by RW Krpoun
Shad thought a moment. “The story-telling aspect of it, I think. I think that normal gamers have a creative urge that others fulfill in writing or acting.”
“That is why I think we should write up what we have been through in the spheres,” Derek swept an arm to encompass the world around them.
“No one would read it,” Shad shook his head. “It is just too freaking weird.”
“Which is how they found us, I bet,” Jeff snapped his fingers.
“Who did what to whom?” Shad frowned at the Shop teacher.
“The Council finding gamers,” Jeff punched the air. “Face it: we are conditioned by our hobby to accept or at least visualize truly strange settings. We can function in this situation better than anyone.”
“And even so some gamers went insane in the Prison,” Derek pointed out. “But your point makes sense.”
“Would you ever game again, Shad?” Fred asked.
“I dunno. The Prison pretty much killed my interest in fantasy settings. Console games, yes. Table top, I don’t know; that is as much social as it is actual gaming, so probably. But I can tell you this: nothing with Elves in it. I have come to truly loathe that word.”
By noon on the fifth day out from Boam the Black Talons had stashed Denki, the kids, and their animals at a safe distance and were moving to investigate the temple. They approached from the west, guided by Shad who navigated by the effect the area’s null field had upon his powers.
They low-crawled to the military crest of a low ridge coated in scrub trees and crept along its length until they saw the temple of the Nezumi laid out before them. It resembled a step-sided pyramid of massive size made of dark green stone shot through with inky traces, the whole of which having been within the blast radius of a nuclear weapon.
The stone had melted and sagged into the ground so the structure leaned drunkenly to the north, and obviously extended at least one level into the earth. Its harsh step-lines were softened by the melting effect, particularly at the north, and split with cracks radiating down from the highest points. It was both magnificent in design and scale, and awesome in its degree of damage.
“Damn,” Jeff breathed. “It looks like an Imperial Star Destroyer crash-landed.”
“Notice the similarity to Tek pyramids?” Fred muttered. “Not a coincidence, I bet.”
“They tried to crash it through the Prison walls,” Shad whispered. “They didn’t get far.”
“Look at that tree, there, for comparison,” Derek breathed, point. “The temple must be sixty stories tall.”
“What? No way,” Shad held up a spell-coin at arm’s length for comparison, counting under his breath. “Son of a bitch.”
“How the hell are we going to find one item in that monstrosity?” Jeff groaned.
Derek held up the scroll case. “We have a map.”
“Is that good?”
“Sort of. We go in at the bottom and climb all the way to the top.”
“Figures. Is this one hollow?”
“Not like the Tek’s, there are rooms inside.”
“Great.”
“The good news is we should be concealed most of the way.”
“Should be and most being the key words,” Fred sighed.
“If it was easy they would have sent liberals,” Shad slid back from the vantage point. “Would it be better to go in at night or during the day?”
“Daytime,” Jeff slid back. “The Nezumi are nocturnal.”
“OK, we rest up and go in tomorrow at mid-morning.”
The next morning, after breakfast and warmed socks, the Black Talons lounged about checking their gear while Denki showed the children how to improve their lean-to roof by weaving pine branches wicker-style through the supports.
“You know, this ‘bring your own support staff’ concept is pretty sweet,” Jeff carefully poured hot tar onto the burlap head of the torch he was making. “They cook, wash up, warm our socks, look after the animals…we should have grabbed up some orphans first thing when we hit a sphere.”
“I don’t think being an orphan automatically qualifies you as a body slave,” Derek looked up from the box he was working on. “These four were conditioned by cultural mores and their personal circumstances. They were sold as food; even Shad comes across as pretty decent compared to that.”
“Thanks for the shout-out,” Shad noted as he engraved a coin.
“No problem.”
“Derek, did you brief them on their escape plan if we don’t make it back?” Fred critically studied the carving on the wooden disk he had just finished and then stowed it.
“Yeah.”
“What is that box you have there?” Jeff asked as he poured tar on another torch head.
“I got it in Boam. What I want you guys to do is grab gravel-sized bits of the temple, the green rock. I plan to put this clay disk we’re supposed to break to notify Midori on these pegs in this box and surround it with the stone fragments.”
“You think that the disk is also a homing device?”
“Seems pretty obvious to me. I buried the scroll case with the guys we killed at that farm, and I’ll burn the documents before we leave the temple area. I figure the stones ought to mess with the homing signal.”
“Shad, would that work?”
“Probably. You think maybe all they want is the Fang of Ages, Derek?”
“Better to be safe than sorry. I figure we’ll use the box when we get close to the Lance. If they don’t hit us for the Fang, they definitely will for the Lance.”
“Which begs the question of how we learn to use it,” Jeff pointed out. “I’m betting that step comes after we grab the Lance, which means not in our lifetime.”
“That is a problem,” Fred agreed. “I expect that once the Lance is out from hiding the Death Lords will figure it out and take a lively interest.”
“One crisis at a time,” Shad stowed the finished coin and took out another blank. “Derek, go over our plan of attack one more time.”
“OK, we have a map and instructions on how to open a tunnel that leads into the east temple foundations. Inside the temple we will ascend until we are near the top, where we will be close to what is described as a hidden vault which contains the Fang. Everyone has studied the drawing. Our only point of vulnerability is when we leave our hidden access way and get to the vault, and then back.”
“And how do we know that the rats haven’t found this hidden passage?”
“Well, they can’t use magic, obviously, and you’ve seen the damage; it’s not as if they were measuring for carpets and noticed a discrepancy.”
“We’re betting that the rats have been here for centuries and never stumbled upon this passage or vault?” Jeff shook his head.
“The place is indestructible,” Derek pointed out. “It isn’t as if they can remodel. We’re talking about a passage big enough for one or two guys to get through, not the Lincoln Tunnel. And the rats think this place is special.”
“It’s not like this is the first time we’ve discussed this,” Shad started packing up his tools. “If they have discovered the passage we’ll know in short order because it will be closed up or guarded. As to the vault, well, that we’ll find out in due course, although I would hope Midori’s group would have had an ear out for news of the Fang’s reappearance. Artifacts have a habit of making themselves known.”
“Might as well get it over with,” Jeff bundled the torches and stood. “We’ve had worse plans.”
Chapter Thirteen
“This is it?” Shad stepped back to examine the mossy bluff that stretched overhead.
“Yup.” Derek passed him a strip of vellum. “Here’s the password.”
“Everybody squared away?” Fred asked. “Water, one meal, four torches, crawling rags, one empty sack, fifty feet of rope?”
“Yes, Mom,” Jeff intoned, rolling his eyes.
“OK,” Shad examined the symbols on the vellum, settled his tactical gloves on his hands, and took a de
ep breath. “Here goes.” He spoke several words in a strange tongue, gesturing with his off-hand as he spoke. For a moment after he finished nothing happened, and then a pattern of lights no brighter than fireflies awoke on the face of the stone about four feet off the ground.
“That’s it? That was some heavy mojo I was handling,” Shad noted, brushing away the vellum-dust from his hands.
“Heavy enough to be noticed?” Jeff asked as Derek walked to the lights, another piece of vellum in hand, and began touching them in sequence.
“Around here you could craft The One Ring in the same room as a first-rate spellcaster and he wouldn’t notice,” Shad shrugged. “Detecting ordinary magic here is like trying to use a Geiger counter to pick up the half-life of an old-style luminescent watch face while standing at the heart of Chernobyl.”
One second Derek was tapping on stone, and the next he was crouched in front of a lightless shaft leading into the bluff.
“That is so cool,” the Ronin gasped.
“Quit acting like a tourist, Derek” Jeff grinned.
“We can’t take him anywhere,” Fred agreed.
“Before we go in, is the door going to stay open and can you open it from the inside if it doesn’t?” Shad asked.
“This door does not exist for anyone who walks through this opening,” Derek had a mad grin on his face. “One time, anyway. If you walk in this way, you can walk out.”
“Then let’s go.”
The doorway led them into a smooth-sided tunnel about five feet high that ran very nearly straight; led by one of Shad’s light orbs the Talons trudged onward.
“We are two miles from the temple,” Fred swore. “My back isn’t going to like this.”
“Getting old?” Jeff inquired.
“Bite me.”
“Anyone else reminded of the passage they cut to Fu Hao’s tomb?” Shad asked.
“Or Derek’s tunnel back in the Realm, except none of us are blue,” Jeff jabbed the Ronin in the back. Don’t think you’re forgiven for that one.”
“It didn’t carry over so you can quit bitching.”
“Are you absolutely sure we’re not walking into an ambush?” Fred asked Derek.
“You think the rats would leave a back door into their sacred territory?”
“Good point.”
When the orb winked out the Black Talons took a break. “This sucks,” Fred grumbled, rubbing his back and then his knee.
“Life sucks,” Shad observed. “Torches from here on out; I’m down to two orbs. One for the point man until we get to the temple. Derek, you want relief as point man?”
“Nah, it is just as far no matter where you are in the formation. I read the background material so I’ll lead.”
“Somebody lose a goat down here?” Jeff asked innocently.
“Bite me.”
“You’re just hoping to kill something with your little sword,” Fred grinned. Derek had slung his katana across his back and had his shorter wakizashi to hand.
“Weapon shrinkage,” Shad chuckled.
The Ronin flipped both off.
It took three hours of stooped travel to reach the end of the shaft bored through the bedrock. One minute they were trudging along cursing the height of the shaft, and the next Derek was straightening up as his torch set smoothly vertical walls glowing in shades of green.
They were standing in a square niche in the temple foundation no larger than an elevator car, featureless except for a hole in the ceiling allowing access to a shaft sloping away to the west.
“This is pretty undramatic,” Jeff stretched. “Why did they put a secret entrance into their escape vehicle?”
“They didn’t,” Derek looked up from his notes. “This was an escape tunnel in case the magic got out of control and the people at the top had to bail out.”
“And the rats don’t know about that?” Fred rubbed the small of his back.
“They didn’t register the blueprints with the local Planning Commission,” the Ronin grinned. “This is why I believe that Midori’s group are descendants of the escape group. This structure, like all the others they used, is unique in design.”
“So they abandoned their escape craft when they arrived?” Shad borrowed Derek’s torch to take a closer look at the shaft leading upwards.
“When they arrived this place was so ‘hot’ a couple hour’s exposure was lethal. Even today the effects still block every sort of magical emanations.”
“Good point.”
“The rats like the effect; they arrived while it was still not healthy for Humans.”
“Or Undead, right?” Jeff bundled his sheathed swords and slung them on his back.
“Yeah. It is still fatal to Undead.”
“OK, it looks like they built hand-holds and steps into the shaft,” Shad passed the torch back. “You don’t all have to go with me.”
“I’m going,” Derek announced. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’m not sitting down here in the dark,” Jeff shrugged.
“I’m leaving my club here, but I’m coming along,” Fred grunted.
“OK, I’ll take point…”
“I’ve got point,” Derek interrupted. “You’re the spellcaster.”
Shad glared at the Ronin. “When did you get so warlike?”
“Only you and the point man are going to have a chance to see the rat-men close up, and I’m not missing the opportunity.”
“Your definition of opportunity needs work,” Jeff observed.
The stone in the shaft was unpolished so with the angle and the inset handholds climbing was not hard work, but it took both hands so Shad set a light orb to follow Derek. The air in the shaft was warm and smelled of dust and disuse.
The Ronin climbed determinedly, ignoring the pull in his lower back where the steel rod shored up his spine, a legacy of the same IED that had marked Shad. Derek felt good; tired, a bit hungry, and definitely trail-worn, but good nonetheless. The rest of the guys gave him hell as a matter of habit, but they also trusted him to walk point which meant a lot. Even Shad, who was always impatient with everyone, never doubted Derek’s fighting ability.
He climbed steadily, eager to get to the top and to see what wonders this place held. Catching a change in the texture in the darkness ahead he paused and looked over his shoulder. “We’re coming up to the mid-way room.”
“The what?” Shad was a good thirty feet below him looking down.
“There’s a room halfway to the top.”
“OK. We’ll catch up inna minute.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Something bit Jeff. Probably a spider.”
“Is he OK?”
“Fred’s taking care of it. Nasty bite, like a fast-acting brown recluse.”
“I’m going to check out the room.”
“Great.”
The shaft opened into a corner of the room; Derek scrambled up onto the dusty floor, noticing a spicy odor hanging in the air with an under-taste of cloves. As he got his feet under him Derek’s back gave him a single sullen twinge of hot pain to warn of things to come; wincing he noticed net hammocks slung from the ceiling like swags of sailcloth.
Derek remained crouched on the floor watching the hammocks, his pulse whispering in his ears. Unbidden an image of a hot Iraqi day sprang into mind; they were moving dismounted through heavy brush searching for signs of a mortar team which had been harassing a nearby supply staging area. They had taken five while the Lieutenant argued with Shad and a couple other hardcore NCOs about where they were. Derek had squatted down facing outboard, grateful for the respite. Glancing down he had seen the rusted prongs of a Soviet anti-personnel mine not an inch from the sole of his left boot. The El-Tee had trusted the GPS too much, as usual, and walked them into an old Soviet minefield.
The hammocks shivered slightly, as if kissed by a gentle breeze, and the Ronin drew his wakizashi. Then the nearest hammock swung violently as a body hurled itself out, landing cat-li
ke in front of Derek, a short spindly figure completely bound about in green and gold brocade silk like an extremely fashionable mummy; lank black hair leaked through the wrappings around its head, and a pair of bloodshot eyes peered at him. The wrappings ended at the wrist, exposing brick-red skin that was wrinkled as if the creature had been underwater. More importantly, the wrapped thing held a wide-bladed bronze short sword in either hand.
What it intended Derek couldn’t be sure, because he had moved the instant the hammock started to swing and even as the creature had landed Derek’s blade caught it in the area of the lower sternum, sliding in until the tusba (the round disk that acted as a cross-guard on a Western sword) pressed against the silk wrappings.
Derek opened his mouth to warn the others but before he got a word out a second hammock-occupant dove onto him. The two crashed into the floor and rolled blindly, the mummy-like creature trying to get its hands around the Ronin’s neck as Derek punched, kneed, and head-butted for all he was worth. The creature was thin but strong and the silk wrappings were hard to get a grip on, while Derek was taller and heavier, so the fight was both complex and a close match.
His right hand found his tanto’s hilt and dragged the short blade free, wishing in the recesses of his mind that it was the heavier Randall Model 14 he had carried in Iraq. He clamped his left hand on what he hoped was his attacker’s jaw, forcing the mummy’s head back and using his forearm to ruin the creature’s right grip. What was under the wrappings felt strange, like mandibles or something similar, but Derek stayed focused on stabbing with his tanto.
The creature screeched at the first cut and tried to get a grip on the Ronin’s knife-arm as the Talon stabbed for all he was worth. The creature seemed to be made entirely of ribs: again and again the point of the tanto struck bone and slid aside.
The mummy never really got a strangling grip on Derek’s throat (albeit not for a want of trying), but it did choke him and claw his neck bloody. Recognizing that he was running out of air faster than he could afford, the Radio Shack manager hooked a leg around the mummy’s torso and levered it over onto its back. Planting the tanto’s point into the thing’s upper chest he rammed his own chest into the dagger’s butt, rocked the blade with his right hand as best he could. Millimeter by millimeter the steel bit into the bone as the creature hissed and clawed at the Talon’s shoulders.