by RW Krpoun
Drowsing in a tub of warm water, tankard in hand, Shad closed his eyes and relaxed, letting at least some of the strain and pain of the last five days drain away.
From the Elf fight it had been one rough road-they had seen strange lights that evening, and sent the freed captives on their way while the four investigated, and that investigation had led them to a necromancer and his budding army of Undead. Whether it was practice, obsession, or a need for secrecy, the death-caller had kept after the four, hounding them through and around the hills until they had managed to ambush him and sever his hold over the bony remains of his own follower.
It had been rough, and class knowledge or not Shad was certain that they would have died on those muddy hills if Uncle Sugar hadn’t sent them to Iraq, and if Jeff hadn’t gotten Ula. The patient little beast had stoically bore their packs as well as her own gear and never once slowed them down.
Shad wasn’t given to questioning life because of an inherent emotional tunnel-vision, but for the first time since they had arrived he seriously wondered if they could possibly survive long enough to get back home. In the hills he had been too wrapped up in the struggle to stay alive to think past the next action, but now the doubts surged to the surface, as the more they learned the longer their odds looked.
He shook his head-they would go as far as they could, and if they didn’t make it all the way, then at least they would leave a trail of bodies behind them to show how hard they had tried. Sometimes all you could do was shout at the devil and go down swinging.
“All right, where are we?” Shad asked after the serving girl had brought them breakfast. “It has been two days-I need at least two more to get my charms up to snuff. Four would be better.”
“Me and Fred have been partying like real bravos,” Jeff grinned. “Along the way we commissioned a dozen Black Talon insignia.”
“Hide in plain sight,” the big barbarian nodded. “With extras like we’re looking for more hands.”
“Plus we saw the Wraiths,” Jeff kept his voice low. “Across-the-room sort of thing. There’s five, looks like two warriors, a stealth-type, and two spell-slingers. Flash gear, no idea on levels. They’re relaxing pretty good while they eyeball every bravo in sight.”
“At level three we’re not trying our luck, but it’s good to know where they are,” Shad said thoughtfully.
“I had a scabbard made for Blackwand, my new sword, and we picked up a lot of odds and ends on culture, local lore, the bravo way of life, stuff like that. I got a coat of plates, and Fred ordered a set of split armor, looks like a Roman cuirass but he’s ten Marks short, even with a loan from me. Can the group front the rest?”
“We’re doing OK,” Derek nodded. “Ten for the armor and five more for pocket money.”
“I bought a new shield and a coat of plates, got the edge restored on my weapons,” Shad tossed a well-gnawed bone from a pork chop on the table. “That and some more clothes pretty much sorted out my money for me. I’ve been focused on charms since.”
“I turned in the staff at the Fist,” Derek said smugly. “Met the Baron himself. Even though the fight was outside his realm he gave us the honor of displaying a silver Fist on our insignia, and granted me access to the Royal Archives.”
“No money,” Fred shook his head.
“Hey, it was a good deal,” Derek protested. “We get more credibility, and I spent a day and a half reading. Another couple of days and I bet I can earn an extra point or two.”
“Screw it, for the moment money’s not our most pressing problem,” Shad shrugged. “We need to up our capabilities, and the more we know the better our chances. You get anything specific?”
Derek glanced around before replying. “Yeah. I know where three of the five intruders are at. One south, two west, plus the Ultimate Master. And it gave me an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Leave. Head west or south. The further we go the harder it will be for locals to catch us out. We’re steadily blending in, and we’ve done all we can to the Ultimate Master until we get to a lot higher level.”
“The Wraiths do have a bead on us,” Jeff agreed. “In a new area the local hunters wouldn’t have that advantage.”
“I wonder if every group they’ve sent in is made up of four people?” Fred wondered aloud.
“I hope not,” Shad said with heartfelt conviction. “Derek, rent the rooms for three more days, on top of the three we have left. We’ll leave on the fifth day to keep any watchers guessing.”
“We going to go south or west?” Jeff asked.
“We’ll decide once we’re out of town. Derek, make sure we’re provisioned. Has anyone been checking on Ula?”
Two days’ march south of the Fist the Black Talons were arguing about which episode of Firefly properly defined Jayne’s character
“The key thing about Jayne is that...” Jeff grabbed his left forearm and hugged it to his stomach, hissing with pain, as the other three likewise staggered in shock and pain.
After an agonizing minute had passed Shad relaxed slightly and ripped at the lacings on his left cuff. The forearm he exposed had four black-inked tattoos and one white-etched scar the size of a nickel near the wrist. “Damn, that hurt. I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“What the hell?” Fred brushed away the flakes of burnt blue ink and examined the scar that now marked his arm.
“The Ultimate Master,” Derek dragged himself to his feet. “Somebody got him.”
“So it works, the spell-tattoos,” Jeff observed. “We’re twenty per cent of the way back home.”
“Yeah,” Shad refastened the sleeve of his coat of plates. “Closer. I wonder if our idea was involved in the untimely demise?”
“Gunpowder,” Derek announced at dawn, waking the others.
“Why the hell are we up?” Shad demanded.
“The Ultimate Master was taken out by gunpowder.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be on watch?”
“I dozed off. The point is, our idea worked.”
“The point is that you were on watch.” Shad kicked off his blankets disgustedly.
“You’re saying it worked because we leveled up,” Jeff asked, fumbling around for his shirt.
“Why else? We haven’t pulled any real points since the Undead,” Derek grinned.
“I thought you said that we were probably drawing points every day we stayed alive,” Jeff countered.
“We’re trying for fourth level-we had plenty of XP to fill. Only a big kill would have jumped us so quickly.”
“The next time you sleep on watch I’m going to kick your ass,” Shad snarled, refusing to be diverted.
“OK, what’s the news?” Derek asked after everyone had sat down to a breakfast of oatmeal and hardtack.
“I can Bear power twice a day,” Fred announced. “Otherwise, I stuck with outdoor skills.”
“I took a level in Sword master, so I can use Blackwand now,” Jeff patted the stone blade at his hip. “I took Etiquette and Haggle.”
“More power, can start drawing on second level spells,” Derek reported. “I took two levels in Armor Repair so I can fix our armor between fights, basic repairs, anyway. I bought tools and materials before we left the Fist. Thanks to all my reading back at the First, I got an extra point when I took Creature Lore.”
“I can do Runes now, which are buffs drawn directly onto the recipient,” Shad said as he cleaned his mess kit with sand. “The key is preparation of the ink used. I took Apothecary last level, and this level I took Calligraphy and Harvest. I already picked up the tools I need and some basic components.”
“What is Harvest?” Jeff asked.
“Knowing what to collect and how to collect it from things we kill or come across to make better Rune-ink and charms. I couldn’t use it before level four even if I knew it. Oh, and I have a charm for curing disease, so if anyone gets the clap we’re covered.”
“How good are the buffs?” Fred asked.
&nbs
p; “Not great now, just basic stuff. The next couple levels will see some good ones, though.”
“Fourth level.” Jeff mused. “Still a long ways to go. How tough do you think we need to be before we can start thinking about a personal try?”
“Ten,” Fred sighed. “At least. How long have we been here?”
“Today makes thirty-five days,” Shad said. “A little more’n an hour passed since we came here. Plus any transit time.”
“Time’s not our biggest enemy,” Derek said thoughtfully. “We need to try to find a safer way of getting XP, though.”
“Havenhall,” Jeff threw his arms open in mock joy. “Bastion of the Ultimate Master.”
“May still be,” Shad gestured towards the standard flying over the gatehouse. “The Eye is still up there.”
“Let’s go get a drink and a room,” Jeff said. “We’ll hear the local news for free.”
As the Black Talons walked through the late afternoon sunlight towards the gatehouse, moving with a purpose but without haste, Derek jumped as if hit by electricity at the sound of the theme to ‘Morrowind’ being played on a flute. Fred clamped a big hand onto the Shadowmancer’s shoulder but was too late to hide the visible reaction.
Nor was Derek the only one-both Shad and Jeff had started, although neither quite so pronouncedly.
Shad swept an index finger in a circle at shoulder height, trying to make it appear casual as he turned to the source of the music, a short young Asian man in Mongol-style fur-trimmed clothes and spiked hat sitting cross-legged on a stone fence, a cased mandolin slung across his back. Stepping closer, he saw the musician was young, very early twenties, and so smooth-skinned that but for a fine dusting of hair across his upper lip he could have passed for a young girl.
“Nice tune,” he said, reaching into his purse as if seeking a coin, his hand closing on the hilt of the knife he had received in Wrym.
“It sounds better on an Xbox,” the flutist slid his instrument into its case. “You ever complete the core quest?”
The Jinxman glanced around: the fence enclosed a pasture for a flock of sheep; across the road was a field of some sort of crop, green plants; Shad didn’t know much about farming and had no interest in learning. “You speak of strange things, friend.”
“Doubt it,” The young man might be short and small-boned, but he showed no sign of fear, despite being unarmed save for a dagger at his belt. “If the Wraiths had half a brain you guys would have been toast. How many tattoos did you come through with?”
Shad stared at the musician. “Five,” he said finally. “Four left.”
“I’m Sam,” the flute player nodded. “It’s a nickname, from Sei. I’m from Guam originally, Japanese citizen in the States getting my degree. I came through with six tattoos a year ago local time.” He patted his stomach.
“A year?” Jeff gaped at that. “What the hell?”
“Shad,” the Jinxman jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Jeff, the big guy is Fred, the archer is Derek, the donkey is Ula. We’re been here thirty-eight days counting today.”
“You must be the guys who came through in the Direwood,” Sam nodded, waving away Jeff’s proffered hand. “C’mon, man, you know they don’t do that here.”
“What do you want, Sam?” Shad brought his hand out of his pouch empty.
“Help,” the musician said plainly. “I want to go home, I know how to go home, but I can’t do it by myself.”
The Gnarled Staff was a discreet establishment catering to those whose business or affairs required privacy. After Ula was housed and rooms rented, the five sat at a table tucked into an alcove off the inn’s common room, which was located in a converted winery cellar.
“So spill the story,” Shad said once their mugs were full and the serving girl departed. “Start with the Ultimate Master.”
“He’s dead,” Sam took a sip and made a face. “I would kill for a Doctor Pepper. The Green League got him with a pipe bomb, built it into a staff of office, which they dropped into his lap. I didn’t think gunpowder worked here.”
“We found a loophole,” Jeff said helpfully. “Doesn’t affect the locals, though.”
“Anyway, some bodyguards and dedicated loyalists died in the change of power, but mostly everyone acknowledged the new Ultimate Master, they hanged a couple of patsies for killing the old Ultimate Master, and life goes on. The new Master is actually the heir from the old ruling family, so it all works out.”
“Why haven’t the flags changed?” Shad jerked a thumb upwards.
“Less change, less fuss,” Sam shrugged. “The League is being very civilized about the whole thing.”
“What about the Wraiths?” Derek asked.
“The Wraith-Lord was one of those who died in the fighting; the Wraiths themselves are disbanded.”
“Breathing room,” Shad nodded thoughtfully. “Now, what’s your story?”
“They took the whole group right from the table,” Sam explained. “We came through in the hills to the southeast of the city-state. We ran into some wolf-riders an hour after getting here. We scattered, and I haven’t seen three of the guys since. One guy I saw die, and another, Brad, made his way to the City-State about the same time as I did. Brad went native, got a job, and hasn’t set foot outside the city walls since he came through the gate.” He took a pull from his mug, his face looking much older than his years. “I’m a Bard, so I bounced between the City-State and here, playing and listening. I’ve gone to the Fist twice, couple weeks each time, travelling with caravans.”
“You’ve third level,” Derek pointed out. “You’ve been here a year.”
“One level for each intruder killed,” the Bard shrugged. “I’m a support class with nobody to support. And to be honest I don’t have much killer instinct. I’m a college student who was gaming one night when the whole world went crazy. All I want to do is go back home.”
“Fair enough,” Derek conceded.
“I haven’t been sitting on my ass, though-I’ve been working my class pretty hard. Besides being an entertainer, a Bard is also a historian and a newsman. I don’t get the ‘on the main quest’ daily bonuses you guys do, but I was nearly to level three before the pipe bomb went off. I’ve spent a year learning how the world works and more importantly, working on how we can get back.”
“How did you know you were almost to level three?” Jeff asked.
Sam gave him a strange look. “I check.”
“Check what?”
“My tattoos,” Sam tapped his belly. “There’s a red line that outlines the left-most tattoo. When it makes it all the way around, you level and the line vanishes. You didn’t know?”
“Shit,” Fred examined Derek’s forearm. “You’re almost halfway to five. Who told you about that?”
“Guy who met us, a mage named Howin, part of the Council of Twelve.” Seeing blank looks, he elaborated. “The Council is the main resistance against the intruders. They closed the loopholes the intruders use, and brought us through.”
“And who told you that?” Shad refastened his sleeve after examining his tattoos.
The Bard shrugged. “You pick things up. They weren’t unknown before this all started.”
“Have you heard of a woman, white hair, goes by Yorrian?”
“Yeah, she’s one of the Council as well. Yorrian is actually her real name-the Twelve stay out of reach of the intruders, not that either side has shown great interest in trying their luck at taking the other side out.”
“You would think the twelve top mages could beat seven imported nerds,” Derek shook his head.
“Have you heard of other outlanders brought here?” Fred asked.
“Yeah. The Council brings them through pretty regularly. Thing is, most don’t last for more’n a few days. If the hunters don’t get them the local fauna does. I’ve been looking for survivors and intact groups my entire time here, passing on information and gathering details when I find them.”
“Why not build a gr
oup out of other survivors?” Derek asked.
“I’m not a leader, and most aren’t in any shape for anything-a couple have simply gone nuts. A few others have gone native, mostly not as bravos. I heard the first few groups didn’t come in so close to the intruders, and a couple of those are still around, laying low.”
“So why were you waiting for us?” Shad asked, keeping his voice casual.
“Because you guys hung together and survived. I stay here because the Wraiths are not too bright-they never think to look at individuals. But they’re not completely stupid, either, and while they’re slow, they do work. I have, had, a line on them through one who liked to brag to whores. They tracked you as coming in through the River Gate-at first they discounted you because you cashed in Goblin ears-most new groups are pretty helpless. Then they hit used clothes places until they found your ‘mancer’s robes, which confirmed who you were. They burned a lot of power and established you guys were heading to the Fist.” Sam took a pull at his mug.
“And yet you were waiting when we arrived here,” Shad observed.
“I’ve got friends in the Fist who keep an eye on bravos for me. If its important or odd they send a pigeon. Couple weeks ago a group of four bravos turned in a necromancer’s staff and sold a bunch of Elf gear. So when this group suddenly snuck out heading south, I started spending my afternoons watching the road.”
“We couldn’t have been the only bravo group doing well at the Fist-the place is full of bravos.”
“I told them what to watch for,” Sam shrugged. “I’ve been here a year in a class that watches and works people. Outsiders give themselves away in a lot of different ways-for one thing the ones who survive the initial shock are highly organized and mission driven. In case you guys haven’t noticed, the locals have trouble understanding how important roads are, or central governments, or a lot of things we take for granted. Plus little things-glancing at your left wrist instead of up at the sun, that sort of thing. You guys are good-a local would not see a lot of difference.”
“But why us?”