by RW Krpoun
Derek could feel the blade shivering as it neared the snapping point but he did not ease off; the blood was pounding in his ears and his chest ached, meaning that he did not have long before his fighting strength dropped off drastically. It didn’t help that he was bleeding freely from numerous shallow cuts across his shoulders and back.
Then the tanto caught, hesitated, and then slid into softer flesh beneath the bone as the mummy thrashed wildly, all sense fleeing its actions. It ceased fighting as the blade sank until only a finger’s-width of blade stood clear of the wrappings.
Heaving himself off the twitching corpse as he gasped for air to feed his aching lungs Derek realized that Fred was climbing into the room and Shad was standing in the far corner cautiously poking a hammock with a bloody sword.
“Damn,” he wheezed.
“Hold still,” Fred knelt next to the Ronin. “This is gonna hurt like hell.”
“So what were they?” Jeff nudged a dead mummy with the toe of his boot.
“As near as I can figure they were guardians of some sort held in stasis by the wrappings,” Shad stood from where he had been examining the wrappings on Derek’s first kill. “Three died in their hammocks a long time ago, and I split the skull of the third as it was trying to get a blade into Derek.”
“What’s under the wrappings?”
“Nothing I’m interested in seeing. There’s heavy mojo in the silk.”
“I would think so.” Jeff looked up the shaft in the far corner. “Derek, how much further?”
“Not far,” the Ronin advised as he shrugged into his bloody, ripped shirt.
“This proves the rats never found this place.” Fred braced a boot on a mummy’s face and dragged Derek’s wakizashi free of the corpse.
“If this place wasn’t hotter than ground zero at an H-bomb test the activation on those wrappings would give every spell slinger in this place a headache,” Shad nodded. “Both a defense and early warning system.”
“Clever.” Fred hauled on the tanto’s hilt, only to have the blade snap. “Crap. Well, you can still use it as a letter opener.”
“Gee, thanks,” Derek examined the two inches of blade that remained before discarding the broken weapon. “Better a busted blade than a busted neck.”
Shad insisted on going first from the mid-way room as getting to the vault was his job. After another climb the shaft ended in a small room much like the mummy defense point, but unoccupied. He was studying carvings on the wall as the rest of the Black Talons joined him.
“OK, for some reason this is the end of the line. We open the door,” Shad rapped the section of wall next to the carvings for emphasis. “And we have twenty feet of hallway to the vault door if the paperwork is right.”
“We’re going in blind,” Jeff swore. “What a screwed-up system.”
“This is an escape route; the vault is a separate matter,” Derek reminded them.
“So what?” Shad was unimpressed. “Why didn’t they just stash the Fang in here? For all we know we could run into the rat Rose Bowl parade the instant we step out of here.”
Derek shrugged.
“Wait a minute,” Fred snapped his fingers. “Midori’s group has never been here, or they would have tripped the mummy alarm system. For that matter, they didn’t warn us about the mummies. How did they get the Fang up here in the first place?”
“They put it here before the rats moved in,” Derek shook his head. “Back when the after-effect was dangerous to life. Perfect hiding spot.”
“Man, these people suck,” Shad kicked the door.
Jeff found a fragment of the green stone on the floor. “Here, Derek, for your box.”
Shad sighed. “Get ready. I’ll go through first.”
“No, me first,” Derek unslung his katana. “This is Samurai work.”
“Whatever. From the carvings, this works like the bluff: you get one round trip. Unless the rats know how to work the door they can’t chase us into here. You ready, goat-boy?”
“Open it up. And bite me.”
Emerging through the door Derek found himself standing on what amounted to a balcony; to his right a stairway led up and to his left was a carved wood railing overlooking a larger room one story below. The balcony, about six feet wide, ran eighty feet to his front before ending in a blank wall, with a stairway leading to the floor below set at a right angle to its end. The entire area was lit by warm orange panels set into the ceiling.
Down below several Nezumi were slumped on benches around plank tables in the manner of guards everywhere nearing the end of a boring night watch. Much more of interest was the rat-man leaning against the railing a few feet from the Ronin, who was even now turning to face the Talon.
The Nezumi was about five feet tall and looked like a rodent formed along Human lines: short brown fur, hairless tail, legs a bit shorter than a Human’s proportions. It had mouse-like ears lying flat against its head, but its face was more beaver-like than a rat’s in Derek’s opinion, particularly since the creature had a mop of black hair on its scalp and a fringe of black beard. Its teeth, which it bared at the sight of the Ronin, were clearly a carnivore’s.
The rat-man, like those below, was wearing what Derek thought looked like a belted plaid whose pattern was a weird mish-mash of conflicting colors, and a matching Scottish-style bonnet. A wakizashi and a tanto rode in the sash that served the belted plaid’s kilt as a belt.
The Nezumi’s clawed hand was just touching the hilt of its sword as Derek’s combination Iaijutsu draw and Shomen strike lofted its head from its body; the Ronin hissed in exasperation as the head bounced off the railing and dropped to slam into the center of a table below.
“Did I mention we were hoping to avoid notice?” Shad asked as he hurried past, pausing to throw one of his smoke-and-lights spells at the head of the stairs.
“Sorry,” Derek muttered as he moved to get between the warder and the stairs, feeling stupid.
Shad counted panels, stopping where Derek’s notes indicated. He fumbled his first attempt at the complex opening sequence but got it right the second time, transforming the panel of green stone into a smoky nothingness. Hand on his sword, he ducked into the vault.
The Nezumi could jump like NBA centers, Fred quickly discovered as more guards poured into the room below. The first bunch were easing their way through Shad’s smoke and light show, but the newcomers were climbing on top of the tables and then jumping to grab the bottom of the railing. Wishing he had brought his club, the big Talon kicked heads and hands as the first guards cleared Shad’s distraction and went after Derek and Jeff with a will.
It was easy at first, but the rats were determined, and also good at landing safely when he knocked them back down; they were fast when climbing, too. Struck by inspiration the Texan pulled a torch from the back of his belt and lit it with a flicked charm. The stick was too thin to use as a club but the flaming ball of tar-soaked burlap served as an excellent deterrent to creatures covered with fur. He still had to move fast back and forth but he was holding the line.
The vault was pitch-dark and smelled of dry dust; Shad flicked a torch alight with the toss of a coin and found himself in a space not much larger than a big walk-in closet. Complex shelves and racks of bamboo lined three walls, while the smoky portal and rows of inlaid carvings filled the fourth. The warder spent a minute studying the carvings, a frown tugging at his scar, before turning back to the shelves and racks burdened with a wild variety of objects of every possible description.
A veteran’s sixth sense made Fred look over his shoulder: two rat-men were running down the stairs leading up, yari-style spears at the ready. Fred hurled his torch into one’s face and parried the other’s spear point with his left arm, grunting as armor charms burst into dust and the point dug into his forearm. Grabbing the Nezumi by the scruff of the neck he heaved the screeching creature over the railing and dove onto the other rat, pulling his tanto as he did so, vaguely aware that Jeff was coming back to cover th
e railing.
Slamming down atop the smaller humanoid Fred ignored the raking claws as he stabbed the snarling rat to death quickly and brutally. Given a choice he would prefer to kill at a distance, but when it came down to survival he was not squeamish in the least.
Climbing to his feet he caught up a discarded spear and snapped off the steel head. Using the shaft like a quarterstaff, he joined Jeff in defending the railing.
The Fang was in a wicker cage like a birdcage, just large enough to hold the item. It was aptly named: an incisor twice the size of a man’s fist set with a huge opal in its front center surrounded by a score of emerald-cut rubies in a complex pattern. Runes filled with gold swirled in a spiral around the tooth, filling every inch that wasn’t inset with a gem. The warder was grateful for the cage because just standing near the item was making his sinuses burn. Hooking the cage to his belt he scanned the shelves, choosing rapidly.
Finished, he leapt through the smoky doorway. On the balcony, he awkwardly juggled his burdens as he launched three series of black and silver bolts into the carvings on the wall.
“Come on, we’re done,” he bellowed over the clatter of battle, and led the way back to the shaft.
Derek covered the withdrawal, although the Nezumi were in no great hurry to close against his longer blade after losing four of their number. “C’mon,” he taunted them. “The Grey Seer Thanquol would have you flayed for hanging back like that!”
None seemed inspired to close, and with a sigh the Ronin ducked back through the opening, which became solid wall the instant after he passed through.
“Those were not Skaven,” he observed to the other Talon. “But they were pretty cool.”
“That wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” Fred observed as he healed a nasty slash on Derek’s chest. “But it wasn’t a picnic, either. I wish I hadn’t left my club behind.”
“I got you another,” Shad advised the healer as he bound his acquisitions together with rope.
“I see the Fang. What else did you get?” Jeff asked.
“Loot. We’ll settle up once we’re a distance away. We need to get clear before the rats get their act together. They can’t find us in here, but they can track and they’ll be looking hard.”
“At least the climb down will be a little easier,” Derek noted.
“The tunnel will still be too damn low,” Fred observed sourly.
It was nearing sundown when the Black Talons emerged from the bluff into the weak sunlight.
“That sucked.” Fred massaged his lower back. “You ever notice RPGs never address awkward ceiling heights?”
“RPGs have much to answer for,” Shad agreed. “Jeff, you have the wilderness skills; is it worth taking the time to hide our tracks?”
“Not really. I’ll bring up the rear and do what I can, but distance is our only friend right now.”
“Then let’s hustle.”
“So what did you get besides the Fang?” Derek asked as the Talons headed back to camp.
“Something for everyone. What did Midori’s information say about the vault?”
“Just how to find it, open it, and that it contained the Fang. It was described as a strongbox set-up by the original builders.”
“Well, that is bullshit. Firstly, the vault wasn’t in the temple, and secondly, it was not a strongbox: it was a resupply point.”
“What?”
“The walls were regular stone, not the green stuff, and the Fang gave me a headache while I was in there.”
Derek was silent for a moment. “So you teleported there?”
“It’s the only way to explain why I could sense an artifact in the vault, but now I can’t even though said artifact is hanging from my belt.”
“Is that why you were firing magic missiles into the wall?” Fred asked.
“Yeah; the stone is indestructible, but the enchantment in the carvings isn’t. The rats aren’t going to get inside now.”
“So what does that mean?” Jeff asked.
“Look, the vault was full of what I would call adventuring supplies, all enchanted. Obviously I didn’t have much time, but based on what I saw it was intended to equip a squad for hardcore operations. I grabbed what I could carry and boogied, but there was a lot more.”
“So whoever set it up planned on a group getting the Fang and a full battle upgrade,” Fred said thoughtfully. “But why did we have to go through rat central?’
“We didn’t. There was more than one way to get there, I could tell from the carvings on the vault side. I expect that the people who set it up wanted to make sure that political developments did not render their plan obsolete, so they made widely dispersed entrances.”
“So it was never in the temple,” Derek scratched his head.
“Nope. And Midori had to know that. Maybe she figured we would be in too much of a rush to notice, or maybe she figured the extra loot would appease us.”
“So was that the best entrance she could send us to?” Jeff asked. “Or the only one she knew about?”
“Maybe that was the only one that wouldn’t tip off the rest of her group,” Derek pointed out. “What if Midori represents a splinter faction within the Lance-controlling group?”
“This stuff makes my head hurt,” Fred muttered.
“So is the Fang going to be a GPS tracker for the Death Lords?” Jeff asked.
“No. If they actively look for it and are willing to put out a lot of effort, they could track it down over time, but the reason it was giving me a headache was that the vault, wherever it is, was the arcane equivalent of a nuclear reactor’s containment chamber. You would need a doorway to find it.”
“I bet all the doorways are places where there is high magical background radiation,” Derek pointed out.
“So what exactly does the Fang do?” Fred asked. “Not what Midori told us, but in reality.”
“That is something I hope to find out before we leave this detection dead zone.”
The Black Talons gathered up the orphans and Denki and pressed on until midnight.
“I’m getting old,” Jeff grumbled as the orphans set up camp. “These damn days are too long, cold, and filled with work.”
“I’m feeling it, too,” Shad agreed. “Soldiering is a young man’s game. If I had stayed in I would be only a few years from retirement now.”
“We’ve still got a few fights left in us,” Fred grinned. “After breakfast, that is.”
The snow was melting as the Talons took a break from marching. “OK, we’re leaving the residual effect soon,” Shad announced. “We’re passed the lunar cycle period, so tracking us as individuals is no longer an issue. The question before us is Midori: do we want to make contact again?”
“We could just bury the disk from the scroll case and shine her on,” Derek mused. “Do you know what the Fang does?”
“Not a clue. It is the single most powerful thing I have ever seen, and that includes the colored tubes we pulled out of Death Valley. Whatever the Fang is, I don’t think it is powered up but beyond that I know squat.”
“If we break with her we can’t get the Lance,” Fred pointed out.
“Assuming we don’t catch a blade from her buddies before we get close to the Lance,” Jeff countered. “If we make contact we don’t hand over the Fang.”
“Definitely.” Derek thought hard. “I say we make one more try. If the next step is the Lance we go for it, otherwise we blow her off.”
“That works for me,” Shad nodded.
“I’m OK with it,” Fred said and Jeff gave a thumbs up.
“But we don’t break the tile until we’re back in Litam and ready to move,” the warder added. “And anyone who sees her in a dream needs to stand firm on the point that she comes to us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Shad had insisted on waiting to hand out the loot from the vault until after they were a day’s march clear of the residual effect area so he could give each item a careful going-over.
&nb
sp; “All right, everything is sorted out, and I’m ready to move your katari as needed.”
Derek received a pair of blades in a rosewood box, one for a katana, the other a wakizashi; both were black steel polished to a mirror finish weighing half what his current weapons did.
“Some heavy mojo in the blades: epic level stuff,” Shad noted as Derek cradled the box like an infant. “They weren’t pounded out on a forge. Put the hilts from your current weapons on them so no one notices you’re packing artifact-class weapons.”
“Dude they deserve the very best,” the Ronin breathed.
“You need your head examined; a sell-sword doesn’t have that sort of hardware. Not for long, anyway. The same goes for you, Fred.” Shad passed over a tetsubo that appeared to be made of age-browned bone, with red iron studs and rows of incised runic symbols. “That’s dragon bone, I am pretty sure. Lighter than hardwood and nearly as hard as solid steel. The mojo on it isn’t half bad, either. You’ll have to carry your old one in town.”
“Mine is not combat oriented,” Shad flipped open an ebony case; inside were a row of gold filigree tubes of exquisite quality. “These are holders for my chalk sticks. Holder and amplifiers, I might add. And easy to keep out of sight.”
“Jeff, you are last but not least: here is a turtle shell.”
The Shop teacher looked at the dinner-plate-sized shell. “What the hell? You guys get dragon bone and Excalibur and I get a freakin’ bowl?”
The warder grinned. “Wear it on your chest or belly; it could stop a rocket-propelled grenade, no problem. The real important thing about it is if Fred or I put a coin or charm on it for a few hours it stores the pattern, leaving the charm or coin unaffected. Then you can call up that effect at will. It feeds off your personal aura, so figure twenty-four plus hours to recharge each individual effect. You can change out the line-up at any time, but you still need a day or so to power up the effect. It can store around six buffs; from me you can get night vision or the light orbs, from Fred healing or armor buffs.”