by G. R. Cooper
“Thank you.”
“Congratulations! You have completed the quest Exterminator I from Heather the Herbalist!”
She laughed then looked back up at Wulfgar.
“I’m afraid, that was just a temporary cure. I think that the rats come in through a hole in the back wall,” she took his other hand. “Would you be a dear and look into that for me?”
Wulfgar nodded, smiling.
“You have accepted the quest Exterminator II from Heather the Herbalist.”
“Not a problem,” he laughed. He turned and moved back into the room. Bear looked up at him, then dropped back down with a snort. Wulfgar made his way through the clutter to the far, rear corner, deepest in the shadows of the room. He moved aside a partly full sack and seeds of some kind spilled out of a large hole that had been chewed in the rear of it. It had hidden a hole, about knee-high to Wulfgar, next to the corner of the wall. He stooped and put his head through.
Inside, the hole was a small space that almost immediately dropped into an impenetrably dark drop in the floor. It looked like he’d be able to squeeze his way through. Barely. Straightening, he looked back to Bear.
“Are you coming?”
The dog answered by shifting his head on his crossed paws, looking away from Wulfgar.
“Fine,” he muttered, “I’ll take care of this by myself.” He bent again, looking through into the darkness, trying to determine the best way to get into the hole. He placed the knife into the little cave, sitting on the sill of the drop. Putting his feet through the opening, he pulled himself, sliding on the floor, through the opening and shuddered a little as his feet dropped into nothingness.
He slid himself over the edge and followed his feet down. He assumed, rightly as he was relieved to find out, that the hole couldn’t be very deep if the rats had been able to come up using it. It angled down for a meter or two until it opened up into what felt like a larger room, one that he was at least able to stand fully within.
Wulfgar then began to wait. To wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As his senses acclimated, he began hearing a scratching in the distance. He could not, however, tell just how far away it was - it could have been a quiet movement just out of arm’s reach, or a loud rustle away through the cavern.
Eventually, he began to notice lines, rays of subtle light, that shone through what looked to be the floorboards of the local buildings. He could just make out the slight sounds of people moving around above, and occasional light falls of dust through the floor slats marked their passing. Those sounds, however, weren’t traceable to the closer, louder, sound of movement within the rat excavated tunnels.
Finally, after several minutes, he had become as habituated to the cell as he thought he could, he looked back up, to the hole he’d come down. He was surprised to see Bear’s face, hanging off the edge, smiling at him.
“Feel free to join me,” whispered Wulfgar as he pulled the knife down. The leather wrapped handle felt comfortable in his hand. The dog didn’t move, but continued to watch. To wait. Smiling, Wulfgar turned and looked deeper into the unknown darkness. He felt sure that, if he really needed him, Bear would be there.
He crouched and began to move, as silently as he could, in the direction that he thought the scratching sounds had come from.
While claustrophobia had never really been an issue for him, Wulfgar wasn’t, he admitted, exactly comfortable moving through the tunnels. They were a maze, a warren, that seemed to be laid out in no well thought order. At least, he thought, they were tall enough for him to move through easily, even if they were only a little wider than he was. If something came out of one of the shafts that he’d passed on his left or right, he’d have a difficult time turning quickly enough to fight off an attack. That worry, however, didn’t stop him from taking the route he thought was directly toward the scrabbling sounds that were getting louder by the minute.
Rounding one bend, he saw, a few meters ahead, that the tunnel opened up into what looked like a room. He reached up and gripped what felt like a wooden beam that supported the floor of the building above. Using that to hold himself steady - and silent - he leaned as far around the corner as he could, trying to get a clearer view into the space beyond.
The larger area, with the resulting increased ceiling size - and, thus, more area for light to leak through from above - was better lit than the tunnel. It looked like a circular room, with tunnels leading off from the other side. In the middle was a mound - a rat’s nest - of flotsam and jetsam; cloth, string, anything that could be piled into a comfortable bed for its occupant.
The occupant was what Wulfgar focused on.
If the rats in Heather’s shop had been huge, this one was a true giant. It was, if anything, bigger than Bear. It was also, thankfully, asleep. Its head, pointing directly down the tunnel and at Wulfgar, rested on the near edge of the nest. Its slow, steady breathing indicated - Wulfgar hoped - a deep sleep. He looked around to the rest of the room. The giant rat seemed to be alone.
Crouching again, Wulfgar moved around the bend and into the room. After waiting a second to scan the space and ensure that they were truly alone, Wulfgar activated Stealth and began to move, silently yet forcefully, toward the giant.
He took one step.
“Congratulations! You have gained a level in Stealth!”
Holding his breath, Wulfgar moved to within striking distance and raised the knife. Just as he did, the eyes of the rat opened and blazed, its red pupils seemingly on fire. It hissed as Wulfgar stabbed with all of his strength toward its neck.
And missed.
“Shit,” groaned Wulfgar as the rat sprang toward him. He moved to the side and the beast brushed past his left leg. The rat turned his head and, rising onto its hind legs, thrust towards Wulfgar’s face, its fangs bared and glistening. Wulfgar, falling backward, pushed his left arm at the rat’s face, and pain erupted as it sank its teeth to the bone halfway between his wrist and elbow.
“You have taken 2 points of damage!”
“Shit!” he yelled, much more loudly, as the rat overpowered him and took him to the ground. The heaving beast’s weight pressed down on him as it continued to gnaw on his arm. He was shocked by the suddenness and amount of pain. The rat turned its head, getting the human’s arm out of his gaping maw, and turned back, pushing toward Wulfgar’s neck. Using his wounded arm, Wulfgar grabbed the rat by the ear and pulled its head away. Freeing his other arm from underneath the bulk of the rodent, he thrust the knife upward and inward.
“4 points of damage!”
“Congratulations! You have gained a level in Small Blade!”
The rat hissed in pain as it tried to move away. It rolled off of Wulfgar and the human followed, pulling his left arm into a choke hold around the creature’s neck and pushing his right around, poised to thrust, again, into the rat’s side.
“Wait!” hissed the rat. “Wait!”
Stunned, Wulfgar pulled up.
“You can speak.”
“Of course I can speak,” it hissed from beneath the human’s weight, “I’m a king.”
Wary, Wulfgar pulled the rat close again.
“Then speak,” he said. “Why should I wait?”
“I can pay. Spare my life.”
Wulfgar thought. He was here to eradicate a rat infestation. He’d been told nothing about talking rodents. How would the quest be fulfilled if he didn’t kill the rat, king or not? Then he thought back to what Heather had said. She just asked him to look into the problem for her - she never said anything specifically about killing the rats.
“I’m here,” he began, “to stop you and your people from invading the herb shop. Before we go any further, I have to have your assurance that you will no longer bother her.”
“Done.”
“Congratulations! You have completed the quest Exterminator II from Heather the Herbalist!”
“Congratulations! You have gained a level! You are now level 2! You have 2 Attribute points to spen
d!”
“Very well,” said Wulfgar, rolling off the rat king. He sat, rubbing his sore left arm, and looked over the rat. Its eyes, he noted, carried an intelligence and gravitas he’d never seen in an animal before - even Bear.
The king moved gingerly back to his mound - his throne - and turned back to face Wulfgar. It bent to lick the wound in its side.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“It was honorable combat,” snorted the king, looking back up, “nothing to be sorry for.” It seemed to smile, “I got you pretty good as well, though, didn’t I?”
Wulfgar nodded.
The king pulled himself up and looked over the human.
“As I said, I can pay,” it began, “and do so gladly. “There,” it nodded toward the edge of its throne pile, “is my payment. It’s yours.”
Wulfgar reached for the small, leather bag and opened it, pouring the contents into his left hand. Six silver and twelve copper coins.
“A king’s ransom,” the rat snorted derisively, “but a pauper king.”
“Times are hard,” nodded Wulfgar, unsure of what to say.
“That they are. Especially since the dark king has taken to pushing into my territory.”
Wulfgar dropped the coins back into the pouch, “The dark king?”
“Aye, he leads our people within the mountain. Within the dark. We had a truce of sorts. I have the territory in the light, under the floors of the city on this side of the mountain. He has the darkness of the caves within the mountain. Our cousin, the wet king, rules the wharves and warrens on the seaward side.”
“But,” it continued, “of late, the caves seem to be too small a kingdom for him. His people have been pushing out into my territory, killing and forcing my people ever further, ever closer to the walls.” It sighed, “That’s why I sent my people into the shop, I need some of the Rat’s Bane, a flower she stores.”
“Rat’s Bane?” That sounded ominous to Wulfgar.
“Aye,” the king spat. “A poison. A vile weed. But I can think of no other weapon to use to fight the oncoming hordes of my cousin. It’s not an honorable fight, but when a king has to choose between his honor and his people, it’s dishonorable of him to put himself or his legacy before those who depend upon him. I wait the return of my soldiers with the poison, so that we may, I hope, begin to push our enemies back to their rightful homes.”
“Your soldiers won’t be coming back,” said Wulfgar levelly, looking the king in his eyes.
“I thought as much when you came through. Can you help us?”
Wulfgar thought. The previous quests he’d undertaken had been straightforward, so he thought. This, however, threatened to pull him into a political war he didn’t understand; and there was enough in this alien world that he didn’t understand as it was.
“How?”
“Bring me Rat’s Bane.”
“No.”
“You have rejected the quest Total War I from the Rat King of Light”
“Alignment changed. You are now True Neutral.”
“Then my people are lost.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that saving your people at the cost of your honor is the only way out. Is there anything else, any other way, that I can help?”
“I can’t think of any. The dark king has rejected all of my diplomatic overtures. Maybe if you went to him?”
“If you think there’s a chance, yes.”
“You have accepted the quest Balancing Light and Dark I from the Rat King of Light”
Bear moved out of the way, away from the hole, as Wulfgar pulled himself up, into the back room of Heather’s Herb shop. He pulled the blade of the small knife across his kilted blanket, cleaning the rat blood off. The state, the cleanliness, of his covering didn’t concern him. As soon as he found a bank, he was going to withdraw enough money to buy a full, new outfit - “and some damn boots”, he thought as his feet adjusted from the dirt of the rat warren to the rough hewn boards of the store’s floor.
First, though, he needed to report his success to Heather. He made his way back into the front of the store and brought her up to date.
“Wonderful,” she said, “so they’ll no longer be a problem?”
“I have the assurance of the Rat King of Light.”
“The what?” she asked, looking at him suddenly as if he’d come down with an obvious and irreversible mental deficiency. Then she looked to his arm.
“Ach, lad! You’ve been wounded! No wonder you’re speaking nonsense. You’re like to have a fever. Come with me!”
She led him back to her counter and cleared a space. Pulling out a mortar and pestle, she began filling the small stone bowl with a variety of herbs, spitting into the mixture - he presumed to provide some moisture to meld the paste she was grinding.
“A rat bite!” she said, tutting over him. She looked up at him and smiled. “Tis a good thing you’re here, those can fester and get nasty awfully quick. Awfully quick.” She began to spread the paste over his arm, which instantly felt better. Emptying the contents of the mortar, she pulled a clean piece of cloth from behind the counter and wrapped it around his arm.
“You have been healed of 2 points of damage!”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“Keep it on for a few hours, just to be sure.”
He nodded.
“Now,” she said brightly, “if you’re going to spend your time rooting around in cellars cleaning out rats, you should know a bit more about herbs and poultices than you already do. Here,” she thrust a piece of parchment in front of him. He read the title - Basic Healing; Poultices.
“Congratulations! You have gained a level in Herb Lore!”
“Congratulations! You have earned the Herb Lore skill Healing Poultices!”
He brightened - he suddenly knew where to find the plants required to make a basic healing poultice, as well as the recipe required to make one. In addition, he knew several other recipes as well, including the potion Scampering Goat. Heather also pushed the mortar and pestle into his hands, as well as enough herbs, he saw, for two or three poultices.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said graciously, “for all of your help, lovely lad.” She smiled up at him, “And always remember old Heather whenever you need to buy or sell herbs!”
Wulfgar turned and walked, followed by Bear, out of the small shop into the bright sun. It was early afternoon and the star had risen past the mountains, throwing light directly down into the city. After returning her knife, he’d asked for directions to the nearest bank. It was time, he thought, to shake off the rags that showed him off as nothing more than a destitute Highlander, and get some clothes and gear suitable for not only a brave adventurer, but a diplomat between two kings - albeit, rat ones.
The crowd moved slowly through the street, and he went along with the flow until they reached the large square that Heather had told him of. The square, anchored on the east by the gate to King Clive’s inner keep, seemed as large as several city blocks. The view once inside of it, no longer bound by the closeness of the city streets and the buildings that hemmed in any vista of anything except straight up, was awe inspiring.
The mountains rose nearly vertically behind the towering walls of the inner keep. Clive’s tower rode up the wall’s height, until it matched the level of the peaks. The half-rounded spire seemed to grow out of the very mountain wall. He remembered, standing on the balcony looking down, how impressive the city below had looked. That was nothing compared to the view up. He was awed.
His eyes followed the tower back down to its base and shifted to this side of the keep’s wall. His attention was drawn by the call of a crier.
“For disturbing the King’s peace, these two are sentenced to a day in the stocks!”
Wulfgar was shocked. Near the center of the square was a raised wooden platform. Across it were several wooden stocks - of the sort he’d seen in history books punishing pilgrim settlers in colonial America - and in the two center stocks we
re two men. One was the guard that had accosted Wulfgar the day before as he tried to enter the city. The other was his partner.
Apparently, that noise he’d heard the night before had been the two of them fighting about their missing wager.
Whistling innocently, Wulfgar made his way around to the other side of the square, where Heather had said the nearest branch of King’s Bank was located.
Wulfgar looked up at the imposing, wooden double doors at the top of several wide stone steps that he’d climbed after crossing the square. Large, embossed letters hugged the archway formed by the doors - King’s Bank. He pushed through - motioning for Bear to stay on the steps - into the large, marble floored room. The doors swung shut behind him with a gentle yet heavy click. As his eyes adjusted to the lowered light, shining through from large windows that arrayed the wall behind him, he looked around. A kiosk, directly in the center of the open floor, fronted a counter that stretched the length of the rear wall, with several cashiers sitting on the opposite side. Two lines of marble pillars stretched from the front wall toward the rear on either side of the kiosk, before stopping short of the cashier’s counter. Wulfgar looked to the kiosk. A woman sat on a high chair behind it and she was staring, coldly at him. He approached.
“Hello,” said Wulfgar, smiling up at the lady as he reached her. “I’d like to make a withdrawal.”
“Really?” she drawled, unbelievingly. She shrugged, “Put your hand in.”
“What?”
She smiled, knowingly, her assumptions confirmed.
“As when you opened your account, sir,” she sniffed, “put your hand in the opening so that we can recognize you.”
Wulfgar, confused, looked to the wooden front of the kiosk. There was a small hole. He put his right hand through, and felt a coldness clench it as some force he didn’t understand tried to determine his identity. He looked back up at her.
“I’m afraid that we have no record of you here,” she smiled. “Perhaps sir meant that he wished to make a deposit and open an account?” The look on her face betrayed the likelihood she attached to that possibility.