Dross (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 2)

by Caleb Wachter

  It has foresight, she mused as she spun away from a dangerous, but ultimately clumsy kick. She lashed out as that leg’s foot touched the ground, and opened would-be crippling gash across its hamstring—but again the creature seemed unaffected by what should have been a crippling blow.

  She considered her options and decided to launch another series of attacks, but this time her ultimate target was the beast’s remaining arm. She sent a series of parries and feints, each of which the Fleshthing correctly—if clumsily—intercepted with its remaining hand.

  “I’m…going to try…something,” Randall wheezed. Before she could ask what he meant, the Flylrylioulen hanging from Randall’s neck flared brightly and the Fleshthing staggered. Seizing the opening, Dan’Moread drove her tip through the thing’s right elbow.

  Giving a violent jerk while twisting and pivoting Randall’s body, she severed bone and sinew before extricating her blade from the creature’s vile body. Again, the jolting sensation and accompanying nausea filled their senses but this time she was ready for them and did not lose a step.

  Acting without forethought or even conscious direction, she spun Randall’s body and drove her tip deep into the Fleshthing’s ribs beneath its left armpit. Her tip buried deep into the bloated flesh covering its ribcage, but unlike the bones of the arm the ribs felt soft—more like sinew than bone—and she easily drove her tip through where its heart should have been.

  It was then that her tip struck something cold, hard, and so chillingly familiar that it was as though time stood still for an agonizing moment. Déjà vu returned with a vengeance, and this time a stream of images flashed through her mind before the Fleshthing’s ribcage exploded in a shower of rancid, rotten flesh.

  In the brief instant before they lost their vision, Dan’Moread saw a malevolent, red flash of light erupt from the creature’s chest—and then she saw nothing as she slipped into the void of unconsciousness.

  Randall lay on the ground muttering incoherently to himself for what felt like hours, but he quickly realized had only been a few seconds. There was a stench so powerful and foul that he barely managed to keep from vomiting. His body was covered in a thin layer of slimy goo that he slowly realized had been part of the nightmarish thing they had just fought.

  Blinking his eyes forcefully, he looked around and saw the ruined corpse of the ‘Fleshthing’ which Dan’Moread had just defeated. Little remained of it save its legs from the mid-thigh down, along with a circular field of rotten-smelling flesh, blood and bone. Amid the rancid carnage were what looked like dozens of twinkling, red crystals which glowed like dying embers in a hearth. Their luminescence quickly began to dim, and shortly after his vision clarified their light had gone out entirely.

  “Randall!” Yordan called out from the gatehouse as she emerged with a wood-cutting axe in her hands. She had fashioned the handle for it herself after finding the serviceable, if rusted, axe head in a pile of debris inside the keep’s outer wall.

  “Stay where you are,” he warned as he propped himself up using Dan’Moread as a cane. He winced as he felt his ribs—which had very nearly been healed prior to this latest fight—flare in pain with his every breath and movement. “There might be more of them,” he said, realizing just how ridiculous that statement must have been. Had there been more of the Fleshthings, they would have certainly come to help their companion finish him off. That he was still alive after being knocked unconscious suggested that this was the only abomination of its kind in the area.

  “You’re hurt,” she protested, but he waved her off.

  “None of this is mine,” he grimaced, gesturing to the gore covering his body. “Are you all ok?”

  “Aye,” she nodded warily as she looked down at the circle of gore which had previously been a patchwork of human flesh, “what was that?”

  “I’m not sure,” he shook his head as he saw what looked like a crystalline fragment in the pile of gore. He kicked it out of the lumpy mess of rancid meat and saw that it was about the size of a copper coin, though several times thicker. It had been the source of the twinkling light he had seen in the circle of gore, but now it was dark and cold—so cold that he somehow felt the chill through his Longstrider boot. “But whatever it was, it’s dead,” he assured her after finding several more crystal fragments and finding them equally cold and dark.

  Yordan approached while Ellie, Lorie, and her children peered out from the gatehouse. “Are you sure you’re ok, Randy?” Yordan asked skeptically.

  “Yeah,” Randall nodded, looking down at Dan’Moread with concern, “I am.”

  Yordan peered at the pile of gore for a long while before wrinkling her nose, “That thing’s not natural, Rand.”

  “I agree,” he said as he drew calm, steadying breaths while hoping that Dan’Moread would soon regain consciousness. He saw no apparent damage to her blade or crosspiece, and was also unable to find any chips along her razor sharp edge.

  “Then again,” she snorted, gesturing to his legs, “neither is that.”

  He furrowed his brow in confusion before looking down and realizing she had seen his embarrassing protective garment. “I can explain…” he began lamely.

  “Oh, aye,” she folded her arms judgmentally, “ye’ve spent so much time wooin’ women that you’re no longer content with what’s under their skirts—you’re after the bloody skirts themselves!”

  How she could be so calm and make jokes after such a harrowing experience was beyond Randall, but in spite of his embarrassment at being caught literally wearing a woman’s clothes—or the skirt from a two-piece enchanted dress, anyway, which he had been assured was every bit as protective as a purpose-built kilt—he could not help but snicker at her levity.

  “Let’s start a fire,” he urged, tilting his chin toward the rancid flesh. “We need to clean this mess up.”

  A half hour later, the fire was burning and they began to turn the rotten meat into little more than char. There was enough rotten wood available to do the job, thankfully, and after helping with the fire Randall decided to go prop himself up next to the gate just in case they had more uninvited guests.

  A few minutes after he had sat down, Ellie came over and asked, “Doll…where did you learn to fight like that?”

  There was something in her eyes—something straddling the line between fear and wonderment—which briefly filled him with shame. He knew he would need to tell them about Dani eventually, but for now he needed to wait until he could discuss it with the sword.

  “The truth,” he sighed, “is that I didn’t. What happened out here…it wasn’t really me, Ell. Not really.”

  She cocked her head in confusion, “That is a strange to say, Doll. I saw you do it. You were…like a hero from the poems.”

  “I’m no hero, Ell,” he scoffed. “But I know what you saw, and I’m sorry but I can’t explain it just yet. But I will—I promise,” he said with feeling.

  She seemed less convinced than he had hoped, but she nodded in spite of her apparent reservations, “I trust you, Doll. I will bring a cloth and water to help you wash off that…filth,” she said distastefully.

  “I’ll take care of it myself,” he assured her, “but I think I’ve got a couple broken ribs, so I would appreciate if you could fetch the water.”

  “I will do that,” she nodded, turning to go to the trough they had filled with water earlier in the day.

  He looked down at Dan’Moread, who he had laid across his lap. “Come on, Dani…” he whispered. “Wake up…wake up…” he repeated, but to no avail. He spent the rest of the night on high alert as Ellie and Yordan helped tend to his wounds.

  Chapter XXI: Curious Returns

  16-2-6-659, Morning

  Randall? he heard Dan’Moread’s voice in his head a few hours after dawn.

  “Dani,” he said with relief as he checked to make sure none of the others were in earshot, “are you ok?”

  I am, she replied. I assume I lost consciousness again?

 
; “You did,” he nodded, “but you took down that Fleshthing first.”

  Apparently, she said as the stench of the burning chunks of rotten meat hung on the air. Just before I was rendered unconscious, I felt something familiar. For a moment… she trailed off dubiously before resuming, it seemed as though I had fought one of those creatures before.

  “You remembered their names,” he nodded agreeably, “what else do you remember about them?”

  Nothing. But I remember the feeling of piercing its heart, she said ominously. It is one of the few memories I possess which is inextricably linked with fear.

  “Fear?” he repeated in surprise as he walked out toward the bridge so as to put greater distance between himself and Yordan, who had begun to wander over in his direction. “What could make you afraid?”

  I can assure you that, while it is uncommon, I do experience fear, Randall, she said bitingly. But this was something deeper…it was closer to terror, dread, or a foreboding so powerful it seems possible it could have a paralyzing effect.

  “I mean…that thing was pretty hideous, but it wasn’t all that smart or quick,” Randall said skeptically. “I can’t imagine that, with a proper wielder and not some slouch like me, you’d have had much trouble taking even a couple of them down.”

  I agree, she said matter-of-factly, seemingly supportive of his self-deprecation as she blithely continued, which is part of what perplexes me. I should not have been afraid of that thing, but I was…and, I suppose, in some small way I still am.

  “Well at least that makes two of us,” Randall snorted before adding, “in ‘some small way,’ of course.”

  Of course, she agreed dryly.

  He was about to comment further when, up the river a few dozen paces, he saw a splash break the otherwise flat surface. The splash was followed by the muffled thunk of something he could not see—or something invisible, he quickly realized—landed on the riverbank. “That might be Todd,” he said as he set off toward the stretch of riverbank where he had seen the disturbance.

  A few seconds later he arrived there and heard the familiar ‘voice’ of the Underworld denizen greet, “Hello, Randall.”

  “Hello, Todd,” Randall replied, seeing a faint shimmering of Todd’s outline a few feet away, “are you ok?”

  “We are unharmed,” Todd replied simply.

  “And…are you still hungry?”

  “We are not,” Todd said with what could only be satisfaction, “we located sufficient food up the river and are now prepared to enter a—“ its ‘voice’ was replaced by that same all-encompassing, featureless noise for a second before resuming in a normal tone. “We are most grateful to friend Randall for his direction. Because of you we are no longer alone. Thank you, Randall.”

  “Umm…” Randall rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “no problem, Todd. Where did you find the godstone…erm, I mean, your food?”

  “At the top of the river,” Todd replied serenely.

  “Is there more up there?” Randall asked in muted surprise. He had thought that sending Todd up the river had been a fool’s errand, but one likely worth pursuing. He was both grateful that Todd found sustenance and concerned that the ‘demon’ had apparently located a cache of the most precious material in the known world.

  “Oh yes, Randall,” Todd replied eagerly. “That is why we must—“ its voice was briefly overpowered by that strange, toneless interference, “so that we can eat the rest of it.”

  “Well…I guess that’s a good thing. So, just to be clear: you’re not hungry any more?”

  “Correct, Randall,” Todd agreed. “But we are exhausted. We must return to the safety of the Underworld now. We are grateful to friend Randall for his assistance.”

  With that, the strange creature moved toward the bridge before, presumably, returning to the main house’s cellar.

  That is a truly bizarre creature, Dan’Moread said after Todd had left.

  “Look who’s talking,” Randall quipped.

  Touché, she allowed as he clambered back up to the bridge, taking the narrow, dirt path which brought him up to the seamless stone structure.

  “Who could have built this bridge, Dani?” he asked as much rhetorically as with genuine curiosity. “Where would you find a piece of stone this large—and how would you move it here even if you did find it?”

  The Ghaevlians are reputed to have worked truly unrivaled feats of architecture, she said uncertainly, but, while my knowledge of such things is quite limited, I have never heard of anything on this particular scale that did not involve extensive application of fakestone. Even then, the under-beam which runs beneath the arched bridge is like nothing I have ever heard of or seen.

  “At least that makes me feel no quite so ignorant,” he said as he vaulted his way up and onto the bridge’s deck. “I thought Ghaevlians worked with wood and living things and such?”

  Ghaevlians and Yirvukanians believe that stone is, itself, a living material, she reminded him. As such, working with it is well within their specialties.

  “But, for stone to be a living material,” he objected, “wouldn’t that mean that stone could…well, that it could grow?”

  She paused momentarily, That is an interesting observation, Randall. Are you suggesting that the Ghaevlians or Yirvukanians possess that capability?

  “I mean…” he looked dubiously out at the massive bridge—which was wide enough to pass at least five wagon trains abreast, “do you see any other possible explanation? Even mountains aren’t made of single pieces of stone this large—at least none that I saw on the way to Greystone were. And it’s clearly not fakestone,” he said, dropping to a knee and examining the smooth, unbroken surface of what improbably appeared to be a single piece of stone which spanned the entire river, “so the only explanation that makes any kind of sense to me is that the Ghaevlians have the ability to grow stone in place.”

  Or that they had that capability, she observed.

  “Right,” he nodded in agreement, “that makes more sense given their general decline in the world.”

  However this bridge came to be here, she said grimly, I doubt that Phinjo would have granted you dominion over it if doing so did not somehow contribute to her designs. She is a schemer of the highest order, Randall—we must never forget that.

  “What do you know of her?” Randall asked.

  Very little, she admitted, though when Tavleros spoke of her he did so with a decided lack of fondness. I would not say there was outright animosity between them or, if such sentiment did in fact exist, that it was insufficient to give them cause for direct conflict with one another. Their relationship was more akin to a filial one, with Tavleros the rebellious youth acting out against the overbearing or manipulative parent.

  “You make it sound like having an overbearing parent would be a bad thing,” Randall muttered. “At least you’d have a parent to rebel against. Don’t get me wrong, Lorie did a lot for me growing up but…I mean, seriously,” he sighed irritably. “Never mind.”

  I did not mean to give offense, Randall, Dani said sincerely. None of us can truly know another since each of our paths is unique. It was not my intention—

  “You don’t need to apologize,” he shook his head. “I’d just rather not talk about it if that’s ok.”

  Understood, she acknowledged. But Randall, regarding the bridge…

  “Yes?”

  The Ghaevlian messenger gave you your papers and patents, she explained, and then she set off for the other side.

  “Right,” Randall nodded slowly, uncertain where she was going with this line of reasoning.

  Greystone is the only known bastion for Ghaevlians in the world, she said leadingly.

  Randall cocked his head in contemplation before understanding her meaning, “You’re saying that she went to meet with someone…but who?”

  I do not wish to infuse my comment with confidence it does not deserve, she said hesitantly, but when I was with Tavleros we journeyed across this pr
eviously dry riverbed and spent considerable time in the plains to the northwest. One of the groups we encountered was…somehow connected with the Ghaevlian Nation.

  “Connected?” Randall repeated. “How?”

  I am uncertain, and Tavleros was unwilling to divulge details, she said sourly, but they possessed potent magics. I can only assume the Ghaevlian Nation wished to secure those resources for their side in this war which has broken out between the Nation and the Federation.

  “What kind of magics are we talking about?” he asked warily.

  In truth, I am uncertain, she said cautiously, the group was incredibly secretive, but they employed magical conveyances which permitted them to traverse the plains in hours instead of weeks, like would be required for a mounted courier.

  Randall whistled appreciatively, “You think they have Black Ships?”

  I do not know, she reiterated, but it would surprise me, if that was indeed the case, to find that such vehicles were the extent of their hidden resources.

  “What was this group’s name?”

  They had no formal name of which we became aware, she said cryptically, but Tavleros was certain that they hailed from Fissalia.

  “Fissalia?” Randall repeated in confusion. “Fissalia is on the other side of the Rydian Sea…that means they’ve been on this side of the sea for years?!” he realized with alarm. “This just keeps getting stranger and stranger…”

  Yes, she confirmed. I know nothing else of them, Randall, except the name of the contact with whom Tavleros met: Edjar.

  Randall nodded slowly as he processed the information, “So you think that the Ghaevlian courier, after dropping off our papers, went to make contact with this ‘Edjar’ and that, after contact has been made, we can expect Edjar and the rest of the Fissalians to come across this bridge?”

  It is the best theory I have constructed, given our limited information, she agreed. I know it is vague, but—

  “No, no,” Randall shook his head, “it’s more than we had a minute ago.”

  Which brings me back to the bridge, Randall, she pressed.