by Hondo Jinx
The steps dropped twenty or thirty feet to the stone floor of a subterranean room. From this distance, that’s all he could make out.
“I’m going to take a look.”
“Husband,” Philia said, fluttering close. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“No, but I’m curious. Besides, this is our meadow. It’s my duty to explore.”
Philia kissed his cheek. “Spoken like a true Meadow Master. I will accompany you.”
“I appreciate the offer, darlin, but these are tight quarters. If I run into trouble down there, you and I would just get in each other’s way.”
He holstered one pistol, swapping it out for the Bowie knife. He sure didn’t want to fire a gun on that stone staircase. He’d be deaf for a week.
With Philia hovering near the entrance, Braddock descended, moving slowly and pausing every few steps to listen.
The air was cool and dry.
Moving lower, he spotted a scattering of small, colorful objects glittered with torchlight.
Dozens of gems were strewn haphazardly upon the floor. Several thick golden coins sparkled among them.
The bounty, then. Now where was the danger?
When he reached the bottom step, the rest of the grisly scene came into view.
The jewels and gold pieces had spilled from a large, golden goblet that lay on the ground beside a suit of armor. An inch from the goblet, a metal gauntlet lay with fingers spread, eternally reaching for the dropped treasure. The other gauntlet still gripped a slightly curved sword that reminded Braddock of the sabre he had carried in the cavalry.
A hollow-eyed skull stared out from the great helm’s open visor. Its toothy mouth hung wide open.
Braddock’s danger sense fired like he was riding a narrow pass in Indian country.
The room was huge and circular, a subterranean twin to the floor above. Thick stone pillars supported a ten-foot ceiling. Along the curved walls, torches burned brightly. Their wavering light splintered against the pillars, filling the chamber with weird shadows that danced eerily beside pockets of deeper gloom.
Across the chamber, torches flanked a metal door barred with a heavy wooden beam.
“Husband,” Philia whispered. Her eyes glowed in the dim light.
Her silent appearance surprised Braddock. He was not an easy man to sneak up on.
“I told you to wait up there.”
“I did,” Philia said, “for a while. But I couldn’t let my brave husband face danger alone. Oh look, gems.”
He nodded. “And a corpse. I reckon that’s an important detail.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s an entrance, like you said.” He pointed across the chamber at the metal door.
“An entrance to what?”
“Trouble, judging by the sturdy door and heavy beam. Whoever built this place was determined to keep something locked on the other side.”
Philia shivered. “Monsters.”
“Head back to the surface, darlin.”
“No,” Philia said. “What if something happens?”
“Get up there.”
She crossed her slender arms and shook her head defiantly.
He stared into her big green eyes.
Finally, Philia looked away and sighed. “Yes, Meadow Master.”
Grudgingly, the willful sprite flew back up the stairs.
Braddock stepped onto the stone floor and scanned the shadowy edges of the cavernous room.
Skirting the spilled jewels he ventured farther, weaving through the pillars and peering into the deeper gloom.
It was empty.
He examined the door, leaving the bar in place, and noted the faint pull of air through the thin gap at the bottom. The space beyond the door was drawing breath from this chamber for the first time in centuries, perhaps even millennia.
Having explored the entire chamber, Braddock returned to the spilled treasure, sheathed his Bowie, and swept the golden goblet from the floor, meaning to refill it with gems.
Then a metal gauntlet seized his wrist, and the skull hissed to life.
The armored skeleton rolled toward Braddock and rose from the ground, eye sockets burning like pools of fire as it hissed plaintive curses.
Braddock pulled hard, trying to break free, but the thing was too strong.
The creature’s other arm jerked up, raising the curved sword over Braddock like a guillotine.
Braddock fired from the hip. The bullet nailed the skull right between the eyes.
The great helm jerked. The corpse released Braddock’s wrist and stumbled backward several feet—but didn’t drop.
What sort of abomination could survive a headshot?
It charged.
Braddock fired again, punching a hole through its breastplate, then ducked as the creature swung its sword.
The curved blade whipped past Braddock’s head then came back around so fast he had to leap backward and fall onto his rump.
The armored skeleton rushed forward.
Braddock fired again. Another headshot.
The monster reeled backward, hissing with rage.
Braddock jumped to his feet and started for the stairs, but the skeleton blocked his path and rasped breathless laughter.
Braddock could barely hear the laughter, thanks to the ringing in his ears.
Raising his weapon, Braddock hesitated. Was he wasting ammo on this thing?
His bullets had destroyed much of the skull, but one hateful eye still burned with fire.
The skeleton advanced slowly, slicing the air with smooth arcs.
Switching the heavy goblet to his right hand, Braddock awaited the attack.
The thing thrust its sword at Braddock’s chest with surprising speed.
Braddock twisted his body, barely evading the blade—and turned directly into the skeleton’s second attack.
The metal gauntlet crashed into Braddock’s temple, filling his skull with sparks and turning his legs to rubber.
He stumbled backward. His back slammed into a stone column, knocking the air from his lungs.
The skeleton rushed forward, swinging its sword in a wide arc.
Braddock ducked the blow.
The blade clanged loudly off the pillar, showering Braddock with a rain of gritty debris.
Slipping behind the creature, Braddock braced himself and cranked back his right fist like he was going to throw a haymaker.
When the skeleton turned to swing again, Braddock stepped inside the attack and smashed the heavy goblet into its open visor.
Bone crunched, and the skeleton staggered back into the column.
Braddock lashed out with a powerful kick to the pelvis. He heard bones crack, and the skeleton buckled with the blow.
It lurched forward, bent awkwardly at the waist and dragging one leg.
Braddock stayed on his toes, waiting to counterattack.
This time, however, the thing didn’t rush blindly forward. It licked out cagily with quick thrusts, studying Braddock with its burning eye.
Braddock feinted, lashed out with a low kick, and darted back out before the skeleton could counter.
A green blur shot into the room. Something clanged loudly off the great helm, and the skeleton stumbled forward.
Philia dipped back in, nailed the top of the helmet with a hammer, and zipped around the pillar.
Hissing, the skeleton swung his sword at Braddock’s beautiful wife.
Braddock rushed forward, lowered his shoulder at the last second, and plowed into the armored ribs like a bull.
The blow knocked the creature from its feet and sent it sprawling across the floor, where it jammed to a stop at the base of the steps and started pulling itself up again.
Up above, thunder boomed. The skeleton’s head jerked with a loud clang. Its shattered skull burst from the open visor in an explosion of sparks and splintered bone.
The corpse spilled forward with a loud clatter and lay still.
Not taking any chanc
es, Braddock strode across the floor and kicked the sword from the fallen creature’s gauntlet.
For a solid minute, he stomped the motionless creature, snapping limbs and ribs and neck bones.
Philia pounded its pelvis with the hammer.
Braddock kicked the helmet until it cracked free and tumbled across the floor, taking the smashed and decapitated skull with it.
Inspecting the helmet, Braddock saw only shattered bones. Nothing hissed or burned or wheezed terrible laughter.
The thing was dead.
Philia landed beside Braddock, smiling.
Elizabeth stood in the stairwell, holding the .44 Henry with a stunned expression on her face.
“Careful where you point that thing, darlin,” Braddock said.
Elizabeth blinked at him for a second, then followed his gaze to the rifle in her hand. “Oh, sorry,” she said, and swung the muzzle away from him.
Philia rushed over, embraced Elizabeth, and showered the redhead’s cheeks with kisses. “You did it, sweet sister! You destroyed the monster!”
Elizabeth blinked dazedly at the armored corpse then smiled incredulously. “I did it. I really did it. I raised the rifle and aimed and held my breath, like Father taught me, and then I squeezed the trigger, and the rifle kicked me in the shoulder, and when I opened my eyes again, it was dead. I really did it!”
“Good work, darlin,” Braddock said. “That thing had something against dying.”
“It was undead,” Philia said, scooping gems from the floor.
Joining her, Braddock set the shining goblet between them. It was a heavy, golden vessel engraved with an image of a naked woman riding atop a huge creature he believed to be a dragon. “What does undead mean?”
“It was an animated corpse,” Philia said, “likely left here to guard this chamber.”
Elizabeth retreated a few steps toward the surface. “Will it stay dead?”
“Probably,” Philia said, and dropped a clattering handful of treasure into the goblet, “but depending on the magic, it might reanimate when we reseal the chamber.”
Braddock dumped coins and jewels into the goblet. “What if we carry the bones up to the surface and burn them?”
“That would be prudent, husband, and likely effective. There, that’s the last of the treasure.” Philia added a final handful to the sparkling loot heaped in the goblet. “I cannot guess at the value of these items, but we should be able to use them in trade.”
He grunted, having always valued the freedom of wilderness life above material wealth, which rooted a man in place and saddled him with worries.
“Trade with whom?” Elizabeth asked.
“Gnomes come through every spring, looking to trade for things like sprite wine and special elixirs. Or my wonderful husband could venture to a settlement and trade with its citizens.”
“There are settlements nearby?” Elizabeth said with a burst of enthusiasm.
“I wouldn’t say they are nearby. I have heard tales of a fledgling village of miners several days’ travel to the west, but I doubt they have the means to trade for treasures such as these. Two weeks’ travel to the south is the nearest city, Black Harbor.”
“An actual city?” Elizabeth said, growing more excited. “What is it like?”
Philia shrugged. “I have never seen it. Nor will I. As a monster girl, I would be captured or killed. Perhaps both. And of course, you could never visit, Elizabeth.”
“Why not?” Elizabeth said, looking like she’d been slapped.
“You are a woman. A human woman. And beautiful. You would be taken into slavery.”
“That’s horrible!” Elizabeth said. “Why did I have to be stranded on this terrible planet?”
“Tardoon is not terrible, sweet sister. The summers are lovely, and—”
“I’m trapped!” Elizabeth said. “But Mr. Braddock could visit? Wouldn’t they enslave him as well?”
Philia shook her head. “Hundreds of men live in Black Harbor alongside thousands of elves, dwarves, gnomes, half-orcs, and other races.”
“Didn’t the human men die out after the Great Corruption?” Braddock asked. On their ride to the meadow, Philia had mentioned the event occurred a century earlier. “I mean, with no women to bear children…”
“Men persist. That is perhaps the single greatest trait of humankind. Some men yet live with the help of potions. Others survive through breeding with mates of mixed blood. There has been a systematic effort to retain as much human blood as possible, but any human under one hundred has at least a touch of non-human blood. And yet the men retain their loathing for monster girls.”
Braddock grunted. “Perhaps in time I will visit Black Harbor.”
“Oh look,” Elizabeth said, sounding excited as she peered into a flame-colored gem the size of a robin’s egg. “There’s a tiny woman inside this stone.”
Braddock and Elizabeth joined her.
Locked within the gem was the likeness of a tiny dark-haired woman, perhaps half an inch tall, wearing purple robes. She had her arms raised overhead. Beyond that, it was difficult to make out much detail due to her diminutive size and the obscuring influence of the semi-transparent orange gemstone.
“She looks so real,” Elizabeth said.
“She is real,” Philia said. “I can sense that much.”
“But how?”
“Magic, of course. Someone long ago entrapped her in this stone. All these years, she’s been in suspended animation.”
Braddock checked to make sure she was being serious. Seemed to him she was. “Hold on, darlin. You’re telling me that little woman is alive?”
Philia nodded. “She’s frozen in time.”
“Can we help her?” Elizabeth asked.
Philia frowned. “Not at this time. Freeing her would require magic far beyond my abilities—and of a different variety. This is not sprite magic. It is the work of a wizard or sorceress or perhaps a powerful witch.”
Elizabeth shuddered, clearly unnerved by the implications of Philia’s casual conjecture: wizards, sorceresses, and witches all existed here.
Braddock examined the tiny woman. “So we need some kind of wizard or sorceress to rescue her?”
“Yes, husband.”
“Where can we find one?”
“Wizards and sorceresses are difficult to find and even more difficult to employ. They are rare and strange and best avoided. There is a river hag not far from here, but she is evil and would try to enslave you. If you insist on freeing this woman, Black Harbor would be your best bet.”
Braddock nodded. “How do I get there?”
“Follow the river, husband. But surely, there is no hurry. This woman feels nothing, knows nothing, thinks nothing. She has been trapped inside this stone for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. She can wait a little longer.”
Braddock nodded. Certainly, they had more pressing matters. The little woman could wait until spring.
As Philia and Elizabeth examined the other stones more closely, Braddock crossed the floor and retrieved the skeleton’s sword.
As soon as Braddock’s hand gripped the pommel, the blade glowed with soft yellow light.
“Congratulations, husband,” Philia said, sounding excited. “The weapon has accepted you.”
“Accepted him?” Elizabeth asked.
Braddock slashed the air. The sword was beautiful, a perfectly balanced work of art.
“It’s an enchanted blade,” Philia explained. “Such weapons are rare and powerful and will serve only a strong master.”
“The sword can think?” Elizabeth said.
“In a sense,” Philia said. “It has a defining will. In the hands of a lesser man, the sword would become heavy and clumsy. The edge would dull quickly and contrive ways of slyly cutting its captor.”
“If you cut me,” Braddock told the sword, “I’ll melt you down and turn you into a chamber pot.”
Philia laughed. “You need not be concerned, husband. Like me, the blade sense
s your greatness. See how it gleams!”
“All right, sword. I’ll keep you, then.” Braddock parried and slashed. The blade was even lighter than a cavalry saber and flawless from end to end. “Not a scratch on it, not even from the skeleton hitting the pillar.”
“Enchanted blades are virtually indestructible,” Philia said. “And that’s not all, husband. Your weapon has magical power.”
He crouched to unfasten the skeleton’s belt and scabbard. “What kind of magical power?”
Philia shrugged. “It shall be revealed in time. Some magic weapons contain defensive powers. Others contain special attacks. One enchanted sword might protect its master from fire damage. Another might slay a specific type of creature, like a giant or dragon, with a single blow.”
“Wait,” Elizabeth groaned, clutching the rifle tightly to her chest. “There are giants and dragons on Tardoon? Oh, this place just gets worse and worse!”
13
“Timber!”
The tree came crashing down, snapping branches, and pounded into the ground. The world shuddered beneath Braddock’s feet.
Seated at the edge of the woods, Doal chortled happily. He liked watching trees fall. The bigger, the better. Perhaps he liked the vibration of impact.
Whatever the case, the bargle was invaluable. Without him, Braddock would have had a hard time dragging logs across the meadow.
Braddock and Chundra filled the chilly morning air with the lovely music of axes at work.
With every swing of the double-bladed ax, Braddock severed a branch. Chundra hacked smaller branches with a tiny hatchet tipped in stone.
Bonding energy coursed through Braddock’s veins. He had always been strong but wiry. Now, his body was filling in so much his shirts were snug across the chest and shoulders.
More than strength, however, he had gained endurance. He labored from dawn until dark, resting only rarely, and gloried in the work.
There is pleasure in planning and progress, but there is also pleasure in the work itself.
There is joy in setting muscles smoothly in motion and exerting your will upon the world. You feel the strength of your grip upon an ax handle and take comfort in repetition and the orderly completion of small tasks that, taken together, complete larger goals, all the while pulling your lungs full of crisp mountain air redolent with the good smells of fresh cut wood and honest perspiration.