’ll put a knife in your belly, Harrie. Just like you did to my friend.
“Reben, Miana, make sure the guildmaster and his friends don’t bother me while I work,” said Terry of Yarn.
“Work? What the hell do you want?” said Joshua.
“I came to collect what’s mine.”
“I thought you got the message before; Faron is staying with us.”
“Not the scaly beast, you idiot! Why would I need her? You know what I want. You must have found it.”
“Found what?”
“Didn’t you every wonder why the floor of your basement was made of quarite? It isn’t cheap; they say that the palace of the three kings is-”
“…made of quarite. I know. What’s down there that you need so badly?”
Terry ignored him and turned to Reben. “The boy is a distraction. End it so I can work.”
With that, rotund Reben took two steps forward toward Joshua. Keate walked toward him and met him, and the two fighters faced off.
Carlisle jabbed Harrie in the ribs. “Come on. I’ll take the green-skins - goblins ain’t worth shit. You can kill the boy. Might as well have both lads on your kill record.”
That did it. Fury spiked in Joshua now, and he felt all semblance of logic wash from his mind, so consumed was he with the idea of getting justice for Benjen.
He ran toward Harrie with eclipse in his hand as Faron’s groans rose over the heroes’ hill and echoed into the sky, and Keate met Reben in combat, and Carlisle clashed with Razlag and Fheth.
Keate’s sword clanged against Reben’s double-ended spear, and the two men stepped around each other with the grace and caution of seasoned fighters, throwing a jab here, and feint there.
Their song of metal met with another clash; that of Carlisle fending off Razlag and Fheth’s attacks. The two goblins held rusted iron swords, and their attacking style was less a show of refinement and more an angry hack and slash. Carlisle met their blows with his machete, showing more ability than Joshua had expected.
Joshua, meanwhile, reached Harrie and swung his dagger at him. The man ducked under the blow and swung his left fist into Joshua’s side.
He staggered back and wheezed for breath. Time seemed lost for him then as he stumbled away, and the sounds of combat became a gruesome orchestra of swords meeting spears, blades glancing off other blades.
“Don’t just stand there, girl!” said Terry, looking at Miana. “Do something.”
Harrie approached Joshua with a mean look in his eyes, and Joshua tried to fight through the pain in his ribs and tried to suck in enough air to function but the agony was too much, he was too winded, and Harrie was in front of him then, his sword raised aloft, his teeth clenched.
He tensed his arm and went to bring the sword down on Joshua’s neck.
Suddenly Harrie gasped, and his eyes widened until Joshua could only see the whites, and he slumped forward onto his knees with a crack, groaning with pain as flecks of blood spat from his wet lips.
Miana was behind him then, and she pulled her dagger out of Harrie’s spine.
Terry’s face reddened in fury, his bird-like face looking predatory, almost like an eagle on the hunt.
“Traitorous little bitch!” he said.
To Joshua’s left, Keate swept Reben’s legs from underneath him, and in one quick thrust he stabbed his spear into the chubby man’s chest, grunting as he made it crunch deeper through his bones and into his heart.
Carlisle stabbed his machete into Fheth’s leg. The goblin woman screamed, and Carlisle tried to wrench his weapon free, but it was stuck.
Razlag’s face was a portrait of pure anger now, and the goblin hacked at Carlisle again and again, sinking the rusted blade into Carlisle’s skin and covering him in wounds. Where Keate had killed Reben with a one practiced blow, Razlag was hacking at Carlisle like a butcher, and blood spurted from each fresh cut, drenching Carlisle’s shirt and trousers.
Seeing that Reben, Carlisle, and Harrie were dead, and that Miana had betrayed him - though Joshua didn’t know why - Terry backed away from them.
All the while, Faron’s laborious shrieks made a tremendous noise, almost like thunder localized over the guildhouse, and every so often Joshua heard Kordrude talk to her in panicked dragon-tongue.
The air returned to his lungs now, and he gave one hateful look at Harrie, who was dead on the ground.
He didn’t feel better; Harrie being dead didn’t bring him any peace. His whole body was on edge, his ribs still sore from Harrie’s punch but his arms and legs filled with energy that he needed to expend.
Razlag attended to Fheth, who was lying on the floor and clutching her wounded leg. Miana looked to Joshua and then to Keate, as if she was unsure of what to do or what to say.
Terry backed away from them until he hit the guildhouse door.
“It’s over, old man,” said Joshua.
“Over? I haven’t gotten what I came here for.”
“Your friends are dead.”
He shrugged. “I can always make new ones.”
He raised his staff high in the air. As he did, the sleeves of his robe fell back to reveal his scrawny arms and in that adrenaline-soaked moment, Joshua’s perception fed something back to him.
Just a slight detail; something most people would have missed, but not him.
He saw a tattoo on Terry’s right arm. A little black half star.
“You’re a warlock?”
Purple light gathered around Terry’s staff. He uttered a word; “Urgreth.”
He slammed the spear down to the ground and a wave of red light flashed out from it, sweeping toward Joshua and then over his head and beyond the hill. A stench rose around the guildhouse; sour and thick, the aroma of rot and death.
As the purple light faded and Joshua saw Terry clearly again, he felt his breath catch in his throat.
There were two demons beside him now, two creatures the old man had summoned from whatever depths warlocks called their kin from. They were completely black, almost as if they had been charred in a fire. Each
of them had three horns on their head, and a thin mist of purple fog gathered above them.
Standing behind them, Terry raised his staff once more and then smacked the base onto the ground, and a ball of black light flew from it. It crashed into Joshua with the force of a cannonball.
Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before spread through him, boring into his skin and channeling along his body like poison. It scorched his insides and froze them at the same time, and the twin destructive forces sent surges of pure hurt through him until it felt like his very essence was being wrenched apart.
It was then, in the dim recesses of his mind, that he remembered the writing of the deities.
Of how they’d given him a condemnation for using the dark arts; how they’d weakened him toward dark magic.
And this was it, surely. This pain, this feeling of utter desolation invading his mind like a spreading of rot. This was a magic darker than anything he’d ever seen, and he could feel it growing in him.
Light faded around him. He felt weak; sounds were dim. Arms grabbed him, but he could barely feel them, he was so numb.
All he could think was, this is the end.
Then, there was a taste on his tongue; something bitter. A thick liquid trickled into his throat and he wondered if it was blood, but then he felt it warm his stomach, and light returned to him in a flash, and he could see Terry and the guildhouse and Miana and the goblins.
And there, kneeling beside him, was Keate, with a flask in his hand. A Yellow, gloopy mess dribbled down it.
“This won’t work again, Joshua. We need to get you away. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like you’re more susceptible to his magic than us. That was a minor spell of darklight; it should barely have stunned you.”
“It’s the gods,” said Joshua, aware that he had a trace of madness in his voice, that he was speaking like a man who had lost all sense of reason.
“The gods?”
“A condemnation.”
“Get a grip of yourself. Come on.”
Terry raised his staff again, and more dark light gathered around it.
One more hit; that was all it would take. That would be the end of him, because the gods had punished him for trying to bring back his friend.
Then, a glorious thought pierced his brain.
They had punished him, yes. But could they save him? He looked at Razlag and Fheth and he remembered Gobber now, and he knew that he had one chance.
The blessing of minor luck. The gods had given it to him for choosing to help Gobber.
With an effort of will he brought the blessing into effect, and a feeling of lightness and goodness settled on him as the blessing took hold.
Blessing of Minor Luck used
Terry slammed his staff into the ground again, and a black ball of light whooshed over the hill and toward Joshua. It hit him in the chest and then glanced off him, rebounding off the breastplate and then swerving to the sky, before dispersing when it met the clouds.
Breastplate of Absorbed Damage
Resistance gained: Dark Magic
[1/10 dark magic resistance added to breastplate]
He could have smiled in relief were it not for the pain burning inside him and were it not for the twin black-skinned demons who now, on Terry’s command, approached him.
But with an effort of will, using all the mental strength his perception had built in him, he forced the pain to the back of his mind, and he let his thoughts flow freely now.
He stared at the demons and he used his sow distrust ability, and a sour-smelling wave of energy left him and wrapped around the demons. It hit one of them and then faded away with no effect, but he saw the light of distrust snake its way into the other demon’s open mouth.
The demon looked at its kin, and then at its maker.
“Kill them, damn you!” said Terry.
The demon shook his head, and he dispersed in a puff of ash.
As Joshua tried to recover himself, Keate and Miana fought the remaining demon with their swords and daggers, and the creature succumbed to the stabbing of their blades, leaving Fortuna in a cascade of wails.
Terry was alone now. Just an old warlock with one ally dead, another having deserted him, and his demons gone. Just a tired old man who was outnumbered, and only had a gnarled staff to fight with.
“Friends,” said Terry. “Come, now. A little misunderstanding; that is all we’ve had. A little-”
“You used dark magic and summoned demons, Terry,” said Miana. She faced her old ally with a face of pure hatred, and Joshua was surprised at the veracity of it. “You’re deluded if you think they’ll let you live.” Then, she faced Keate. “Kill him. He deserves it.”
Keate looked at Joshua, who nodded, and the old hero approached the wizard. Keate’s smile had gone now, and he wore the expression of a killer.
“Wait,” said Terry. “The basement. Wouldn’t you like to know what is done there?”
Keate stopped now. Again, he looked at Joshua. Joshua approached the warlock. “What are you saying?”
“Let me live, and I will tell you its secrets.”
“No, you won’t,” said a voice.
Before Joshua could turn around, a sword flew through the air from the direction of heroes’ hill behind them. It wasn’t a sword of steel or iron, but one of light, but its lack of metal made it no less dangerous. It stabbed straight into Terry’s chest, and the old man was dead before his tired body slumped onto the ground.
Joshua spun around to see a stranger on the hill. A crooked-backed beggar man wearing a tattered robe.
“It’s good to be back,” said the beggar. “It has been too long.”
He pushed back his hood to reveal his face.
“Jandafar!” said Keate.
Joshua couldn’t believe it. There he was; the old gnoll who had owned the guild before him. So many questions flooded through his brain that it was impossible to catch hold of one, and he found himself unable to speak.
Jandafar was supposed to be dead, wasn’t he? Or was he on the run? Joshua couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter because he was here now, and he had helped them. He’d killed Terry using some kind of sword magic.
Or had he helped them? Maybe a few weeks ago, Joshua would have been naïve enough to think that but that part of him was fading, buried under death and conflict and deceit. He saw things differently now.
Jandafar faced Keate. “I heard that somebody had bought the guild, but I didn’t think it would be you. A wise choice; you’re getting too old to swing a sword. Better to take a quieter job, one where you won’t get hurt.”
“Jandafar…you…you just murdered your brother,” said Keate.
Jandafar shrugged. “We were foster brothers, that is all. There was never any love between us. Besides, we all know why he was here, do we not? He coveted what was mine. Well, I’m here now, and I think I’ll take it back, if you don’t mind, Keate.”
“I’m not the guildmaster. This lad is,” said Keate, nodding at Joshua.
“You?”
Joshua’s ribs ached, he felt weary, and the aftermath of the dark magic had made his body feel wretched. It was a toxic combination of feelings, and he found himself in no mood to even entertain Jandafar.
Forget that the old guildmaster he was still alive, forget why he was here; he didn’t care. He just wanted him gone, and he wanted to do it before the old gnoll even had a chance to react.
“You, boy?” said Jandafar. “This is your guild? Now, I know I have been away for a while, but I thought we only let heroes into the guild.”
“Heroes? You were corrupt as hell,” said Keate. “Don’t even pretend there was anything heroic about the way you ran things. There was a reason I never joined your guild.”
“Yes; your principles. And where have they gotten you? What kind of life has your precious sense of morals given you? Look at yourself; a tired old hero, still holding his sword, still as poor as the day he fell out of his pauper mother’s crotch.
”
“Whatever he says,” said Keate, looking at Justin, “Whatever he promises, don’t trust him. He’s killed before, and he’s broken more oaths than you can imagine. Give him what he wants, and he’ll kill you too.”
While the gnoll and the hero bickered, Joshua searched his brain for answers. He sensed that he wouldn’t be able to get close to Jandafar without the old gnoll reacting; he’d already killed his own foster brother with a sword made from magic light. How could Joshua match that?
And with that little thought, all the pain in him retreated to the shadows. Because he knew, now. He knew exactly how to match it.
His seeker binding. That was it.
Looking at the gnoll, he concentrated his mind and activated the first ability he’d earned from his seeker binding; a one-use ability that let him look at a person’s classes and skills.
A ream of text appeared in front of him, and he saw Jandafar the Red’s class sheet. And what a class sheet it was.
There was his guildmaster class, a beggar class, a sword play class, and then another; one he’d already seen the deadliness of.
Red Magic – Level 4
That was how he’d conjured the sword of red light that he’d used to kill Terry, and it was what he’d use to kill Joshua too, if he tried to attack him.
But Joshua had a second ability to use, the one he’d gained when he levelled his seeker binding to 2.
Jandafar turned his attention away from Keate and looked at Joshua. “Something amusing, boy?”
Joshua activated his second seeker perk; a one-use ability that let him use another person’s class temporarily. “You came to claim back something of yours, you said?”
Jandafar nodded. “And there doesn’t need to be any more death; I promise that on my honor.”
“No problem. I’ll give you back what’s yours. Here it is.”
Using his seeker ability, he took Jandafar’s red magic for himself, and he felt a tremendous rush of power flow through him. His brain synapses fired with the new knowledge of his temporary skill. It was such a rush of ability so forceful and so sudden that it made him stagger back, but he collected himself.