by RW Krpoun
“What the hell?” Shad drew his sword. “What could possibly still be in…”
“SKELETON!” Jeff yelled as a figure lurched through the doorway and began to ascend the loose soil.
In the sunlight it could be seen as a Human skeleton of age-browned bone with a few wisps of cloth and age-hardened leather adhering to its frame. A greenish-black glow filled its eye sockets, and it purposefully clutched a long dirk of dark flint in its fleshless left hand.
“Well….damn.” Shad muttered as Derek’s silver-blue bolt of light blasted apart the ribs on its right side.
Fred’s axe sheared off the undead’s leg and half its pelvis, but he grunted as its dirk raked his side. His return swing caved in its chest, and the bones abruptly rattled to the ground, inert.
“That wasn’t too bad,” the barbarian grinned.
“There’s more!” Derek yelled, punctuating his warning with a brilliant bolt of energy. More skeletons were clambering out of the sundered doorway, all armed with flint weapons.
“Let’s do this,” Shad stepped up to the edge of the hole and deflected a swing from a hand axe with his buckler while thrusting towards the undead’s face. The steel sheared off the thing’s jaw, but it was undeterred. He caught its second attack with his buckler, feeling the boss dent inwards slightly as the axe’s handle split, and punched the point of his sword through the roof of its mouth, causing the creature to revert to inert bone.
Another came at him, losing its right arm to one of Derek’s bolts as it did so. Shad cursed as its talon-like fingers raked his right side, the Jinxman alternatingly bashing it with his buckler and hacking with his sword until it dropped.
“Shit,” Jeff gasped as the four slowly lowered their weapons, the hole and the ground surrounding it littered with old bones. “How many was that?”
“Six skulls,” Shad touched his side and winced as the fingers came away bloody.
“Oh, crap,” Fred raised his axe as another skeleton emerged through the doorway. “Here’s the chieftain they buried.”
This skeleton wore a bronze helm now pitted and sea-green with age and bore a singled-edged bronze sword that resembled a falcata. Necklaces rattled against its bare ribs as it trudged up out of the hole, gracefully bending to catch up a flint sword in its left hand.
“This is bad,” Shad observed as Fred started shouting and Derek’s bolt blasted a single rib apart. “Give ground, get it on all sides.”
Jeff stabbed the chieftain through the ribs as Shad parried the bronze sword with his buckler and deflected the flint weapon with his short sword. Derek belted the undead from behind with his staff, while Fred bellowed an inarticulate war cry and stove in its left rib cage.
Shad blocked the flint blade and hacked that arm off at the elbow before the bronze blade caught him above the hip and sent him crashing to the ground. Derek struck the chieftain again with such force that his staff splintered and he was spilled off his feet.
Still beleaguered from both sides the skeleton turned and lashed out at Fred, sending him staggering from the fray, only to collapse into lifeless bone as Jeff’s sword punched through its spine and breastbone.
Cursing, Shad crawled to where Fred writhed, clutching his bleeding leg. Pulling a charm from his pouch, the Jinxman clapped it to the barbarian’s forehead and concentrated. Beneath his fingers the small bit of twine and twigs crumbled to dust and he felt that Fred was close to being healed. Pulling a second charm he repeated the process, then used one on his own wound. “There,” he sat back, gasping, absently patting Fred’s shoulder.
“That was a bitch!” Derek got to his feet, rubbing his elbow. “You guys OK? That’s a lot of blood.”
“Yeah, we’re good,” Shad sighed. “It takes a lot out of you. Get me my sword and buckler, will you? Jeff, take a careful peek, see if there are any more.”
“We’re clear,” the Night-grifter announced after a careful look. “The torch is still burning. It’s a single chamber with a bier and six chairs.
“Good. You and Derek gather up the bones and make them into dust, we don’t want them springing back to life. Make sure you smash up the skulls apart from the bodies.”
“And loot,” Derek noted.
“Just the bodies. Wait for the chamber until we’re all on our feet. Derek, you empty?”
“Yeah.”
“Figured as much.”
Fred and Shad napped in the tall grass, undisturbed by the sound of bones smashing between the iron head of the pick and a handy boulder. The sun was close to noon when the Jinxman finally sat up and rubbed his face. “Man.” He looked blearily around, then rubbed his face again.
“Look who’s awake,” Jeff ambled over and squatted. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” Shad stretched, then rubbed his side. “No scar.”
“Your shirt is ruined.” It was badly ripped across the right side and bloody.
Fred sat up and dragged his axe across his lap. “Noon.”
“Yeah. Me and Derek dug out four blocks of whitestone. We were going to wake you pretty soon.”
“You went into the mound?”
“It’s just a real small room. We scoped it from the door before I went in. Nothing really there. The bier was whitestone, so are the chairs, which are just stacks of cut rock without any mortar holding them together. We stashed about a hundred pounds of whitestone near our night camp, and filled in the hole as best we could.”
Shad took a long drink, then shook his canteen. “Pretty low. We better start heading back.” He stood, groaning, and gingerly stretched. “I need armor.”
Fred looked up from examining the slit in his armored side. “I need better armor.”
Jeff and Derek had chosen blocks that would fit in their packs. With a block snugged at the bottom of each pack, the four started back down to the Plains.
“Feels like about twenty pounds,” Shad observed, shifting his shoulders against the pack straps. “A good haul.”
“We took the chieftain’s sword, helm, and a couple necklaces, too,” Jeff swung along easily. “What’s the plan for the money?”
“Fred, lets head back to that stream where we filled the canteens,” Shad waved his arm westerly. “Five shares: one for expenses, one each to the rest of us. Equip yourself as you see best. Obviously we need to look to our combat capacity, and we need more missile fire than Derek can crank out, but each of you knows what your best mix is going to be.”
“I need to pick up a level in combatant,” Derek sighed. “I need something better than whacking them with a stick when my power gives out.”
“I hate to see you slow down your progress to real ability, but you’re probably right,” Shad nodded. “Just one, though.”
Their luck remained good: not long after reaching the Twilight Way they encountered a traveling merchant who let them hang their packs from the side of his wagon in exchange for four armed men as an escort. While the wagon was a bit slower than their usual pace, walking unencumbered meant fewer rest breaks so the distance covered remained the same. Shad bought a shirt from the man to replace his ruined one, and when they passed through the gates of the City-State no one gave them a second look.
“You get the name of an inn?” Shad asked Jeff, who had been chatting with the trader most of the day.
“Yeah, and directions. This way,” The Night-grifter shouldered his pack and led them down a side-street.
“You find out anything useful?”
“A bit. Mostly some insight into social customs and trading, but I got one piece of info we can use. Later,” he tapped his ear.
The Bull and Trident Inn wasn’t much different from the Dancing Mermaid except that the stew it served was pork and had red beans instead of carrots.
“Everything’s closed,” Shad observed after they took a corner table in the half-empty common room. “We’ll cash in tomorrow. Anyone see any interest at the gate?”
No one had.
“Its five days since we got here. Th
at doesn’t leave a lot of options for them if they are hunting. Jeff, what do you have?”
“Up north, on the Twilight Way, is the other major stronghold in this area, Thunder’s Fist. It’s been ruled by the same family for three generations. Our ride came from the Fist-he was carrying stone-cutting tools from the forges there. It’s somewhere between a hundred thirty and a hundred fifty miles from here, on what passes for a good road. Six or seven day’s travel. It’s only about half as big as the City-State, but the big news is that they’re hiring bravos.”
“For what? This rock-hunting damn near got us all killed.”
“They discovered a huge ancient underground complex near there and the Baron of Thunder’s Fist is hiring bravos to explore and map it. Plus there’s a brisk alchemist market there because of mage interest. Goblins and other trouble-makers have been drawn to all the excitement, so there’s bounties to be had.”
“Two pence isn’t enough to make me want to fight another Goblin,” Shad grunted. “Still, a change of digs would give us more security. The thing is, I’m really low on healing charms, and after yesterday I am not setting foot outside a wall without a decent complement.”
“Can you buy them?” Fred asked.
“No. Derek, what about scrolls? Can you write them?”
“Not yet. I can check into buying them, and potions too.”
“Do that. Let’s plan on resting here for a couple days while I get my charm count up, then we’ll slip north. You guys keep your ears peeled. Don’t ask too many questions-slow and steady is the way to gather intel. We need to learn without putting out any hint we’re here.”
Shad sat at the small table in their room at the Bull and Trident, his tools (a collection of scalpel-like knives, picks, and files) spread out in front of him. He had shoved the table under the window and opened the shutters to the drizzly day for better light. Other than the trip to the alchemists this morning he had not left the table save for a quick bowl of stew at lunch, and from the way the shadows were deepening on the building six feet from his window it was nearly sundown.
They had gotten eighty-two Marks for their whitestone and loot, which meant sixteen Marks each and eighteen for expenses. The good news was mitigated by a casual remark by the alchemist that they had brought in enough whitestone to last the city for at least six months.
Shad had adjourned to the inn to craft charms while the others were instructed to split up and see what they could find out.
For some reason he was feeling exceptionally good since they had cashed in, and he found that crafting charms was an extremely interesting process. He was focusing on healing charms and was just completing his fourth when he heard boots outside the door and the latch rattle. He dropped his hand to his sword-hilt, but it was Fred coming through the door, followed closely by the others; Derek was thoughtfully carrying two pitchers of ale.
“How’s the charm business?” Jeff asked, holding out his mug for Derek to fill.
“Back to where we were before the mound opened. How did you guys do?”
“Not bad. Fred priced a lot of gear and wrote it all down so now we have a frame of reference for future budgeting. He bought some jugs of ink, too. Turns out if he gets a blood-brother, he paints one arm dark blue and the other red. The blood-brother does the same.”
“So let me guess: you two are now blood brothers.”
“We will be tomorrow. There’s the tat issue solved for two of us.”
“Good idea.”
“While Fred shopped I kept my ears open. The information I got yesterday about the Fist is solid. The Fist’s regular troops secure openings into the complex and groups of bravos can either pay a fee to get in, or give the Fist a cut on the loot they bring out. The Baron there runs a pretty tight ship and is known for his honest administration. Otherwise I focused on local political gossip.”
“Seems that the Ultimate Overlord isn’t greatly loved-he’s wasting a lot of money on Havenhall and on himself. His only saving graces are he’s an incredible individual warrior, and every now and then he comes up with something interesting that helps people. The horse collar, for instance, is his ‘invention’,” Jeff used his fingers to make air quotes. “From everything I’ve gathered, if we try the ‘cut a deal with one of the Five’, he is not the one to approach.”
“Good to know.”
Derek took a long pull at his mug. “I picked up a good map,” he held up a leather scroll case. “And went shopping. Potions and scrolls are out there, but not in our price range, and not likely to be for a long time.”
“Crud,” Jeff sighed. “That would have solved some issues.”
“The rest of the time I hung out in a grog shop that caters to spell-casters and alchemists, mid to low level, and I really got an earful. The Ultimate Master is hunting people like us.”
“How? The gate guards don’t seem to be looking,” Shad leaned forward.
“He’s got this special group, mostly bravos he put on the payroll, about half spellcasters, half swordsmen. Guess what he calls them?”
“The Nazgul?” Jeff grinned.
“Close-the Wraiths. They spend all their time hunting someone, nobody is quite sure who, but periodically they string up some outsiders and proclaim a great victory. They have a big, expensive apparatus and a couple of mid-range mages tending it that supposedly tracks something.”
“I wonder what that is,” Fred grunted.
“Not a big surprise-a lot of talk in the shop was about a big disruption in the magical fields six days ago. Turns out that the disruption travels at about one mile per hour, and loses about one per cent of its energy per mile travelled, roughly.”
“So it would have been detected a few hours after we arrived in the city,” Jeff observed. “So why aren’t the Wraiths sniffing hard upon our heels?”
“Because they were out of town on a hunt. They got back yesterday,” Derek grinned.
“Can they tell anything about what came through?” Shad asked.
“Not from what I heard. Their apparatus probably can give them a much better location of the disturbance where we came through, but the nature of the disturbance itself should render any magical detection spells ineffective. Area overload, basically.”
“And it’s been raining all day,” Shad mused. “Fred, is it likely that it’s raining where we came out?” At the big man’s nod, the Jinxman relaxed a bit. “There goes the tracks.”
“Ground was pretty dry, anyway,” Fred shrugged. “I don’t think they could have gotten a count.”
“Doesn’t matter, the Wraiths are still in the city,” Derek was still grinning. “The spellcasters were buying scrolls and potions this afternoon.”
“OK, at this point all they know is when and where a group came through,” Jeff mused. “If they roll tomorrow, at best they might find enough tracks to get a number. But once on the road, we could have gone either way. Question is, did more than one bravo group come in the river gate that day?”
“Even if only one did, it’s still no guarantee that the bravos who hit the river gate were the ones who came through from Earth. We could have as easily gone north,” Derek objected.
“After five days, descriptions are going to be pretty vague at best. Good thing Derek dumped his robes. Don’t get another staff while we’re in town,” Shad decided. “Odds are all they’ll get is ‘four bravos, one bear barbarian, one Shadowmancer’. Fred, can you stow your bearskin in town?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Just while we’re here. OK, new plan: tomorrow we buy what we need and want, and then exit town as individuals. We’ll meet up at that huge rock Derek liked halfway to Havenhall.”
“We’re going to the Fist?” Jeff asked, eyes aglow.
“Yeah. If it’s a boomtown prices there will be inflated, so we’ll gear up as best we can here. Think about what we’ll need.”
“Can we get supper now? I’m starved, and this ale is starting to really hit me,” Derek asked, draining his mug.
>
“You don’t want to get too tipsy,” Jeff warned him. “The fat waitress with the warts was eyeing you again.”
In his dream Shad found himself sitting in the library again, at a table with the others. “Damn, that was one realistic dream,” he thought, the impression coming to him hazily, as if he was getting a load of nitrous oxide in the dentist’s chair. Looking down at the character sheet in front of him, he saw the ‘one’ in the ‘level’ box vanish and change to a ‘two’.
Trying to stand did not work. Sighing, Shad refocused upon the sheet, and made his choices.
It was raining when Shad woke up feeling remarkably refreshed. The others, he noted, looked to be in good spirits despite the fact that the rain was coming down pretty briskly outside. Finally at breakfast he broached the point. “Guys, I dreamt of the library last night. I free great. I think I leveled up.”
Derek sighed so hard it was a gasp. “Man, I thought I was going crazy! Yeah, I did too.” Jeff and Fred nodded.
“I can make charms a little quicker, I know a couple more designs, and I think I can use a long sword. Derek?”
“If it wasn’t a dream, I took a level in archer. I’m proficient with bows, the short sword, and buckler.”
“That’s a good move,” Jeff nodded. “Ups your support firepower a lot. Do you think a lot of spellcasters split class?”
“Not so far as I heard yesterday,” Derek shook his head. “But bravos could be different. In any case, I won’t automatically look like a spellcaster. In town I could even wear leather armor since I won’t need spellcasting. Oh, and I can draw maps, simple ones, anyway.”
“You can have my short sword,” Shad offered. “Half whatever the usual price is. I want a longer blade. The buckler, too.”
“I’m just a little better across the board,” Jeff shrugged. “Still no poisons. I bumped up information gathering. Glean Information.”
“I stayed within my class suite,” Fred shrugged. “I upped tracking and weather knowledge, too.”
“Did you get a look outside? Do you think its raining where…the hut was?” Shad kept his voice low.