by Jamie Davis
Bandit killed - 100 experience points awarded.
Level Up!
Hal dropped the crossbow and grabbed the shield from where it lay on the bench next to him. He jumped down to the ground and drew his sword, looking around for another bandit to take on. He watched as Bilham charged down the line of wagons, laying about with his sword from horseback. The sergeant was sending bandits spinning away with each blow.
“Watch out, boy,” Burt shouted, making Hal spin around and return his attention to the local fighting.
A crack of a whip sounded to his right. Hal turned in time to see a bandit jerk to the side as Burt’s bullwhip curled around the man’s neck, choking him and pulling him off balance.
Hal stepped forward and drove his sword through the helpless bandit’s chest.
Bandit killed - 100 experience points awarded.
“Thanks, Burt,” Hal called as he looked around for more danger. The remaining bandits had turned and were running back into the trees. Hal started after them.
“HOLD!”
The bellow of the guard sergeant sounded along the line stopping the caravan guards from following their attackers.
“Stay with the wagons, do your jobs,” Bilham called out as he rode back down the line.
Hal stopped and watched the last of the bandits disappear into the trees.
He turned and walked back to the line of wagons. Burt was standing on the wagon’s wooden bench seat with Hal’s crossbow loaded and pointed outward, watching for any sign of the bandits’ return.
Hal veered to the right and headed to where the guard in the wagon ahead of him had fallen after being hit by one of the bandit arrows. It was a middle-aged man Hal only knew as Zee. He’d never talked to the guy, only knowing him by what a few of the others called him.
Anson knelt by the fallen guard, but stood, shaking his head as Hal walked up. Bilham rode up, too.
“How is he?”
“Arrow pierced his heart,” Brother Anson said. “There was nothing I could do. He was dead before he fell from the wagon.”
Ghent rode back from the head of the caravan. “If he’s dead, get the body loaded, Bil. We’ll bury him when we stop for the night. There’s no room to circle up here and I’d like to put a few miles between us and the surviving bandits before we stop again.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ghent,” Bilham said. “Hal, you assist Brother Anson with getting the body wrapped in his blanket roll and into the wagon. Hurry up about it. We’re leaving as soon as I make one last check for injuries and get to the front of the wagons again.”
“Yes, sir,” Hal said. He went over to the back of the wagon and rummaged around until he found Zee’s pack and bed roll. Pulling the blanket free from the rest of the gear, Hal returned to the body and helped Brother Anson wrap up the body. Grunting with the effort of lifting the armored man’s dead weight, the two of them carried him to the rear of the wagon and set him as gently as they could in amongst the packed crates and sacks of trade goods.
“There are likely a few minor injuries I should see to while we’re moving,” Anson said as the wagon lurched forward. The caravan was moving again. “You alright,” he asked Hal.
“I’m fine. I’ll help you bury him when we settle in camp later,” Hal said.
The monk nodded and started to jog back towards the front of the plodding line of wagons.
Hal’s wagon had moved up past him at this point so he ran up and jumped on, settling himself next to Burt. He double checked his crossbow was loaded and ready then looked out at the passing trees again.
While he was scanning the trees Hal thanked Burt for his intervention with the bandit who’d gotten behind him.
“Thanks for saving my life back there. I’d have been skewered for sure if you hadn’t grabbed him with your whip.”
Burt spit a stream of tobacco juice on the ground beside the wagon, his only response a grunt and nod.
Hal glanced back at the surly wagon driver. He decided that would have to suffice for conversation. He smiled and returned his gaze to the shadows between the trees they passed as the wagons trundled on.
He remembered he’d leveled up during the last fight and called up his stats while he stared out at the trees. He had some allocation of new attribute and skill points to take care of.
Name: Hal Dix
Class: Warrior
Level: 2
Attributes:
Brawn: 16 — +4
Wisdom: 8
Luck: 24 — +8
Speed: 14 — +3
Looks: 8
Health: 88/90
Skills: Shield Bash - 1
Weapon proficiencies: Long Sword - 2, Crossbow - 1
Warrior Experience: 400/600
Rogue Experience: 146,100/250,000
Attribute points: 2
Skill points: 1
Hal decided to put his attribute points into Brawn and bring up that value and its modifiers. Then he tried to place his skill point into his weapon proficiencies by concentrating on them. It didn’t work and he assumed they must operate under a different system for training purposes.
He then brought up a list of possible warrior skills to see what he could add.
Warrior skills:
Shield bash
One-handed combat
Two-handed combat
Large weapon combat
Ranged Weapons
Parry
Riposte
After looking over the possible selections, Hal chose One-handed combat which gave him a bonus when fighting with a shield and a single-handed weapon which he had. He also noticed his health points went up by two for the new level.
Happy with how he was progressing, Hal settled into a watchful routine, checking out the trees and hills on either side of the slowly moving column of wagons. He wanted to see any trouble before it saw him. Maybe if he’d spotted movement or something in the woods before the last attack, Zee might still be alive instead of wrapped up in a blanket to be buried in a hole in the middle of nowhere.
There was half a day’s travel yet to go until stopping for the night and Hal wanted to get to their camp for the night in one piece.
9
The funeral for Zee that night in camp was a low-key affair. Extra sentries were posted around the perimeter of wagons so Brother Anson conducted it in the center of camp in a voice loud enough for all to hear, praying to a god Hal had never heard of before. It had familiar undertones of a peaceful afterlife for people of good faith which had Hal wondering if there weren’t some sort of universal truth between all religions.
Hal listened in to some of the stories told by a few of Zee’s friends among the guards from his sentry position atop one of the wagons while he watched the perimeter in the dim light of dusk. From what his comrades said, Zee must have been a pretty funny guy who always made his friends laugh. The stories told all ended in laughter which Hal thought wasn’t a bad way to be remembered.
The funeral had him wondering what would happen to him if he died here in Fantasma. Would he re-spawn back in the alley in Tandon? Would he wake up back on the plane in his own universe? Would he actually die? He had no answers and he made a mental note to ask Tildi the next time he saw her. She was the powerful mage and all. She should be able to answer some of these questions.
When his shift as sentry was completed near midnight, he saw Brother Anson walking across the camp, his head bowed, muttering to himself. Hal was headed the same way and stepped into place beside the monk.
Anson looked over at Hal when he joined him on his walk.
“Hello, Hal. Thank you for helping me with Zee earlier. It is important to treat all life as precious and it helps connect us to that preciousness when we help the dead move on to the afterlife.”
“I’m sure,” Hal said, not knowing what to say in reply. “Glad I could help out. I heard you talk during the funeral ceremony. The words seemed familiar and comforting even though I am not from here and don’t worship your god, Isol
d.”
“It is because truth is truth, Hal. Why would the truth of a good and righteous life be different in one part of the world from another? No, if something is a basic truth of life here, it is also true wherever you come from. That is why Isold’s greatest prophecy is so powerful.”
“What prophecy is that?” Hal couldn’t help asking.
“It is the story of the opponent. Isold told her followers that someday a great hero would come from beyond the stars to Fantasma to help us in our time of need against a great tyrant.”
“What does that have to do about universal truth?” Hal asked.
“Why would a person from so far away even try to help us if they didn’t have a similar view of the world and the battle between good and evil? No, when the opponent does come to this land, it will be with an understanding of what we need because they understand a universal truth that transcends language and cultural barriers.”
Hal had not heard of this prophecy of the opponent before. A nagging thought at the back of his mind tickled at the idea that it was referring to him, that he was the opponent Brother Anson mentioned. He laughed it off as soon as it popped into his head. It was ridiculous. He couldn’t be some sort of world savior.
Brother Anson said goodnight and went to his wagon where he bunked. Hal watched him settle in for a moment, still pondering what the monk had said, then he headed over to his bedroll and climbed in.
Ghent had announced they’d be on the road earlier in the morning than usual with the wagons rolling before first light. He wanted to get out of bandit country and into the goblin lands as soon as possible. Hal didn’t like the sound of someplace called the goblin lands any better than a region populated by bandit bands but the rest of the guards and drivers seemed to agree and were unconcerned.
Hal pulled the blanket up to his chin and then wrapped his great cloak around himself against the chill of the night in the hills. He’d learned to grab sleep when he could since he had to take regular shifts on guard duty every night. There were only about four hours until the camp roused and started getting on the road again. Hal needed some sleep.
There were no further attacks or problems in what was called bandit country. The caravan traveled for five more days without incident until they left that region behind them. Apparently, the word had passed through the various bandit camps that this particular caravan was protected by capable and dedicated guards.
Hal pulled his cloak around him. They were now winding their way up a pass through a chain of mountains that stretched across the horizon as far as he could see. The chill in the air from the cold wind sweeping down over the glaciers in the north made the pass colder than its elevation might have indicated.
The caravan crested the pass and looked down at a broad forested valley below with a long thin lake nestled in the center of it. It looked peaceful enough. Hal remarked on the view to Burt as he guided the team down the incline with care.
“Not peaceful,” Burt said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice against the mountain rock face to his left. “Goblins.”
Burt pointed to a totem by the road ahead. A tall dead tree was adorned with skulls of all sorts hanging from its branches. Most appeared to be human but a few were larger than a normal human’s skull would be and sported tusks jutting from the lower jaws.
Bilham rode down the wagon train as it descended into the valley. He stopped and rode beside each wagon to talk with the driver and guard. When he got to Hal’s wagon he did the same.
“We’re in goblin territory now,” Bilham said. “Ghent has paid his tribute to the head chieftain but it doesn’t mean a small band of renegades won’t try and steal the horses. Goblins love horse meat. Keep your eyes open but don’t shoot at anything unless they attack you first. We don’t want to fight a running battle for the next three or four days because someone killed a young goblin looking for his first chance to be a horse thief. Call me if you see anything.”
“Yes, sir,” Hal said. He had been gripping the stock of his crossbow so hard his hands ached. He forced himself to relax his grip but he didn’t put the weapon down.
Bilham rode on back to the final wagons behind Hal’s. Hal rested the crossbow on his knees and rubbed his hands together against the cold and to relax the tired muscles cramped from the tight grip on the bow. He picked the weapon back up again and kept scanning the rocks around them as they continued their descent into the valley below.
Once they reached the valley floor, Ghent called a halt to rest and water the horses after their ascent and descent through the pass. Bilham ordered the guard to form a loose perimeter watching the surrounding trees while the drivers unhitched their teams and took them down to the river to drink.
Hal strolled back and forth to stretch his legs after long hours sitting in the wagon. He had his shield slung on his back and the crossbow was cradled in the crook of one elbow while Hal took a swig from his own canteen. It was warmer in the valley than it had been in the pass and he was suddenly hot in his armor.
Hal froze with the canteen held to his lips. He’d seen something moving in the trees. It was only a flicker of movement but he was sure it wasn’t his imagination. Taking the canteen down from his mouth, Hal shoved the cork back into it and let it fall to hang by its strap by his side. Hefting the crossbow, he started moving his gaze from tree to tree trying to capture the motion again.
He was scanning the trees like this when he spotted the humanoid figure, dressed in furs, its grey-green skin blending into the forest background. The goblin was the first Hal had seen but he was sure that was what it was. It was smaller than he was, perhaps only five and a half feet tall, but it was muscular and the black iron ax it held looked more than capable of cracking open his armor if given the opportunity.
“Captain,” Hal called out.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Bilham’s voice sounded right behind him. Hal hadn’t heard the captain ride up.
“Easy does it, Hal. I see him,” Bilham said, dismounting. “Come with me but let your crossbow hang by its shoulder sling and hold your hands out to the side away from your weapons like I do.”
The older man began advancing toward the figure in the forest’s shadows, holding his hand in front of him, palm outward. Hal tried to emulate the stance even though it made him nervous to encounter his first goblin without a weapon in his hands. Someone collected all those skulls back in the pass, after all.
Bilham and Hal stopped a few paces away from the goblin warrior. He stared back at them with red-rimmed eyes, looking from Bilham to Hal then back again.
“Greetings to the chief of the Vale of the Morning Sun,” Bilham said.
The captain bowed at the waist and Hal repeated the gesture.
“Who’s the youngling?” the goblin said in a gruff, accented voice, a hint of a growl in the undertone.
“A new addition to the crew,” Bilham said. “He’s showing some promise if he doesn’t let his early success go to his head.”
The goblin smiled, showing a mouthful of teeth filed to sharp points. “The young are always impatient for success, my friend.”
The green-skinned warrior stepped forward and clasped wrists with Bilham. The two of them laughed at the shared joke Hal didn’t quite understand.
“How are things here in the valley, Shalush?” Bilham asked. “Has your wife given you any more younglings?”
“She has,” Shalush said. “Twin girls this last time. She declared them future priestesses, gods help me.”
“Careful when the women start outnumbering you, my friend.”
“When are you going to settle down, Bil? Surely there’s a woman out there for you.”
“You know me,” Bilham replied. “I have a woman in every city I visit. Sometimes two in the really big ones.”
“That path leads to nothing but trouble,” Shalush said.
“Says the man with a dozen children now. Leave me free to move on without encumbrances, I always say.” Bilham said. He looked back a
t the wagons stopped on the trail behind them.
“What brings you out to meet us so early. I would have expected you to wait until we got closer to your village in a day or two,” the guard captain said.
“There’s been some trouble in the outlying farmsteads,” Shalush said. “I am out with a search party looking into some disappearances at this end of the valley. I was tracking some troll signs when I saw your caravan come into the valley and decided to see if it was you.”
“Trolls, here in your valley?” Bilham said. “I would think they’d know better.”
“Troubles to the east and north are driving them in this direction. I’ve heard rumors that eastern cities have put out a bounty on trolls and other creatures. They are trying to capture them alive for some sort of bloodsport.” Shalush snorted a half chuckle. “And humans call us savages.”
“Not this human, my friend,” Bilham said. “We are going to set up camp soon. Maybe I can lend you a hand tracking your troll problem down. It’ll be just like old times and we could use a day of rest here in the valley.”
“That would be welcome. It is harvest time and there were not many warriors available to join the hunt with me. We are all spread out across this end of the valley looking for the missing steaders.”
“Let me tell Ghent we’re stopping here for camp and I’ll grab a couple of the boys to come and help with the troll hunt.”
“You are a good friend, Bilham,” Shalush said. “I will wait here for you to set up camp and return.”
Bilham turned and gestured to Hal to follow him. Hal nodded at the goblin and got a toothy grin in return. He stepped up his pace and caught up to his captain.
“You want to join us on a troll hunt, Hal?” Bilham asked. “Looks like Shalush could use a cool head like yours.”
“Sure,” Hal said. He looked back at the goblin warrior as he walked. “You two seem like you’ve been friends a long time.”