The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  “For the Armored Antinium! Flying Antinium, cover our backs!”

  Someone strode down the corridor, shouting. Belgrade saw Tersk, for some reason unarmored and not holding his mace and shield, leading his Soldiers and a few of the Flying Antinium at a group of ghouls and zombies. Belgrade went to run after him, and fell.

  It was the blood loss. Belgrade stared up at the dirt ceiling as Antinium raced around him. He expected to die, but again he was surprised.

  “Belgrade. Hold still.”

  Someone reached down for him. Belgrade felt a soft hand on his chest, and then the bleeding stopped. He felt something warm rush into him, something that felt like hope given form. He sat up, filled with…some kind of energy.

  Xrn was looking down at him. She shone with magic. And when she pulled him up, Belgrade realized all his injuries had closed. He looked at Xrn, and she told him to follow. She led the way, forcing monsters back. And Belgrade stared at her.

  Xrn. The Small Queen. [Thaumaturge]. Not [Mage]. Not [Wizard], or [Sorceress], or [Witch]. She didn’t practice just magic. What Xrn worked was something else.

  Wonders.

  They pushed the monsters back. Xrn raised waves of poisonous waters, flooded the tunnels, made the wind into swords and threw it at her enemies. Belgrade accompanied her, protected by a ring of silent Custodium, the equivalent of any Prognugators.

  They found Pawn in the death corridor, still fighting. His Soldiers struggled with a group of the not-Gnolls until Xrn raised her staff.

  “[Fear of the Mighty]!”

  They fled. Belgrade rushed over to Pawn. The Worker was at the back of the group of Soldiers, sheltered by them. Belgrade halted when he saw the painted Soldiers. Their markings were barely visible under the coating of blood and flesh that covered them. Not a single Soldier was unharmed, but Pawn—

  There wasn’t a mark on him.

  Pawn turned to Belgrade. The gore had barely touched him, protected as he was by his Soldiers. He was holding something, someone in his arms.

  A Soldier. Belgrade stared down at the huge Antinium. He could be held in Pawn’s arms, because there wasn’t any part of the Soldier below his chest. And yet, he was alive. Pawn held the Soldier as the huge Antinium struggled to clasp his hands. The Soldier’s mandibles clicked together, as if he wanted to speak.

  But he never did. He died there, as Xrn cleared the passageway. Belgrade knelt beside Pawn. The other Antinium looked at him.

  “We were fighting, but there were so many. We lost countless Soldiers and Workers. You were right Belgrade, they were everywhere. My Soldiers fought, but…”

  “How many?”

  Belgrade could see many of the painted Soldiers. So many, in fact! Compared to the dead monsters, there were so many Soldiers. For this many dead, Pawn should have been overrun long ago. But Pawn closed his mandibles, covered his eyes with one bloody hand.

  “Twenty five.”

  “Only twenty five?”

  Belgrade stared at Pawn. The Worker nodded.

  “I couldn’t do anything. My one [Tactician] Skill—they died, Belgrade! They died!”

  “It was only twenty five. Pawn, your battle here was a tactical victory. It—”

  Someone pulled him back. Belgrade turned and saw Xrn. She shook her head slowly. Pawn had covered both his eyes with his hands, but the other two desperately held the Soldier still. He shook. But he did not cry.

  The Antinium could not cry.

  Belgrade stepped away. Xrn was the one who knelt next to Pawn. There was the deepest blue in her eyes, a color more vast than the sea, darker than night. She touched the Soldier in Pawn’s arm and looked at him.

  “I am sorry.”

  Pawn did not reply.

  —-

  They did not bury the Soldier. That was not how the Antinium treated the dead. Instead, the Soldier was taken to be processed. He would be food soon enough.

  Pawn knew it. He knew it, and he knew it wasn’t right. But the Soldier was dead. And there weren’t—weren’t enough pieces of the others.

  He sat in the barracks, still bloody, as the Soldiers still able to move clustered around him. The Soldiers who hadn’t fought stood with their brethren, clumsily tending to their wounds. They were all wounded. And not enough of them.

  Twenty five dead. Exactly a quarter of his command, of his people. Pawn had expected—he had known—

  He hadn’t been ready. No.

  He could still see the Soldier who’d died. He had a small five-pointed star on his upper right arm. That was all. He’d only taken that lone marking. And he’d died, protecting Pawn from a—a tendril that had reached out and cut him in two.

  He was dead. It was Pawn’s fault. And there was nothing left of him to remember. Nothing. Just a memory. For all Pawn had done—

  Pawn stood up. No. The Soldier couldn’t be forgotten. He stumbled past the Soldiers as they parted for him. He ran over to one wall of the barracks, to the spot that had been cleared. Pawn knelt by the cans of paint he’d bought, pawing through them frantically. Which color was it? This one? No. This one.

  The Worker stood with a jar of paint in his hand. The other Soldiers stared. It was bright green paint, the same color the dead Soldier had used. Pawn slowly dipped his finger into the jar, and turned.

  The walls of the barracks the Soldiers lived in were dirt. Not loose dirt, but hard-packed, as good as stone and unbreakable in most circumstances. Pawn found a spot along the wall. It didn’t stand out from any other spot. He dipped a finger into the bright green paint.

  And then he pressed it against the wall.

  Pawn slowly drew on the wall of the barracks. The other Soldiers watched as Pawn traced on the hard-packed dirt with green paint. He drew a star. The star that had been on the Soldier’s chest.

  It was small. It was green. It was a tiny thing in the vast barracks. But it was there. Painted on the wall, marked. A memory. So long as no one damaged the paint, no one destroyed the wall, it would remain.

  And if they did? If an earthquake happened, or Klbkch told him to get rid of it? Pawn would repaint the star elsewhere. Because he remembered. He remembered that star, and he would for the rest of his life.

  And so did the others. Pawn turned as a Soldier moved. The Soldier found a jar of purple paint. Slowly, carefully, taking all the time in the world, he drew purple slashes down the wall.

  Another Soldier moved. He took some paint and began to draw. The other Soldiers, wounded and intact, did the same. They did not have to speak. They did not have to confer. Twenty five Soldiers had died, but each living Soldier remembered.

  So did Pawn.

  When they were done, the barracks were not covered in paint. There were only a few, small places where the walls had been colored in. The symbols were small. But they were there.

  A green star, a…cup of brown and silver. A clumsy number ‘7’ in turquoise. A speckled egg, white and blue and orange. A sun rising over a green horizon. A green flower. A rainstorm and clouds all in blue. A snowflake in purest white. A black cat with orange eyes. A circle of red, mixed with yellow.

  Five numbers, 46252, each in a different color. A picture of a bee on a plate, clumsily drawn. A smiley face. A stick-person with four arms. A word. ‘Winter’.

  A map of the Hive. Eight lines and a curvy wave beneath it all. Two stones, one shaped like a face, the other like no stone ever seen. A question mark, drawn out of brown and a pale blue so bright it could have been white.

  A line that looped and spun and dove. A cloud made of pink and yellow. A paw print in white. The memory of the first Soldier ever to be painted.

  A cup running over with water. A sun and four moons.

  A blade of grass.

  Pawn stared at it all. Each Soldier was there, on the wall. Their bodies were gone, but there they were. He ran his hands along the dried paint, and felt something there.

  Small things. Shapes and symbols, things that held meaning only the Soldier that had chosen them would k
now. Fragments of their soul.

  It was not enough. It could never be enough. But it was something. It was something to cling to. Pawn looked at the Soldiers, covered in paint, in blood. He knelt as they clustered around him, putting awkward hands on him. Pawn could not look at them. He whispered the words.

  “I am so sorry.”

  They said nothing. But they held him, clumsy killers, people with no voices who wore their souls on their chests for all to see. Pawn looked at them and wept. His eyes shed not a tear. They were his. His Soldiers. His guardians. His friends.

  His people.

  He embraced them. Pawn wept again, without tears. Then he went to see Erin.

  4.14 L

  Once upon a time there was a [Princess]. She was bad at being a princess. She never leveled, and she ran away from home, no doubt causing a lot of trouble because of that. She ran in a childish fit of anger, and ended up on another continent, where she caused more trouble because she was petty and small-minded and useless. Then she died.

  The end.

  That was how the story should have gone. Every day Lyonette du Marquin knew she should have died a long time ago, cold, alone, lying in the snow. She knew that, and so she tried to be grateful for the second—no, probably eighth—chance she’d been given.

  It wasn’t hard to be grateful. Because Lyonette had everything she’d wanted. In some senses, she’d found exactly what she’d come to Izril to find.

  She had a job, something to do that mattered. She had a duty, to protect Mrsha, to take care of the inn. And what was more, she had what she’d wanted for so long.

  Levels. Classes. Skills. For the first time since she was seven years old, Lyon was leveling again. Not as a [Princess], true, but as a far humbler class. A [Barmaid]. Perhaps it was below her station, but Lyonette didn’t care. Because she had Skills!

  [Charming Smile]. [Lesser Strength]. These were her two latest Skills, obtained as she’d reached Level 11 in the [Barmaid] class. They made her happy and slightly ashamed. Happy because they were Skills, and ashamed because the part of Lyonette that still thought of herself as royalty knew these Skills weren’t what she should be hoping for.

  A [Princess] should not have a Skill that let her lift heavy objects, Lyonette knew. True, a Skill like [Charming Smile] was a very Princess-like Skill, although a [Princess] should not smile so openly for no reason. But these weren’t grand Skills, the kind that could aid her nation or inspire her people. They were just…Skills.

  And yet, her entire life, all eighteen years she’d lived, Lyonette had only had one small Skill from her [Princess] class. Just one Skill while everyone else learned more Skills and leveled. This was better, truly.

  Lyonette was grateful for it. She was a Level 11 [Barmaid], a Level 4 [Beast Tamer], a Level 6 [Carer], a Level 2 [Tactician], and…a Level 5 [Princess]. She knew she had far too many classes, that she should only have one.

  She didn’t care. Lyonette was more grateful to Erin Solstice, the [Innkeeper] and owner of the Wandering Inn, than she could say. Erin was almost always cheerful, always helpful, brave, and kind. If she had one flaw, it was that she was also impulsive.

  And that sometimes made trouble for Lyonette. Sudden party? Lyonette would be rushing around to fill orders by herself and washing dishes all next morning. Erin’s selling magical food to adventurers? Time to buy another five kegs of alcohol! Where did all the food go? Erin cooked it all? Back to the city.

  Lyonette usually didn’t begrudge these decisions. However, this time she wished, just a tiny bit, that Erin had consulted her.

  The younger girl stared at Erin’s beaming face and then her eyes slid sideways. It was just past dawn, and it was a bit too early for thinking. Cleaning and hauling water, that was okay. But this?

  “You hired…all of them?”

  “Yup! This is Safry and Maran, Selys’s friend Drassi, and a Gnoll that Krshia introduced me to—he’s Ishkr. They’re all going to be helping you out! Isn’t it great?”

  Lyonette stared as the two young women Erin had pointed out, the yellow-scaled Drake, and a Gnoll with red-brown fur waved or nodded to her. She blinked a few more times and then turned her head.

  Ryoka Griffin, the strange Runner with exotic features was eying the new staff with as much skepticism as Lyon felt. Mrsha was sitting on top of Ryoka’s shoulders, detracting from the girl’s poise as she chewed on a cracker and showered Ryoka with crumbs. Lyonette looked back at Erin and smiled weakly.

  “Yes. Great, Erin!”

  Erin never talked to her about her plans. One day she announced she’d be hiring the Antinium to add a third floor to the inn and that the Antinium named Bird would be living here from now on as a guard, the next…this.

  In fairness, Lyonette had really respected hiring Bird. She’d never felt safe without someone who could fight. But these new people…Lyonette didn’t know anything about them. Erin clearly thought they were competent, but it was also clear after a few moments that there would be trouble.

  “Alright, I’ll start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. You all can uh, well, clean up. And I need some water. Lyonette, can you show everyone how things work? Thanks!”

  And like that, Lyonette found herself dealing with another one of Erin’s new ideas. The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] took a deep breath and then smiled at the people Erin had hired. They were all staring at each other with a bit of wariness, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad!

  “Hello everyone. I’m Lyonette. I’m a Level 11 [Barmaid], and I’m very happy to be working with you.”

  “Pleased.”

  The woman called Safry smiled at Lyonette. She would have said something else, but Drassi spoke up. And kept speaking.

  “Are you the [Thief] that got kicked out of the city? I was going to watch, but I was working and Selys said it wasn’t that exciting. And that’s the scary Gnoll kid right? Hi! I’m Drassi, a Level 8 [Barmaid]. Well, I was also working as a [Receptionist], but I like waiting tables more since you have to sit in one place as a [Receptionist].”

  Lyonette blinked as a wall of words hit her ears. It was rather like listening to Octavia deliver one of her sales pitches, only Drassi was just talking. Chattering, rather.

  The Drake cut off as the Gnoll, Ishkr, cleared his throat. He looked around.

  “Hrr. I am a Level 16 [Waiter], yes? Honored Krshia recommended that I work here.”

  That was it. Drassi opened her mouth, but it was Maran, the other Human woman who spoke up.

  “Really? In that case, Safry and I are the highest-leveled workers here.”

  Everyone stared at them. Ryoka and Mrsha had already gone off to play ‘don’t crawl on my head’. Safry smiled as Maran pointed at her friend.

  “Safry’s a Level 21 [Barmaid] and I’m a Level 22 [Barmaid]. We’ll look after things and teach you all how things work. Lyonette, Erin said we’re cleaning, right? Where are the supplies? And what’s this about water?”

  Lyonette stared at Maran. Wait, what had she said? They’d teach her? But—

  That should have been the first clue. But then Lyonette heard Zel coming down the stairs, so she just grabbed a few of the dust rags, a bucket of soapy water and showed the others which tables were clean before hurrying out the door. Yes, looking back on it that was the start.

  The start of a few truly miserable days for Lyonette du Marquin.

  Two Human [Barmaids], a Drake [Maid], and a Gnoll. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

  And it was. Upon getting back, puffing and panting with more water, the first thing Lyonette saw was chaos. Maran and Safry were serving food to the bemused Gold-rank adventurers who’d come down, Zel was waiting patiently for his food while Drassi cleaned and talked his earholes off, and Ishkr was waiting for instructions, standing at attention by the kitchen. Mrsha was sniffing at him as he tried to shoo her away. And Erin was shouting that she needed more pots to hold all the food she was going to make ahead of time! Lyonette nearly screamed.

  —-
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  After half a day of work, Lyonette realized that things weren’t as bad as she’d thought, and they were worse than she could have imagined.

  The inn was busy from dawn till dusk now, mainly due to Erin’s advertising her magical cooking to the adventurers in Liscor. You could stop by for a quick bite before going out hunting monsters or braving the dungeon, and you’d have an enchantment that would last for hours, at a fraction of a cost of a normal potion!

  This amazing opportunity meant that Erin’s inn always had a steady flow of visitors, mainly adventurers looking for one type of magical food or another. Everyone was busy, and Erin had set up the schedules so that not all of the staff would work at the same time. Sometimes, like around dinner, all four of the new workers might be helping at once, but usually Lyonette would be working with two or three of the others at most.

  That gave her time to relax and play with Mrsha, in theory. But Erin hadn’t accounted for the need to teach the new workers everything, and since she was busy ‘hanging out’ with Ryoka, an expression that meant going shopping, chatting, and generally enjoying herself in Celum and Liscor, the duties once again fell to Lyonette.

  It gave her the opportunity to learn about the others. And what Lyonette learned was that she didn’t actually mind some of them. They had their negative qualities, true, but also good ones.

  Drassi, for instance. She talked. No, she gossiped, no, she conversed with anyone and everyone nearby. She could chat about Drake politics and switch over to a serious discussion about the latest Human fashions in a second. But while that could be annoying, she was always chattering away while she cleaned a table, or served food. She didn’t linger.

  That couldn’t be said for Maran and Safry. They worked, talked, and when they were done serving, they sat around and talked with the inn’s guests. At first Lyonette thought they were just taking a short break, but it became apparent that when there was no more food or drink to be served, the two [Barmaids] would just sit down and relax, rather than clean tables, wash dishes, or get more water or firewood from outside.