Land of the Undying

by Dave Willmarth

  Chapter 13

  In the Light of Day

  Mace looked around his room at the kobold’s inn. It looked much like the rooms in Immernacht or Svarthold. Maybe a bit rougher hewn. Everything was wood, and it had a log cabin feel to it. The bedposts, the door, and the chairs were all roughly cut. But well-crafted nonetheless.

  He called Minx to him, and headed downstairs. There was a small crowd in the tavern, talking quietly and drinking ale. When they noticed Mace, one of them jumped up and ran out of the exit.

  That’s probably not good. If they try and kill me again, I’m taking some of them with me!

  Mace took a seat at an empty table as the kobolds in the room stared silently at him. He ordered some food, and a pitcher of water. His meal arrived, and he began to dig in. There was bacon and eggs with toast and some odd jelly-like substance he didn’t recognize, but it tasted good. Minx especially liked the jelly, appearing on the table with a spoon in hand and taking a large helping before disappearing again. When the server came back, Mace asked about the jelly.

  “Berry-slime.” The kobold (Mace couldn’t tell if it was male or female) answered with a toothy grin. “Specialty of village. Very tasty, yes?”

  Mace looked at the bowl of jiggly goodness. “Slime? As in, the creatures you find in dungeons?”

  The kobold nodded its head. “We capture. Breed. Very tasty.” It said. Mace picked up the bowl and shook it a bit, then poked at it like a kid eating jello for the first time. He was about to ask another question when the room went silent.

  Mace looked up to see a crowd of kobolds stepping into the room from outside. In the lead was an inky black kobold that was both taller and bulkier than the others Mace had seen. Behind him were Truffle and Shook.

  The lead kobold approached the table, and bowed his head to Mace. Truffle made introductions. “Mace, this be Mayor Stump. Mayor, this Mace, greatest warrior ever!”

  Mace stood and shook the mayor’s clawed hand. “Nice to meet you, Mayor. Thank you for taking me in last night.”

  “No, Mace. Thank you. You bring back two we thought to never see again.” the Mayor replied.

  Quest Complete: Keep the Kobolds From Kicking

  Rewards: 1,000xp; Plus 100 reputation with the Blackclaw Clan

  You have returned Truffle and Shook to their village alive. You only died twice doing it. Not bad.

  Mace waved aside the oddly worded notification and tried to focus on the mayor’s words.

  “We very sorry for killing you. Thought more slavers come. Not know you are friend, until many arrows hit you.”

  Mace nearly laughed at the phrasing of the apology. He could see the humor in it now that the wounds weren’t so fresh, so to speak. “I understand, Mayor Stump. I would have thought the same in your place. I hold no grudge against your people.”

  This statement caused much excitement within the crowd. The kobolds had gone from looking serious when they walked in, to be all smiles and nodding heads. Mace had to remind himself that for most of the lesser races, drow were beings to be feared. He decided to see if he could relieve the tension a bit more.

  “I would like to say that Truffle and Shook are excellent warriors. They fought well in the tunnels as we made our way through. You should be proud.” Mace told the Mayor.

  The two kobolds puffed out their chests with pride as several others thumped them on the back to congratulate them. The mayor said “This is good. Truffle and Shook will have many females this night.”

  Mace, not wanting to get into the sexual habits of kobolds, just nodded his head. “I must be going. I have to meet up with a friend to the east. Thank you again for the hospitality.”

  There were lots of smiles and well wishes from the village residents as he walked from the tavern to the gate. One of the archers on the wall raised his bow and mimed shooting Mace, then gave a big, hissing belly laugh. Mace waved back and stepped out through the gate.

  He followed the path up the hill where he’d been killed, then back down through the hidden tunnel. When he was out of the kobold’s valley, he turned east in the rough direction of the elven city where Shari had started.

  Minx made herself visible as Mace made his way across the foothills toward the tree line that marked the edge of the vast forest known as Direwood. Vast was an understatement, really. The forest covered more than a third of the continent, which itself was roughly the size of Australia. There were large prairies that stretched twenty and thirty miles across scattered about within the forest. As well as several large rivers and lakes. Even a mountain range. The forest boasted millions of NPC inhabitants in settlements ranging from small hamlets, to large cities like Emarien near the eastern coast, or the Orcish capitol city of Skrog closer to the western side.

  Mace was not planning to walk the entire way, of course. That would take weeks. But he was going to have to walk until he found a river port. From there he could take a combination of boats most of the way. There were a few places where he would have to travel overland between rivers that didn’t connect. But each fording was only a few hour’s walk. If he’d figured correctly based on the maps he found online, he could make it in five days.

  In Elysia, you can train in the riding skill and purchase a mount at level 40. But when he’d left Svartholm, he had only been level 30. He also didn’t have the kind of gold that it took to pay for either the training or the mount. Besides, when he met up with Shari, she’d have to walk anyway. So Mace was on foot as he began to jog toward the tree line, and an opening that suggested a road. As a drow, he could run great distances before his stamina gave out. While not much use in the tunnels, where one always had to move carefully, out here he could stretch his legs and eat up the miles alternating between jogging and walking.

  As he passed within about a hundred yards of the trees, an arrow flew from under the canopy, striking him in the shoulder just below where Minx was perched. The force of the blow knocked him onto his back and sent Minx flying. He lay there for a moment in the tall grass, his mind racing.

  Who shot me? Why would someone shoot me. I don’t know anyone on the surface! Because… I’m a drow. Stupid. You’re a drow, dummy. Most folks up here hate drow. Also, stop running toward places where people with bows might be hiding. It isn’t working well.

  He checked his UI quickly, and saw that the arrow had taken about 15% of his health. “Minx, you okay?” He tried looking around for his familiar, but she had stealthed. A light touch on his neck told him she was nearby, and he heard “Not hurt”.

  The arrow had not penetrated deeply into his shoulder. His armor had mitigated most of its ability to penetrate. But the force behind the arrow had been immense. So someone using a large, heavy bow. Likely human, orc, maybe dwarf.

  Gritting his teeth, he yanked the arrow from his shoulder and tossed it in the grass. He drank a minor health potion, which sealed the wound, but did not do much to restore his hp. Another drawback to leveling so fast; his potions were all low level. He should have thought to look for some in the kobold village.

  As soon as the wound was healed, Mace went into stealth mode. In the middle of a field with the sun nearly directly overhead, there were no shadows for him to meld into. The best he could do was crouch down, move away at an oblique angle to where the shot had come from, and get down in the grass. Hopefully whoever came for him wouldn’t be able to track him by scent. Or have a high enough perception to see him.

  As he rose to his knees, he felt Minx return to his shoulder. The two of them moved to their left, on a diagonal toward the forest rather than straight toward it. Mace had to change his whole thinking. As a drow, he wasn’t going to be able to use the roads. Too many surface dwellers would try to kill him on sight.

  Not that he blamed them. Drow rarely came to the surface. And when they did, they came in raiding parties, attacking villages in the night, taking slaves and slaughtering those they had no use for. They were uniformly ruthless, heartless, and showed no mercy.

  Wh
en he was a good sixty yards away from the spot where he’d fallen, Mace crouched low in the grass and listened. He heard hoofbeats moving from the forest road across the field. Then a deep voice said “Do you think you killed it?”

  Another voice, not as resonant, answered. “I definitely hit it. But I think I hit it in the shoulder. Missed the heart, a little high.” The voices approached, then passed by.

  One of the things Jervis had taught Mace was that a ranged fighter rarely expected a wounded enemy to move toward them after being hit. Whoever this was, they saw him go down. They’d expect him to either still be laying where he fell, or to have gotten up and run away. Thus, they were rarely diligent in their searching until they reached that spot.

  Mace raised his head, risking exposure to get a look. What he saw surprised him. Two centaurs were making their way toward where he’d been. He hadn’t even known there were centaurs in the game. He quickly recalled all that he could about them from the various myths, books, and game lore he’d read.

  Strong, fast, and really good with bows. And great big swords. Often antisocial. Protectors of the forest. Usually lawful good or chaotic good.

  None of what he could remember made Mace hopeful that he could somehow talk his way out of this situation. A drow would pretty much be on top of their kill list. His best bet was to flee.

  Figuring he had a few minutes while they searched for him, he moved as quickly as he could toward the tree line. He sacrificed speed for caution. If he were to make a sound or disturb the grass and alert the centaurs, he already knew they could hit him from their current range. It was better to move slowly and stay hidden as best he could. Once he reached the trees, he could disappear into the shadows and be gone.

  Mace listened intently as he took each careful step. The two centaurs kept up a running banter as they moved toward their target. “Not a bad shot, son. Moving target at a hundred yards, shooting between trees. Even if it wasn’t a kill shot, it was damn close. You finish him off. Having a drow as your first kill will be a great honor.” Apparently, the one who’d shot him was young. Lucky for Mace, as he’d just recalled that grown centaur males used massive bows, and arrows the size of table legs.

  He was maybe twenty yards from the trees when he heard the young one say “He’s gone. And I don’t see a blood trail.” The older voice responded. “Don’t move. Look carefully for tracks. Drow can be light on their feet. I’ll signal the others.”

  A moment later a horn sounded. A long, low, remorseful sounding that called to mind great battles or epic hunts. Ahead of Mace, four more centaurs stepped out of the shadows into the open field. They began to move toward the others, spread out in a skirmish line. One was moving almost directly at Mace.

  Not having time to do anything else, Mace flattened himself in the grass. He held his breath, hoping that the immense creature didn’t spot him. Or worse, step on him. His pulse quickened until he could hear it thumping in his ears just as loudly as the hoofbeats around him.

  The line of centaurs approached at a leisurely pace. The nearest raised a hand and called out to the others just as his foreleg set down less than a foot from Mace’s face. “Ho! Did he get the kill?” He called out as he took another step.

  The older voice from farther away called back. “Not yet! The sneaky bastard is on the move. Keep a sharp eye out!” Whereupon the centaur above Mace drew an enormous two-handed sword. Mace was slightly behind him now, for which he was very grateful. The centaur leaned forward and began to scan the ground ahead of him as he walked. Five seconds earlier, and he’d have been staring directly down at Mace.

  The line of centaurs moved further from the trees. Mace decided to risk moving again. He stood in a crouch, taking one very careful step to the side where the centaur had just passed. He carefully began placing his feet within the indentations the centaur’s hooves had left in the grass. Using an enemy’s trail to disguise your own was another trick of Mace’s profession.

  With the added noise of the additional centaurs moving about, he risked moving faster. In less than a minute he had covered the last twenty yards and stepped into the trees. He immediately climbed the closest one and sat on a high limb, in the shadow of the trunk, to catch his breath.

  Mace peered around the trunk to watch as the centaurs fanned out further as the original two joined them. They continued on a path away from the trees, searching for a sign of him. He reached up unconsciously to stroke Minx’s fur.

  “That was way too close, Minxy” he said to his familiar. “I’m afraid this is how it’s going to be from now on. Everybody trying to kill us. At least until we find a way to improve our reputation with the surface dwellers. Maybe-”

  His sentence was cut off by another arrow impact. This one passed through his armor, scored across his ribs, and stuck deeply into the trunk behind him. He instantly dove forward, tearing his armor and leaving some of his skin behind as well. Looking down, he saw yet another centaur maybe thirty yards in front of him, already nocking another arrow and looking right at him.

  Dammit! How stupid can I be?!

  Mace dove from his limb to another, moving to put the tree trunk between himself and the archer. Then he reactivated his stealth ability (he could not stealth in plain sight of an enemy during combat) and dropped silently to the forest floor. The moment he heard the twang of the bowstring, he moved to his left and forward toward the centaur. A dozen steps put him behind the trunk of another tree. He quickly peered around to see the centaur staring up into his previous tree, another arrow ready to fire.

  Mace needed to deal with this one before he called to the others. There was an ornately carved horn on a sling around the centaur’s chest. If he blew that and recalled the others, or even just shouted loudly enough, Mace would be in deep trouble.

  Moving quickly toward another tree, this one only about ten feet from the centaur, Mace scanned the forest around them. He had a plan, but if there were any others around, it would definitely get him killed. Seeing nothing, he scrambled up the tree. When he was about fifteen feet up, he moved out onto a limb that extended roughly in the direction of the centaur.

  He removed a throwing knife from his bag, and hurled it past the archer to embed itself in a tree with a loud thunk. The centaur spun to investigate the sound, and Mace leapt. As he fell, he triggered his wrist sheath, and the enchanted dagger slid into his hand. He landed atop the centaur’s back, and jammed the dagger into his neck. When the blow didn’t instantly kill his foe, he ripped the dagger back toward himself, tearing muscle and arteries. A fountain of blood soaked the forest floor as the centaur dropped its bow, reaching feebly for the drow on his back.

  Mace felt a rush of power flow from the dagger up his arm. The dagger seemed to whisper to him as the centaur’s arms dropped and its legs buckled. The fifteen hundred pound man-horse hit the ground with a thud as Mace rolled away toward it’s rear end. He didn’t want to get blood on him. That would make him easier to track.

  He quickly retrieved his throwing knife from the tree, then looted the dead centaur. He received it’s bow, a quiver of arrows, ten gold coins and five silver. He also received a parchment with writing on it, which he stuck in his bag to examine later. The last item that showed up on his UI was the beautiful engraved horn. Mace put that in his bag as well, then jumped atop the centaur’s corpse. Using it as a springboard, he leapt again to grab a branch above him. Swinging himself up, he stood on the limb and looked around. He felt Minx take her usual spot on his shoulder as he searched the woods for more enemies.

  Finding nothing, he turned to look out into the field, where the other centaurs were turning to retrace their steps. They were maybe a half mile out. When they found the body of their companion below, the hunt would become much more dangerous. Mace felt Minx’s tail around his neck.

  She sent him a thought. “Forest clear. Run!”

  Mace didn’t need to be told twice. He began to run through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch in a random pattern, headi
ng generally east but often turning north or south. He hoped the pattern would confuse the hunters. At one point, as he crossed over a stream, he dropped to the ground and left some clear prints in the mud leading into the stream. He leapt across the small stream, and left more prints leading up the opposite bank heading north. Then he took to the trees again and immediately turned south.

  Five minutes later he heard the horn he was expecting. The dead centaur had been found. Mace was more than a mile away by then, and moving as quickly as he could. He whispered “Help me watch for bad guys, Minx.” as he leapt to another tree. He turned from his southward path to one that took him as closely as possible to due east. He assumed the centaurs had a settlement somewhere in this region, but had no idea where. Beings with the legs and stamina of horses could hunt a much wider territory than men on foot. They could also cover ground in a search pattern much faster. Mace was counting on that. He wanted them rushing through the forest in every direction, splitting up as much as possible. So that if he was found, he might have a fighting chance. He’d rather fight one of them and run away again than fight two or four.

  Mace fled from the hunters for another half hour, zigging and zagging through the trees, maintaining his roughly easterly path. When his stamina began to get low, he stopped. He climbed higher up the ancient oak tree he’d stopped in, until he reached an upper branch deep within the leaves. There he perched and pulled out a travel ration. The inn’s food was good, even the jerky and biscuits. He tore off a chunk of the jerky and handed it to Minx, who took it in her dainty paws and began to nibble at it. She had needle sharp teeth that ripped easily into the jerky. Her tail tickled his ear in thanks. He brought out his canteen, and poured some water into the cap for Minx. She held it like a tiny teacup and sipped from it as if she had all the table manners of a southern belle. Mace smiled as she handed the cap back to him.