Dream II: The Realm

by RW Krpoun

  “OK, the kid is saved and we didn’t walk into an ambush,” Shad looked up from his other revolver. “On to current business: has anyone noticed we have guns and for lack of a better term, a non-fantasy style of dress?”

  “Well, obviously,” Jeff snapped as he stowed his pliers, still annoyed at the slight to his skills. “But time has passed in here. Its been three years in our world, and while the month-to-hour ratio doesn’t hold true if they are not bound by a road they still pass time faster than we do.”

  “We didn’t affect the status quo,” Shad objected. “The bias against development was intact. Moreover, every gun I can see is common to the US West in the late 1800s. My Colts and your Winchester came out in 1873; Fred’s rifle, if it’s the six hundred grain .50-90, came out in 1872. You would think they would come up with their own designs.”

  “Maybe they gave us guns from our world,” Derek suggested.

  “Nope. My Colts have been machined, but the frames are not case-hardened, there’s no serial numbers, no factory proof marks, nothing but what I am guessing is a maker’s mark. Plus the bluing is wrong, it’s midnight blue, almost black. These didn’t come from Earth unless they were custom work.”

  “I don’t have any serial number or factory stamps,” Fred announced after examining his rifle. “Maybe the designs leaked over-we know other stuff did.”

  “Fred, hold up your revolver. Yeah, that’s a Remington Model 1875, seven and a half inch barrel, .44-40, right? Jeff, what do you have?”

  The shop teacher drew a pair of revolvers from under his jacket. “British Bulldogs in .450.” He studied the weapons. “Same as you guys: no numbers.”

  “Great,” Shad slumped back down into his chair, which creaked ominously. “Just when we thought we knew the rules of the setting, they change up on us.”

  “At least we’ve got our ticket home,” Derek held up his left forearm: five spidery black tattoos covered the faded scars on his arm. Shad didn’t bother to look up. “And I’m back to twenty-twenty vision.”

  The others checked their left arms and resumed their chairs, inventorying their pockets and their saddlebags as they waited for Shad to snap out of his funk. Finally he sighed and sat up. “Well, the kid is safe and we’re alive so we’re ahead of the game. And we know more than we had the first go-round, although not as much as I would like.”

  “This place is an entire planet,” Jeff pointed out. “We might be on a different continent.”

  “That’s true. OK, boys, lets take stock. I’m a Shootist, level four. A Shootist is specialized with handguns and generally with fighting in close, plus a fast draw and related abilities. I took two points in ammunition lore, a point in appraise goods, a point in inlays because it seems to be important for my class, three points in shotguns, and a point in tactical reload.” Shad dumped the contents of a small leather sack on the ground: large and small copper coins. “I bought three days’ food.”

  “I went with two levels in Scout, two levels in Hunter,” Fred announced, dumping out his money. “Scout is just what it says, Hunter is basically skill with a rifle, especially long-range and against big creatures. I put three points into my wilderness skills, two points into Animal Lore, one point in Knife Fighting, and two points into revolvers. I got three day’s rations.”

  Jeff poured out his money. “I’m a Jinxman, pretty much like Shad was in that I tie magic into physical objects in order to confer buffs and healing; the difference is my charms are only bound to playing cards. Three levels in Jinxman and one in Shootist to boost my combat capability. I put four points in slight of hand, three points in medical skills, and one point into rifles and carbines. The slight of hand skill is important to Jinxmen.”

  Derek had knelt down and was sorting and counting the money as the others talked. “OK, I took two levels in Scav, which is a broad-based thief-type class, and two in Alienist, which is a sort of magic-worker. The magic system is really weird and low-power. I took two points in calligraphy, two points in ink-making, one point in Imbue, a point in Undead Lore, a point in revolvers, and one in rifles or carbines. I got three days rations and I remembered to get a canteen,” he held it up triumphantly.

  “Good for you,” Shad fixed him with a sour eye. “What did you forget?”

  The Scav blushed. “A knife.”

  “That’s not so bad. All I got was a folding knife.”

  “Me, too,” Jeff nodded.

  “How did we do on ammo?” Shad asked. “Anyone with less than a hundred rounds per caliber?”

  “I only got ten rounds of shotgun shells for my Le Mat,” Derek admitted. “But I didn’t figure it was critically important, and the tools of my trades were real expensive.”

  “Speaking of which, please tell me you don’t load paper cartridges.”

  “Nope, .32 rim fire. Nine shots plus the shotgun barrel. By the way, did you notice there was silver bullets on the price list?”

  “Yeah,” Shad nodded. “That’s why I put points in loading cartridges. Man, its weird having class or skill knowledge piped directly into your head again.”

  “So there is still magic, and the Jinxman is unchanged, mostly,” Fred observed. “Not everything has changed.”

  “Except gunpowder only worked on outsiders last time,” Jeff pointed out. “From the gear list it looks like guns work on everyone in this place.”

  “That’s good news,” Shad said thoughtfully. “More of what Uncle Sugar and Iraq taught us will hold true. By the way, does everyone know how to ride a horse now?”

  “Yeah,” Derek observed, and the others nodded.

  “Good. How are we fixed for cash, Derek?”

  “Sixty duro, seventy reales. A duro is worth one hundred reales.”

  “OK, give each of us a couple duro and hang onto the rest.’

  “Yeah, I bought a money belt.” Derek grinned. “Check it out: we’re in Red Death Redemption!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Shad didn’t look up from his examination of the tattoos. “These are less ornate than last time and they’re all the same. According to the red line around the right-most I’m nearly half way to level five. Anyone else have more or less?” None did.

  “So now what do we do?” Jeff asked as Derek distributed pocket money. “We don’t have a hut to leave in order to trigger the next encounter. We need to find out why they want us here.”

  “They called us here for a specific reason,” Fred agreed. “The other shoe has to drop.”

  “We got dossiers last time,” Shad tested the fit of the tactical gloves he had dug out of his saddle bags. The gloves left the last two joints of his fingers bare. “And a rather bitchy briefing.”

  “At least it was a clear campaign hook,” Jeff observed. “We’ve already rescued the innocent child, so now what?”

  “Anyone find a note in their gear?” Shad asked. None had.

  “Derek, check the horses. They’re saddled, after all.”

  “I don’t want him around my horse after what he did to that goat in Iraq,” Jeff objected.

  “I didn’t do anything with a goat in Iraq,” Derek shook his head tiredly.

  “We have a picture!”

  “I was feeding it a cookie!”

  “Hey, whatever works.”

  “Would someone check the damned horses!” Shad snapped.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Fred stood and stepped over to a tree, pulling his pocket knife.

  “That’s a piece of paper pinned to the trunk,” Jeff scratched his cheek. “I guess we failed Observation checks.”

  “Derek, check the frigging’ horses!” Shad refused to be distracted.

  “I’m going!”

  “It’s a map,” Fred announced after prying out the tack that held it to the tree trunk.

  “There’s nothing on the horses but saddles and that sort of stuff,” Derek announced loudly.

  “Keep your damn voice down,” Shad snapped. “What about the map?”

  “It was a map on the tree?” Derek
asked Jeff.

  “Yeah, way to pay attention.”

  “Bite me.”

  “It’s a strip map,” Fred announced after a moment’s study. “Leads to about five miles from here if I read it right.”

  “What does it lead to?” Jeff asked.

  “To an ‘X’.”

  “Great.”

  Shad stood and gathered his belongings. “It’s the only hook we have. Let’s see what is at X.”

  “Might as well,” Jeff stood and gathered his gear. “But we need to start researching how to short out these tattoos and get home forthwith.”

  “We will call that the core quest. So, which horse is whose?” Shad eyed the four saddled mounts, who looked back at him without interest. “None seem to be viewing me the way Trigger did with the Lone Ranger.”

  “Trigger belonged to Roy Rogers,” Fred pointed out.

  “Whatever.”

  “Does it matter?” Derek asked.

  “I dunno. I never rode a horse in my life,” Shad admitted.

  “I don’t think it’s like with dogs,” Jeff ventured. “They don’t have to bond with you.”

  “Fred’s dogs never bonded with him,” Derek pointed out. “I’m pretty sure Stumpy ran away just to get away from him.”

  “And the rat,” Shad agreed. “That was a suicide if I ever saw one. It would have left a note if it had thumbs.”

  Fred flipped them both off. “I’m taking the biggest one.”

  “Makes sense. Too bad we don’t have a Clydesdale,” Shad grinned. “I’ll take this dark brown one.”

  “Is this one with the white and tan splotches a pinto or a palomino?” Derek asked as he strapped his saddlebags in place.

  “It’s a horse,” Shad shrugged. “Don’t make things more complicated than they need to be.”

  “I’m gonna name it Sundae,” Derek decided. “It kinda looks like a caramel sundae.”

  “Yeah, that isn’t gay at all. It smells like it died three days ago,” Jeff swung down from the saddle and adjusted his stirrups. “So does mine.”

  “Horses stink, that’s a well-known fact,” Shad strapped his shotgun’s saddle scabbard into place. “You know, its cooler here than in Texas. More so than our first trip.”

  “Could be,” Fred nodded, dismounting to adjust his stirrups.

  “Derek, you recognize the trees?” Shad finished adjusting his stirrups and mounted.

  “Birch. Normal trees, but usually further north than Texas. I expect its around July, judging from the vegetation.”

  “July? It can’t be more than eighty,” Jeff objected. “We would have to be pretty far up the curve from Texas to hit eighty in July.”

  “No reason we couldn’t be,” Derek shrugged.

  “We have got to get back before winter,” Jeff shook his head. “I went through mountain training at Fort Carson. I never want to see that kind of snow again.”

  “I would prefer to go back today.” Shad drew a Colt, twirled it, and holstered it without looking down. “And I’m not particular about the method I use. With the kid out of here there isn’t a damn thing in this place I care about.”

  “What about the three of us?” Derek grinned.

  “You’re becoming increasingly expendable with each trip into a combat zone.” Shad drew, spun, and holstered his other revolver, then drew his shotgun and examined it before testing its balance. “Better get comfy with your hardware, guys. They didn’t bring us here for our good looks.”

  “It would be scary if they did,” Jeff agreed as he sighted down his Winchester.

  “One day we’ll be magically transported to a land of free beer and blowjobs,” Fred mumbled. “Right about the time we’re too old to deal with either.”

  “We need to change how we live,” Derek agreed, shoving his Spencer back into the saddle scabbard. “I think the Lord is giving us a hint.”

  “You’re right about that,” Shad nodded, urging his horse forward. “Did you remember to get spare tubes for your Spencer?”

  “Twenty of them, plus this neat case that holds seven tubes,” Derek held up a leather cylinder on a shoulder strap. “Like a magazine pouch, sort of.”

  “Good thinking. I forgot to get a bandolier for shotgun shells.”

  “Yeah, I need one for my rifle,” Fred nodded.

  “I have one for my Winchester, but it doesn’t go with my coat,” Jeff observed. “What? Style is important to a Jinxman. Just because Shad had no class while he was one doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Hey,” Derek pointed at Fred. “I just noticed: the little things over the left shoulder aren’t here.”

  “What does that mean?” Jeff scratched his cheek. “How much different is this place from the last one? Was that ‘reflect the level and class’ marker just regional?”

  “The ground rises in this direction,” Shad urged his horse forward. “Let’s quit asking questions and start finding answers.”

  Chapter Two

  The Black Talons followed the rising slope as the trees thinned away to nothing, soon finding themselves approaching the crest of a low ridge that was running more or less north-south.

  “What the hell,” Shad breathed.

  To either side gently rolling plains stretched away from the ridge, but it wasn’t the grasslands that provoked the response: the humped figures of grazing bison dotted the grass near the slopes on either side, growing closer together the further out until they merged into a shaggy brown and black carpet that covered the land.

  “Buffalo,” Derek grinned. “Look at them!”

  “Hard to avoid seeing them,” Fred observed.

  “Where the blazes are we?” Jeff demanded. “There hasn’t been bison in those numbers since the 1870s.”

  “There were cows and horses and cats and pigs in the first place we got dragged to,” Shad shrugged. “For that matter, no one said there wasn’t bison there, too. We only covered a smallish area.” He shook his head. “That is something to see.”

  “It is,” Fred agreed. “But we need to go north.”

  “Might as well follow the ridgeline, its not very steep.” Shad urged his horse forward.

  “These are deep plains,” Jeff observed as they moved forward. “We ought to consider that fact. I expect that the locals will be mounted.”

  “Yeah, so are we,” Shad shrugged. “Big deal.”

  “It could be a very big deal. Settlers died on the Great Plains all the time.”

  “True, but there’s fifty million years’ worth of steak dinners right over there, and they all have to drink, which means there’s plenty of water no further than a buffalo has to stroll,” Shad countered. “Horse cavalry doesn’t impress me and I’m not afraid to walk.”

  “Horse cavalry might be more impressive with these guns,” Derek suggested.

  “Nope. We have repeating arms, so a horse just makes a big target,” Shad said as he tilted his head back and removed his tie. He removed his vest, folded it, and tucked it under his bedroll.

  “See? No style,” Jeff grinned, adjusting his hat.

  “Cool is better than pretty,” Shad grunted as he rolled up his sleeves.

  “True,” Fred was struggling out of his jacket.

  “So let’s recap,” the Shootist rubbed the scar that bisected his eyebrow. “This is the place where magic and unnatural creatures were banished from Earth, and is now inhabited by their descendants. Basically, the place where legends were sent. Information or ideas leak back between the worlds, apparently more from Earth than here, which is why the belief or interest in gaming impacted this place into having classes and levels.”

  “That part is still really weird,” Fred mumbled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t feeling it. Again.”

  “So we’re in a place with non-Humans and magic,” Shad continued. “I leave anything out?”

  “We can’t go back until the wards binding us here are discharged, shorted out, or expire in twenty years,” Derek supplied. “Or we
die. A month here counts as an hour back home.”

  “And we know the recipe for the harness to short out the wards: dragon’s blood and facetted hydra gut stones,” Jeff grinned. “A little research and we should be able to cut this trip short.”

  “Short is good,” Shad nodded.

  “The locals had a cultural bias against nations, large-scale organization, or changing the status-quo,” Fred observed. “Although this time we have guns, so maybe that’s changed.”

  Shad stood in his stirrups and pointed north-northwest. “What is that?”

  “Looks like a small town from the smoke,” Jeff reached up to adjust glasses that weren’t there. “Next to a hill.”

  “One hill by itself? Its pretty flat in that direction.”

  “Gotta be miles away,” Fred mumbled, holding up his thumb for perspective.

  “Huh.” Shad settled back down into his saddle. “Its not triggering class knowledge. You know, we could blow off the X and just starting looking for ways to get home; with the kid out of the picture we’re free agents. Last trip we had to dance to their tune, but this time we know a lot more. We could just rustle up enough money to buy and research what we need and go home.”

  “I’ve seen enough fighting,” Jeff agreed. “Although we did some good in the last run.”

  “No point throwing away free knowledge,” Derek pointed out. “We hear what whoever pulled us here has to say and go from there. Knowledge is power.”

  Shad glanced at the other two. “OK.” He flexed his fingers absently. “I’m getting tired of getting jerked around, though. I can’t blame Iraq on anyone but my dumb ass for volunteering, but these two gigs are strictly draft jobs. Fool me once…”

  “Is that a totem?” Fred asked, pointing ahead.

  “A post with ugly faces and bundles of skulls,” Derek mused, eyeing the carved tree trunk erected at the crest of the ridge ahead.

  Fred stood in his stirrups and looked behind them. “Might be another about a mile south of us,” he pointed. “Further south than where we mounted the ridge.”

  “Battle markers?” Derek said uncertainly.