Threadbare Volume 3

by Andrew Seiple

  “It’s a dumb, macho thing. So it’s mainly bored noblemen and soldiers, is who you see it in,” Cecelia explained. “If someone is openly carrying a sword you kind of expect them to know how to use it. And if you think they might not and YOU can use your sword, you call them out to see who’s better. Then you fight, and if you win you look good, and if you lose you can kiss up to the winner, and maybe they’ll be your friend. And then you’ll have a friend who’s better than you at fighting.”

  “It seems like a big waste of time,” Threadbare said. “Why not just be friends at the start of it all?”

  “Because the swords get in the way, for certain types of people,” Cecelia said.

  “Some people had to go through a lot to earn those swords,” Kayin said. “Not that I’m defending it, but... they see someone else with a sword, they maybe want to test to see if they’re at the same point. Been through the same stuff.”

  “My point is,” Graves said, settling back onto his broken chair, “if I go around wearing really heavy armor, then when we get into a fight people are going to assume I’m a very hard target and try to hit me really hard. Whereas if I’m wearing cloth, they’ll go oh, a mage. And probably send someone sneaky to shank me while the tanks batter at each other. Which is where Always in Uniform comes in. An invisible, weightless chain mail-equivalent, you know how that goes, Cecelia.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” the doll smiled. “Always in Uniform.” Her eyebrows rose, and Threadbare sighed in relief to see it. Those had been tricky to rig. “Oh! It stacks with my golem armor!” Cecelia said.

  “Good. We need you alive and as hard a target as possible if this is going to work,” Garon said, leaning on one of Madeline’s wings as she played with the fire. “Which means that if and when we get a higher golem option possible, we have to consider transplanting you. So don’t get too comfy.”

  “Thanks again for letting me try that out,” Graves said to Kayin. "Good to know we can swap people around without destroying the golem bodies first."

  Bored by all the talk about swords and challenges and stuff that was self-evident to every orc, Zuula wandered over to Glub, who was merrily humming along more quietly, now that his pals were back and chatting. “He eating?” She said, jerking a cloth thumb towards Graves.

  “Oh yeah dude,” Glub broke off singing, and pointed to a pot, set next to the fire. “Some kinda furry critter stew. Kayin killed the fuck out of it.”

  Graves had been afflicted by the kiss of a succubus. It had essentially withered his strength, and he needed help with a lot of things. Teaching him animator levels let him move around without too much pain, by dint of turning his clothing into something like temporary golems, but hunting and foraging his own food was a lot to ask of the guy. Especially since he’d been born a street rat and thought the woods were something you moved through as quickly as possible when you traveled to different settlements.

  “I’m going to need to work on soulstones more,” Threadbare said finally, “before we do any more spirit transplants. Otherwise you’re going to lose levels you’ll need later.”

  “And I’ll keep working on that refine soulstone skill,” Graves promised. “Fortunately we’ve got a lot of volunteers to experiment with, and extra soulstones to transfer them to when I get failures.” He jerked a thumb spasmodically back at the wagon and the crate of soulstones within it. “It worked, didn’t it?” He said, worried, looking to Cecelia.

  “Level five across the board, in four adventuring jobs. Also got all my crafting jobs.” She smiled, and Graves sagged in relief. “But I’m not a scout, so four’s the maximum, I’m guessing.”

  “It might be that a higher soulstone skill affects that,” Threadbare said. “At any rate, no one die again until we know more about it, okay?”

  Everyone promised to do their best.

  “Are they doing all right?” Threadbare glanced over at the crate.

  “Some grumbling, but yes,” Graves said. “An advantage of them all being cultists, I suppose. They’d expected some form of weird afterlife down the road, this is actually probably a bit better than their prior expectations. They do want to get into new bodies as fast as possible, though.”

  “Once we get more reagents, yes,” Threadbare said. They’d burned through all the rest of the yellow dust animating wooden shells for Kayin and Garon and Madeline.

  “And there’s only one likely source for that and all the other things that we’ll need, so we need to figure out our approach,” Cecelia said. “Garon, could you?”

  The minotaur nodded. “Secure the Perimeter,” he said and glanced around. “Yeah, we’re good. Or they’re good enough at hiding that it doesn’t matter, and we can’t stop them anyway.”

  “Good.” Cecelia scooted in closer to the fire. “We need to ally with the dwarves. There’s only two real points of resistance left in Cylvania, and they’re the bigger side.”

  “Easier ta find, too. Not like the othah guys. The ranjahs are all over the place,” Madeline said.

  “And there’s no guarantee they’ll talk to us, since they don’t need help as badly.” Cecelia nodded, her frizzy red hair swaying against her porcelain scalp. She reached up and touched it. “What is this stuff, by the way?”

  “Blisterweed pod silk,” said Zuula. “Relax. We boil it to make it frizzy, get de poison out. Zuula got better uses for dat stuff.’ She indicated a barrel in back of the cart. “Added it to de poison stores.”

  “I’m going to have to have a long talk with you later about those poisons,” said Kayin, ears twitching. “Sorry to interrupt, desu. So, dwarves?”

  “Dwarves.” Cecelia spread her arms. “I’ve spent the last half a year reading the intelligence reports and preparing to battle them. They’re sturdy, they’re stubborn, but they’ve been hard pressed by the last five years. If we approach them the right way, they won’t turn us down. Especially when we tell them we can convert reagents into troops. Three hundred and some golems can turn the tide in just about any battle on that front, with four exceptions.”

  “The Hand,” Graves said, and Madeline and Garon whistled, low and worried.

  Cecelia nodded. "Right. We’re not set up for open battle against any of the Hand. Not yet."

  “What hand?” Threadbare asked.

  “Ah, right, you ignorant,” Zuula said, patting his paw. “Four of de King’s most elite servants. Powerful adventurers. Maybe.”

  “Or they might be demons in disguise. There’s always been talk,” Garon said. “That Melos killed his old adventuring group, murdered his friends, and traded them in for high-level demons.”

  “My father insists that he didn’t kill them,” Cecelia said. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to recycle their corpses if someone else did. If he did it to my mother, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it to anyone else. He’s pragmatic that way. But yeah, the Hand are the reason that the dwarves can’t win without help, and they’re a problem we’ll have to face sooner or later. There’s four of them. And that’s one advantage we can give the dwarves straight away.” The ceramic doll grinned.

  “Oh?” Graves asked.

  “Remember I told you I read up on intelligence reports? The best ones were from The Lurker, the spy and infiltrator of the Hand. He’s infiltrated the dwarves, and he spies on them nonstop. We were well on our way to losing before that, even with the Hand’s help. Since then, things have been turning around. But I know enough about him that if the dwarves believe us, we can probably help them ferret him out.”

  “But first we have to reach the dwarves,” Kayin said. “How are we gonna do that?”

  “We’re not far from the main roads,” Garon said. “This is the outskirts of Grubholm, so a couple days north should get us there. The front’s only another day or two east, unless it’s moved on us."

  Cecelia rubbed her hair. “It’s not enough. We could get to the front, but we can’t approach the moats without the Crown’s army noticing. They’ve got observation posts every
mile along there, with people looking west watching for rangers, and people listening east, for sappers. If we want to break the lines we need to get up to one, disable the watchers, then scoot before they notice. Otherwise they’ll call in fire support, and that’ll mean anything from Wark Riders to Dragon Knights to Steam Knights to one of the Hand themselves. We’re not really set up to survive most of that.”

  “So we need to sneak in among them?” Threadbare asked.

  “Yeah. But we need to do it against folks who have a good chance of spotting rangers in the wilderness.” Kayin sighed. “Even at my old levels, I don’t know if it’d be doable. At level five? No. And not with you guys along, no offense. Most of you are no good at it.” She shot Madeline an envious look. “Except you, you’re scary quiet for what should be a big clattery wooden toy. What’s up with that?”

  Madeline’s carved reptilian jaw fell open in a smile, and she lifted a paw to show Kayin the cloth pads sewn on under it.

  “Fucking sweet!”

  “Inorite!”

  “Eeeeee I’m totally doing that!”

  Threadbare cleared his throat. The catgirl and dragon fell silent, and the rest of the group looked to him. “Who goes to these observation posts, normally?”

  “Supply shipments,” Graves said.

  “Personnel rotations, groups of infantry and specialists cycling in and out,” Cecelia added.

  “Regular patrols,” Kayin said, eyes still on the sweet little sneaky dragon feet, her tail and ears twitching.

  Garon shook his wooden-horned head. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that the guys at the observation posts know the schedules for all three of those types of visitors.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cecelia said. “The rangers are sneaky, so the staff on duty know to keep security tight. As soon as a convoy is ready, coded messages get flashed up along the line with semaphore flags with the rest of the day’s messages, telling them what’s coming, who’s with it, and when it’ll arrive. And the code changes weekly.”

  “No shit?” Madeline peered at her. “That’s some pretty smaht stuff. We talkin’ about the same Crown that overreacts and slaughtahs villages over minor shit?”

  Cecelia rubbed her hair, Graves sighed, and Kayin shook her head. “The thing to realize,” Cecelia said, “is that the Crown forces, for the most part, are people who have put a lot of faith in my Father because to do otherwise would be to admit that they’ve been wrong for years, and they’re very afraid of what would happen if he fails. He’s the devil they know. And...” She looked out into the darkness, gathering strength. “...and some of them have been fooled pretty thoroughly. I was. And it only took a few years of him and... her... working on me. So a lot of the soldiers and a good part of the officers are smart, motivated people trying to make the most of a bad situation and win the war quickly so that everyone can go home.”

  “But it won’t work that way,” said Threadbare. “There will always be an enemy, won’t there?” He’d spent a great deal of time thinking this over, trying to figure out how a very bad King and some obviously evil demons could keep making good people do what they wanted them to. “As long as there is some other enemy to fight, then most people won’t fight the King. So he has to keep making enemies or keeping some around or else his own subjects will be very upset with him.”

  “They already ah,” Madeline said. “But yeah. People get restless in peacetahm and forget about how horrible wah is. They go lookin’ for fights, and the King’s a big fat tahget unless he shifts blame like a propah cowahd.”

  “Yes,” Cecelia said, picking up a stick and poking the fire. “I see it now. I fought for peace, but any peace we could win was a lie. It wouldn’t last. We need a good one, one without demons and murders and skipping trials, and we won’t get that with my Father in power. Heck, it might be a moot point even with him in power. We’re running low on food, have been for...” She stopped. “Supplies.”

  “Yes?” Threadbare knew this tone. This was her ‘idea’ tone. And he smiled to see the beautifully-sculpted face he’d given her twist in joy. She’d figured something out!

  Evidently Glub recognized it too, because he switched from soft humming to dramatic drumming on a nearby log, knocking out an uplifting, hopeful beat.

  “All supplies go through Fort Bronze,” Cecelia said, slowly, eyes gleaming. “Which is a heck of a lot easier to get into than the observation posts and has people and things coming and going all the time. Garon, Madeline, how far is Pads Village from here, do you think?”

  “Pads? That craphole? A couple of days in the wrong direction, through some bandit-filled wilderness,” Garon said, consulting his knowledge of the local geography.

  “Less bandit-filled now,” Graves grinned. “I see where you’re going with this.”

  “I know how we’re going to get in,” said Cecelia. “And once we’re in, we can get ourselves assigned to an observation post shipment. All we have to do is get a look at the logistics records and find a good one.”

  “That’ll be the hard part, desu,” Kayin threw in. “Probably have to break into General Mastoya’s office, for that.”

  “Wait,” Zuula said, whipping her head around, and putting down the makeshift drumsticks she’d been using to backup Glub. “What you say?” Her voice was hoarse and tense, and her button eyes practically burned as she stared at the little catgirl.

  Kayin shrank back from the small shaman’s sudden intensity. “That we’ll have to break into the General’s office, and—”

  “General Mastoya,” said Garon.

  The circle of friends went silent, staring as Garon and Zuula shared a long glance.

  “You know her?” Cecelia said, confused. “She is a half-orc too, I guess. But I didn’t want to assume.”

  “Yeah,” Garon and Zuula said, simultaneously. “We know her...”

  A quick accounting followed. Cecelia listened, covering her mouth with her hands as Zuula told of the fatal duel she’d lost to her own daughter and how said daughter had murdered Garon inadvertantly.

  Garon filled in the blanks on the last part. “...and then Madeline found me and vamped me. Then that got resolved...”

  “Messily,” Madeline added, “but it worked out okay in the end so whatevah.”

  “...And now I’m here. And I know what I have to do.”

  The friends looked at Garon, who spread his hands. “My reason for keeping on here, is to talk with Mastoya again. To let her know I forgive her. To let her tell me she’s sorry, if that’s what it takes, because I know it’s eating her up inside.”

  “This might not be the best opportunity,” Graves said. “We’re trying to run a covert mission, here. At least, I’m assuming that’s where you were going with this, Cecelia?”

  “Yes. The Alderman of Paws owes me a favor. It’d be easy to get a wagonload of food from them, take it to the front and pack us in with the food. You’d be driving, of course. Posing as an older teamster, since, well...” Cecelia indicated his wasted frame. “Sorry.”

  “No apologies needed. I’ll need to shave,” Graves said, rubbing his goatee. “Pity. But this doesn’t change my point. Talking to General Mastoya at this time, General Mastoya, the High Knight of the Empire herself, is a really, really bad way to stay covert.”

  “But what if I can turn her?” Garon asked.

  “No,” Zuula said.

  “Mom, look. I know what you think of her—”

  “No you don’t,” Zuula said, and the toys and their token human looked at her in surprise. Even through the voicebox that she used to speak, her words held raw pain. “Zuula failed her. She grew up wrong, but she grew up strong. She will not change.”

  “She seemed strong to me, when I met her,” Cecelia mused. “But tired. And a little sad. Right in the middle of a briefing, she hauled out a bottle of booze and started drinking.”

  “Wait, you’re serious?” Garon said, leaning forward, and studying her with bovine carved eyes. “Yeah, something�
�s wrong. The Mastoya I used to know would never drink.”

  “Yes. Which is why you idea is bad idea now,” Zuula said. “She is not Mastoya you used to know. She is Mastoya of now, General Mastoya, and Zuula got no idea how you talkin’ with her would go.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re along, Mom? To get me this shot?”

  “Yeah, but if it’s at the risk of Cecelia’s lives and our own, she’s got a point, desu,” Kayin piped up.

  “Would you can it with that word?” Garon snapped. “Gah. Sorry.” He rubbed his snout, rattling wood on wood. “Look. What if it isn’t at the risk of your lives?”

  “Why don’t you tell us what you’re planning?” Threadbar offered. “And if we don’t think it will work out, you wait until another time to talk to her?”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Garon said. “Because right now we’re not her enemies. Look, I know how she thinks. Once you’re her enemy, it doesn’t matter what you say or do, she’ll beat you or die trying. But once we ally with the dwarves, we will be her enemies, and everything gets orc simple then. Uh, sorry, Mom.”

  “Is fine,” Zuula said. “The words, anyway. This idea, not so much.”

  “My point is once we ally with the dwarves, we either beat the Crown forces or we fail, and either way I lose my shot at talking with her in any sort of situation where she might hear me out. This is it. This is my chance... our chance to get her to listen. To save my sister’s soul.”

  The fire popped and cracked, as they considered it.

  “Tahning the High Knight would be a right kick in the pants for the Crown,” Madeline said. “And losing the general would give the dwahves a chance for a win.”

  “You like this idea?” Kayin shot the dragon a glance.

  “It’s risky, yeah, but if Garon can do it...”

  “And what if it’s just risky for me?” Garon asked. “Look, we’ll have to break into her office anyway. Leave me behind after we do, and I’ll talk with her. If it comes to a fight, I’ll fight to the death, then go run back to a soulstone.”