Battleborne Book 2: Wrack and Ruin

by Dave Willmarth

  “To King Maximilian, and his heroes of Stormhaven! Without them, might be none of us returned home this night, and old Cantankerous would be back in his cave with a belly full o’ honey!”

  The crowd roared their approval, Max and company raised the pints of mead placed in front of them, and the celebration commenced. Pickstone and a few of the others told the story of their meeting with Max, and the subsequent battle. Already the enthusiastic and slightly inebriated warriors were embellishing the truth a bit. Max was pretty sure the bear hadn’t breathed fire or farted lightning. A fight broke out when one of the warriors swore that his comrade with the shredded face had gotten it when he was struck in the face by the bear’s nutsack. A nightmare common enough among tanks who have to fight oversized monsters.

  After his first pint was consumed in a single gulp, a helpful bartender began to bring Dylan his mead in a bucket, which he happily drained while holding the bucket with one hand, his pinky sticking out like he was drinking tea, much to the approval and laughter of the crowd. Inevitably, he nearly cleared the room, inviting everyone outside where he had some space to demonstrate his dance moves. When the dworcs began emulating him, Smitty laughed so hard he cried, and lamented the lack of cameras on this new world.

  Red sat atop Max’s shoulder, visible only to the Stormhaven party, and giggled like a schoolgirl along with Smitty. Dalia had elected to remain inside, deep in conversation with Picklet, and missed the whole show.

  After a while, when sufficient refreshment had been consumed, and the battle had been retold twice, the clan gathered in an open courtyard behind the tavern. The bodies of the fallen were brought out on stretchers, their bodies covered in grey cloths so that their families might be spared a look at their injuries. Each stretcher was carried by four dworcs, with a fifth leading them, chanting a funeral song as they went.

  Max thought the song was beautiful. Low, and slow, with a rhythm very close to his own heartbeat. The words escaped him, but their meaning was clear, and he wasn’t surprised to find Dylan wiping a tear from his eye.

  When the stretchers were placed in a row upon a pyre, Pickstone spoke a few words about each of the fallen, and how they met their end. With each described death, the crowd roared in approval, shaking the buildings around them as they raised weapons or fists into the air. Both dwarves and orcs considered a death in battle to be an honor, and these warriors were celebrated as much as they were mourned.

  The eulogies presented, Pickstone nodded at his son, who picked up a torch and lit it, then pushed it deep into the center of the pyre. In moments the whole structure was blazing, and the dworcs resumed their sad song as the bodies were consumed.

  Surprisingly, as the crowd began to disperse, many of the dworcs approached Max and company, quietly and earnestly presenting them with small gifts. A carved bit of bone for Smitty, a small woven blanket for Dalia, a drinking horn for Max. Dylan was presented a leather necklace with one of the bear’s massive claws set between two of its teeth. When he looked confused, Pickstone leaned close and whispered. “Ye damn near got yerself killed savin’ me boys and I. If ye hadn’t taken them hurts upon yerself, distracted the beastie when it broke our line… well, that necklace is a small way of thankin’ ye.”

  For the first time ever, Max saw Dylan at a lack for words. The ogre just nodded his head and sniffed.

  The celebration over, Max and the others were each given a room above the tavern, which featured beds long enough for all but Dylan, who just moved his mattress to the floor and stretched out comfortably.

  Max was drifting off to sleep, pleasantly buzzed despite his troll regeneration, when Red spoke from atop his chest. “Ye need to help these people, Max.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, in case ya didn’t notice, they nearly beggared themselves to throw ya that party tonight. Did ya not notice that half of them weren’t eatin’? And most only had a drink or two while that big lug of an ogre downed the mead by the gallon? They’ve had a rough life here, Max. I’m betting they’ve only just been getting’ by. And today they lost five o’ their own.”

  Max had sat up, causing Red to float away from him as he tried to recall what he’d seen in the tavern. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and guilt crept up on him. “I didn’t notice any of that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’ll be easy enough to fix, dummy. In the mornin’ when ye go downstairs, give everyone ya see a kabob or a pastry, or both. Give all the bear meat you n the others received to the tavernkeeper. And when Pickstone arrives, ya make a big deal o’ the mead. Tell him loudly so that all can hear that it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, and ask to buy as much as he’ll let ya take. Then pay him about ten times what it’s worth. Pay him in gold, weapons, trade goods, whatever he wants most. It’ll take em a few days to turn that honey into drink, so you and the others hang around here and help. Hunt, fish, sharpen swords, whatever needs doin.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “If ye don’t, I’ll never forgive ya!”

  “You don’t need to push me, Red.” Max grumped at her. “I’d be happy to do all of that, and whatever else I can do to help them.”

  “Good! They’ve had a tough break from birth, shunned by both sides o’ their heritage. I know ye need to build up yer kingdom and such, but don’t ya be doin’ at their expense. They’ll be so anxious to trade that they’d offer up their firstborn if they thought you’d take em.”

  Max tilted his head, thinking. “That might be a good idea. Maybe I’ll just ask them to join Stormhaven. We can make this an outpost, open a trade route through the underground…”

  “Nope.” Red interrupted him.

  “No?” Max was confused.

  “Would ye have them disturbin’ Lysbane every time they traipsed back n forth underground? The only route we know of goes right through his home. What you do is get that crazy metal gnome to build ya a portal to place here. Or bribe the old wizard with some more Firebelly’s.” her judgmental glare somehow intensified.

  Max chuckled. “As you say, Minister Red.” He gave her a mock bow before laying back down. It’ll be good to help these folks. I’m sure the others will agree.”

  *****

  Morning came earlier than Max would have liked, the sunlight breaking over the mountains and directly into his window. The birdsong outside sounded particularly loud, as did the sounds of wood being chopped and iron being hammered at the smithy. He felt like a lazy teenager, having overslept while others were out there working.

  Rolling out of bed, he took a drink of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. It was cool and refreshing, and he used another mouthful to wash the fuzz out of his mouth. Taking a moment to check himself in the mirror, he left his room and banged on the others’ doors. As it turned out, he was the last one up, the other rooms already empty.

  He made his way downstairs and did as Red had instructed. There were maybe thirty locals sitting at the tables in the common room, all of them eating some kind of porridge for their breakfast. Max began passing out pastries and kabobs, sending a few runners out to bring the rest of the locals in for breakfast. “This is the least I can do after the wonderful celebration last night.”

  While those who’d received food were munching, he quietly gathered the bear meat from the others and stepped into the kitchen, where the innkeeper was preparing more gruel. With a small bow of his head, he placed nearly a hundred chunks of the meat on the work counter and left the room.

  “King Max!” Pickstone called out and raised a hand as he entered the room. “Hope ye slept well?”

  “I did. And for much too long. I feel like a layabout.” He saw some new faces and handed out more kabobs and pastries. “A little sample of my favorite snacks, in hopes of enticing you and your people into trading with us. That mead you served last night, it was… wonderful!” Max enthused, being careful to smile as widely as he could without baring his fangs. “I simply must take some back to Stormhaven with me!”

  Picksto
ne stared at him for a moment, and Max worried that he’d overplayed his hand. But the elder nodded once, clearly making up his mind about something, and replied. “We can brew maybe ten barrels worth with the honey we have now. It’ll take a couple of days. And if ye can wait a week, we can gather another load and make more.”

  “I can certainly wait on the first batch, but I’m afraid an additional week is too long. I must get back to Stormhaven and make sure the city hasn’t burned down, or been overrun with drunken kobolds.” Max grinned. “Maybe we can arrange a regular trade? Let’s talk about what you’d be willing to trade for, and see if we can agree on a price. I’ll warn you, though. My councilors have been helping me train my barter skill. As much as I love your fancy drink, and I’m sure my people would too, I can’t bankrupt my kingdom over it!”

  “Ha! Don’t ye worry. We’ll work somethin’ out.” Pickstone sat at one of the tables and took a bite of the kabob. His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “Fer starters, we’ll be needin’ the recipe for whatever this is! And the spices. Me wife would make me sleep in the barn if she gets a taste o’ this and…” He paused, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and hunching slightly as a female dworc in a baker’s apron strode in. “Sssshh! There she be in all her glory!”

  Max grinned, making a show of bowing to Mrs. Pickstone and offering her a kabob with one flourishing hand, a pastry with the other. “Please, ma’am, sit and enjoy these samples. I was just speaking with Elder Pickstone here about trading him a few recipes…”

  Max followed the rest of Red’s demands over the next two days, he and his people helping out around the village. Dylan hooked himself to a plow and dragged it through the earth, tilling a new field just outside the wall. While there were still wolves and others predators in the valley, the death of the massive cave bear removed a lot of the threat to the villagers. Dalia gathered herbs from the forest with Smitty as an escort and trainee. Smitty also did a little hunting while Dalia and Max used those local herbs to make some health and stamina potions, which they gifted to the clan. They weren’t the best of potions, since the ingredients were just above average, but each health potion would restore one thousand health points, which might save one of the warriors in a fight. And Max increased his Alchemy skill level by +2.

  Pickstone negotiated like a dwarf, thinking he was getting the best of Max, and proud of it. For their ten barrels of mead, he secured five times more gold than Max would have paid for a similar quantity of Firebelly’s Finest. Initially the dworcs didn’t want to accept gold, as they had nowhere to use it. They bartered goods and services amongst themselves, and did not venture into cities or towns to trade. It took a while, but Max convinced them to come and trade in Stormhaven and Darkholm, on his word that they would not be attacked or otherwise abused. Then he reminded Pickstone that gold was much easier to carry compared to barrels of mead or hides or other goods, and had a definite value that fluctuated less than barter items. It was also more easily divisible – one could not easily trade a tenth of a barrel of mead for an item that was only worth that much.

  Over a dinner of bear stew the evening before they were to leave, Max made his final pitch. “Pickstone, I like you and your clan. You’re good, honest, hardworking people, and I’ve been thinking you’d make a wonderful additional to Stormhaven’s population. It would mean protection for you, regular trade between this village and our allied cities, and I believe some acceptance from the dwarves and orcs.”

  “What makes ye think we crave acceptance?” Pickstone bristled a bit.

  “I think everyone craves acceptance of one kind or another. I can’t pretend to know how you feel. And maybe I’m wrong and acceptance of your ancestor races means nothing to you. But if you join me, and become more prosperous, and that acceptance just happens to spread as a consequence, would that be such a bad thing?”

  Pickstone glared at him a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose yer right about that. I don’t see how it could hurt us. But we don’t want a bunch o’ strangers traipsin’ around our valley. We like it as it is, nice and quiet.”

  Max pulled out his last arrow. “If you make yourselves citizens, and this valley part of my kingdom, I’ll have a portal installed here. We can limit who comes and goes by only connecting it to Stormhaven’s portal, over which I have complete control, and you would be named Governor of this valley. You run the place day to day, with your fellow elders in whatever structure you see fit. You can use the portal to call for help if you need it, or even as a means of escape if you are overrun for some reason. And of course, for trade. From Stormhaven you can reach Darkholm, or our new mine and farms to the south. Eventually I hope to connect with more cities and kingdoms.

  Several of the dworcs in the common room had been listening in, at first just leaning closer from their nearby tables, but eventually giving up all pretense and just gathering around Max and the elder. Two more elders had pushed through the crowd, and now took seats. It was Max’s understanding that there were five elders on the village council.

  One of the others, a female with rough hands from working in her carpentry shop, thumped the table. “I think it be a good idea. But we’ll be needin’ some time to discuss this, amongst the elders as well as the rest. I been watchin you the last couple days, King Max, and I believe ye to be honorable. Few kings I ever heard of would pitch in the way ye have here. But we Blooded isolated ourselves fer good reason, and need to be sure o’ what we want before we rejoin yer world.”

  The other elders at the table nodded their agreement. Pickstone said, “Leave us to discuss this, and we’ll let ye know in the mornin’ before ye depart fer home.”

  Max and his band retired to their rooms for the evening, and Max lay awake for a long while, listening to the sounds of arguing from downstairs. He thought he’d made a pretty solid, logical case for the Blooded to join him, but he might have underestimated the depth of fear and mistrust the clan members held in their hearts.

  Chapter 12

  Morning came, and Max joined the others for breakfast in the common room. It was a simple meal, scrambled eggs and bacon, but it tasted great. Having learned how lean the village resources were, all of them ate sparingly, even Dylan. They would be on the road shortly, and could supplement the meal with rations from their bags as they walked.

  Pickstone and the elders met them outside, standing in front of a stack of mead barrels. “Here be your shipment, as agreed, Max!” the proud dworcs beamed at their visitors. “As fine as any in the land, I’ll wager!”

  “It is truly delicious.” Max agreed, returning the smile. “You’re all going to make me very popular back home!” He waited as there was some cheering and applause. Dylan and Smitty stepped forward to deposit the barrels in their inventories as Max produced the heavy bag of gold they’d agreed upon. “This much gold could buy you another wagon, a couple boars to pull it, and a great deal of food to get you through the winter. Plus some other items you might need.”

  “Bah, food we can grow, or hunt. The boars we breed be bigger’n what we could buy, and there be no shortage o’ lumber fer buildin’ wagons. What we need is steel for tools n weapons, sturdy cloth, and other such items we can’t produce ourselves.”

  Max nodded, leaving the details of what the Blooded desired up to them. “And have you reached a decision about my offer?”

  “We have not.” Pickstone shook his head. “Instead, we be havin a counteroffer to put before ye.” He held out a hand and Picklet stood forward. “Would ye be willin’ to take me son back with ye? He can do our tradin’ well enough, return in ten days with our purchases, and report on how he’s treated in yer city.”

  “Picklet is most welcome to join us on the trip, as are any of your people. He’ll be under my personal protection. I myself may not be able to return in ten days, as I don’t know what is happening back in Stormhaven right now. But he will be protected until he’s returned safely to you.” Max remembered something else Dalia had said. “On the subject of r
eturning with goods… do you know of a route to the south out of the mountains? One that you could navigate a wagon through? Our path here led us through a dragon’s lair, and while he was friendly enough to us, I don’t wish to disturb him again if we can help it.”

  This caused a great deal of commotion within the crowd. Eventually, the elders quieted everyone. Picklet spoke up, “Aye, there be a trail. I’ll show it to ye if ye’ll swear to hold it secret, regardless o’ whether we join yer kingdom or not.”

  All of the party swore themselves to secrecy regarding the hidden path, the familiar light swirl of the gods taking note surrounding each of them, including Red, though none of the locals could see her.

  Picklet was handed the sack of gold and the storage ring, and they set off. Their hike around the end of the lake was quiet, most of them lost in their own thoughts. The only sound other than footsteps was a quiet conversation between Dalia and Picklet, who walked closely side by side and barely spoke above a whisper.

  Max found himself gazing at the lake, wishing for a fishing pole and a few spare days. He made a note to buy himself a pole if such a thing existed in this world, or create one if it didn’t. Since fishhooks were included in the dwarven pack that Regin had first gifted him, he suspected he could find one in Darkholm. Then the next time he found himself by a serene lake, he’d try his luck.

  It was late afternoon when Picklet led them up an incline on the far side and far end of the valley. Max saw nothing more than what looked like a small game trail winding its way up toward the rockier part of the rise. When they’d reached the very edge of the tree line, Picklet left the trail and disappeared behind a fallen slab of stone that leaned against the rock face at a precarious angle. When the others followed, they were surprised to see a smooth stone ramp about six feet wide leading into a cave.