Dream

by RW Krpoun

  “So the equipment of the heavy hitters is still lying out there, along with whatever petty cash they happened to be carrying?” Shad leaned forward. “What’s the horrible catch?”

  “I’m no wizard so I just have the generalities, but apparently a combination of spells or a combination of side effects from big spells summoned or created or caused or whatever some badass foot soldiers. There’s a variety of names for them, but most use ‘revenant’. Basically they’re a turbo-charged Undead warrior. Not just animated skeletons with a residue of the former person’s abilities, these things are heavy hitters with full mental facilities and a really impressive set of combat skills that have no connection to the person whose bones they’re using. Worse, every person killed by a revenant becomes a revenant.”

  “So no one has made a round trip?” Shad asked.

  “Some have. The revenants are tough, but they can be put down; they’re numerous, but they can’t be everywhere. Every year a few groups stealth or fight their way in and out, and what they bring out means that they can retire for life if they get anything like a fair price. If this was Earth some army would have gone in and cleared the place out, but not in this place. Here they do it in dribs and drabs over centuries.”

  “I’m thinking just killing a couple of those morays and taking their gut-stones would be easier,” Jeff said.

  “Not really,” Sam shook his head. “First, they’re extremely dangerous. Second, the Council knows about the harness method of getting home-after all, they’re the experts on coming and going. Both they and the Assembly keep a close eye on the supply of key materials, so Outlanders with gut-stones looking for a skilled stone-cutter are a sure sign of pending desertion, and all hands turn against them.”

  “But one moray would be easier than Valley of the Super-Undead,” Jeff persisted.

  “The morays are not loners, and their prey isn’t easy, either. The thing is, outlanders are not affected by the half-life in the Valley area, so we go in with full abilities and the Revenants don’t seem to see us as well. Our chances are much better.”

  “So why don’t we just make two-three trips in and buy what we need, skip Mount Doom entirely?” Shad asked. “Seems to be the logical route.”

  “There’s a problem with that,” Sam sighed. “As usual, the devil is in the details. Selling that quality of loot tends to be high-profile, as you might imagine. In the last couple years guess who has had the best hauls out of the place?”

  “Outlanders,” Derek’s expression was that of a man who had just bit a lemon.

  “Outlanders,” Sam nodded. “And the Council of Twelve certainly hasn’t missed the fact that groups are permanently going off the grid. Once we start gathering materials we’re in a race against time to get gone before the Council catches up with us and takes drastic action.”

  “Would they kill us?” Derek asked.

  “Dunno. Probably not,” Sam said thoughtfully. “But you can bet they will take action to prevent us from bugging out. Which brings us to the crux of the matter: if we seal the tomb…”

  “Operation Mount Doom,” Jeff inserted.

  “…the Assembly will buy our loot from the Great Field on the QT,” the bard finished.

  “Operation Death Valley,” Jeff added.

  “Yeah. All they have to do is hold it for a few weeks, anyway.”

  “You have it backwards,” Shad said thoughtfully. “We hit the Valley of Death first, and hopefully pick up some stuff we can use along the way. Then we go to the Assembly with bona fides, get the stones in hand, run Mount Doom, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “Is there stuff regular bravos can use in the Valley?” Derek asked, eyes aglow.

  “Yeah, they had a full range of gear for their armies, and then there’s the stuff that belonged to the bravos who tried to go on a run and didn’t make it out,” the Bard nodded. “Nothing really ages.”

  “That sounds like a good arrangement,” Jeff said, and Fred grunted agreement.

  “Doesn’t matter to me so long as we get it done,” Sam shrugged. “The last point is that we can only leave from certain spots. The spots change with the season and other conditions, so the Council can’t watch them all, but we will need help determining which spots work. Which brings us back to the Assembly.”

  “So its Project Trident, then: Operation Death Valley, then we meet with the Assembly and strike a bargain, pull Operation Mount Doom to get our box open, and make a mad dash to Operation Displace before the Council gets wind and kills us,” Jeff checked off the points on his fingers. “With a brief interlude to get the devices made.”

  “What happens to our stuff when we leave?” Derek asked.

  “Stays where we depart from,” Sam said over the groans of the other three.

  “Greedy little bastard,” Jeff shook his head. “But that raises a question: what did the other groups do to pay their way out?”

  “I only know of one group specifically, the one I helped, and to get out they had grab some gear off the Great Field and opened a back way to Fu Hao’s tomb area, an underground route. Neither job was as simple as they sound.”

  “They never are,” Jeff sighed. He looked over at the Jinxman. “You’re quiet.”

  “The Assembly seems to have a long-term plan about the tomb, and about gathering old-school firepower. Tell me about the Revenants,” Shad said slowly, brow furrowed in thought. “Can you encounter them elsewhere? As in, are they found or conjured or whatever elsewhere in the world?”

  “No,” Sam looked surprised. “They’re drawn from somewhere else.”

  “OK, then,” the Jinxman rapped his knuckles against the table in the manner of a man knocking on a door. “You need to find us a paying gig, something handy. We will need a sizeable grubstake before heading off to Death Valley.”

  “Just rations, maybe some field gear,” the Bard shrugged. “Not really so much.”

  “No, we’re going to need to have some custom metal-work made, and take some downtime to gear up and prepare,” Shad shook his head. “So we need some serious cash. You’re the information-gatherer, so gather us a line on a payoff that five men can bring in without committing murder or robbery.”

  “By murder he means no Humans unless they are really evil,” Derek explained.

  Sam shrugged. “OK. I’ve got some stuff I can run down, but its not going to be easy money.”

  “It never is,” Jeff said unhappily.

  Later, when Sam had left to ply his trade in other establishments, Jeff brought the subject up. “What sort of metalwork are you planning?”

  “If Sam knows his business, and everything we’ve seen so far suggests that he does, the Revenants are essentially outlanders.”

  “Gunpowder,” Derek breathed. “Gunpowder would work on them.”

  “Yeah. Part of this is class knowledge of the undead, but from what I ‘know’, I think Sam’s right. We can really level the odds.”

  “A Dwarf might be able to work up a musket, but would that do the job?” Fred asked.

  “I don’t know, but what I am thinking of is a version of a bang stick.” Seeing their expressions he explained. “A bang stick is a spear shaft or similar pole with a head that fires a cartridge. A scuba diver shoves it against a fish’s head and bang, dead fish. Or gator, I think they use them on gators, too. In any case it’s the same principle: we put a metal tube loaded with gunpowder on a pole, and shove it against a Revenant. The trick is going to figure out how to ignite the charge-I’m thinking mercury fulminate and a simple hammer system, but I’m not sure about a design. Plus we’ll need a lot of bang sticks because reloading will be out until we’re back in a safe area, and I doubt all will function.”

  “What about grenades?” Jeff asked.

  “We can have some pipe bombs made, simple lit-fuse jobs. We do well enough in Death Valley, maybe we can buy our way out without going to Mount Doom.”

  “No joke,” Derek agreed. “Anything to speed up getting home.”

&n
bsp; “I thought you wanted to see a dragon?” Shad grinned.

  “The wonder and joy of this place is wearing off,” the Shadowmancer admitted. “Xbox doesn’t depict the quality of the cooking, the crappy mattresses, and no showers.”

  “Its like the Army all over again,” Jeff agreed. “Only with a twenty-year committment.”

  They didn’t see Sam again until midafternoon the next day. The four were gathered in the common room of the inn they were staying in when the bleary-eyed Bard came through the door. “OK, we’re set,” he announced as he took a seat at the table. “Actually two gigs tied together, with a pretty solid pay-off.”

  Shad looked up from the ink he was mixing. “That was quick.”

  “Not really-you just look for someone with a gold exclamation mark above their head.” Sam held up his mug for a serving girl to fill. “I told you I’ve made a name for myself here. More importantly I understand networking, and am in a class suited for it. People here stick closely to their social class and trade, much more so than they do back home, but a Bard can cut across all social barriers.”

  “Point,” the Jinxman conceded, turning back to his work.

  “So the two jobs are pretty intertwined. North of the City-State are the Tableland Moors, where a hardcase who goes by Culverhouse has a sort of holding on the river. His crews cut peat, and extract bog iron and bog oak which they send by barge to the City State.”

  “Culverhouse sounds English,” Fred observed.

  “Yeah, you see some names like that,” the Bard shrugged. “Anyway, Culverhouse is being harried by lizard-men, and he wants the problem taken care of, which is where we come in.”

  “You wouldn’t think you would find lizard-men in this northern of a clime,” Derek shook his head. “Even if they are warm-blooded. And a peat marsh doesn’t sound like the favored environment for them.”

  “They are, and they don’t care for the Moors,” Sam rolled his eyes. “They go where they can find certain bones, its…I don’t want to say religious, because its not, but is something special to them. Anyway, they have found a big lizard skull near Culverhouse’s place, and so they set up shop.”

  “Why not just lug the skull home?”

  “Who knows? They prefer dragon bones, but everyone likes those so they are hard to come by. If they find a dragon’s skull or one from the big lizards that were around here a long time ago, they set up a village around it.”

  “That’s how they choose where they live?” Derek asked.

  “So far as I can tell, yeah. The bigger and better the skull, the more lizard-men live there.”

  “So what does Culverhouse expect of us?” Fred shrugged. “We can’t take on a whole tribe of anything.”

  “Its not a whole tribe, its just a small outpost because the skull isn’t all that great. Culverhouse has sprung for a rune-plate; basically you attach it to the skull and it will burn it to ash. Once the skull is gone the lizard-men will move on.”

  “Still not seeing how this doesn’t end with us facing a horde of lizard-men,” Fred said, shaking his head.

  “That’s why we’re getting paid-we need to figure out a way to decoy the warriors away.”

  “What is the pay-off?” Shad asked.

  “A hundred Marks plus expenses. And you can figure the lizard-men will stash their loot as offerings at the skull, which leads me to the second job: a merchant here had some important papers sent to him. His nephew was the courier, and he hid them inside a decoration on his shield. The nephew’s group got hit by lizard-men on their way to the City-State by river-boat, and the nephew bought it. There’s a good chance the shield is a trophy at the skull, and the merchant is willing for pay fifty Marks for the papers.”

  “A hundred-fifty Marks is decent pay,” Shad conceded, still mixing his ink. “Why is Culverhouse having such trouble finding a taker? The City-State is full of bravos.”

  “It has five less-a group tried the skull job a couple weeks ago. Culverhouse bumped the bounty from eighty to one hundred but there’s no takers who think its worth the effort. Since he has to risk the rune-plate he’s not letting just anyone try.”

  “But he’ll agree to us?” Derek asked.

  “Yeah-my rep in action,” Sam said with satisfaction.

  “What do you think, decoy off the main body?” Jeff asked Shad.

  “Yeah. A fake attempt draws off the main body, me and one other slips in to torch the skull and grab loot.” A thought struck the Jinxman. “Why didn’t two groups of bravos just team up to do the job?”

  “Too much like work,” Sam shrugged. “I’m telling you, the locals just don’t have the fire, and bravos are lazier than most. This place reminds me of the Russian serfs in those stories: no ambition, no interest, just staying within their narrow world view. You ever wonder why the powers-that-be ignore the bravos? On Earth large numbers of independent armed professionals pursuing private goals would excite considerable interest, but here they’re no threat because bravos don’t operate much above a group of a half-dozen, eight tops. They’re violent day labor, no Bill Gates amongst them.”

  “Weird.” Shad shrugged. “I still can’t get adjusted to the idea.”

  “Remember Iraq?” Jeff pointed out. “That place was stuck in the past like nobody’s business.”

  “Yeah, but they had Islam to blame. And even they could get organized if they got motivated enough, even if the sight of a woman’s face destroyed their faith.”

  “The locals just don’t think in terms of change,” the Bard shrugged. “And I’m grateful-I would be dead if they had any fire in their bellies.”

  “OK, what’s the time-frame for the job?”

  “Culverhouse will let the first group he thinks can get it done have a go at it. Nobody is jumping at the chance, though.”

  “We’ll go the day after tomorrow,” Shad decided. “I’ll be in good shape, charm-wise. Derek, go buy stuff for a first-aid kit; operating in two groups means you guys will be on your own. I’ll give you the healing potion I’m carrying, too. What exactly can a Bard, and specifically you, do, Sam?”

  “A Bard can do some pre-battle buffs with music, they have a lot of lore, and has access to a whole battery of social skills. Me, I’m maxed up on social, legal, and net-working-friendly skills.”

  “What about combat capability?”

  “In theory I’m like you: one-handed or bastard weapons, metal armor so long as it is encased in leather, no helm. However, all I have is skill in short edged weapons. Which I’ve never actually used.”

  “Great. That’s gonna change if you’re going to be with us, I promise you,” Shad shook his head. “We chopped our way through a bunch of Iraqis and similar trash that tried to cancel our return ticket back to The World, and we’ve left a trail of bodies since we hit this armpit. Heaven help anyone who gets between us and home, and you are going to be toting your share of the load.”

  The Bard swallowed hard, but held his peace.

  Trade-Master Culverhouse had built his establishment on the inner side of a bend in the river so that the water protected three sides while a crude wall of stacked field stone and deadfall defended the fourth, east, side. He had roughly three acres within the confines, most of it taken up by storage areas for loaf-sized blocks of peat stacked like bricks. The only permanent structures were a stout supply shed that looked like a windowless log cabin, and a free-standing brick stove that served a eating area of rough tables under a pole-shed roofed by wicker sheets. Tents and crude shelters housed the filthy workers and the dozen mercenaries who guarded the place.

  Culverhouse himself was a tall, lean man with a cheerful mien who wore his dishwater blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail. He looked to be in his early twenties, a rawboned young man with good hands, a patch over his left eye, and a long scar that that ran from his hairline to his chin centered on the now-covered eye socket. He was seated under the pole shed with a girl in his lap, a mug made from a jaw-less Human skull lined with gold to hand.<
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  “’House, these are the bravos I told you about the other day,” Sam said, visibly nervous.

  “The Black Talons,” Shad stepped up alongside the Bard. “We heard about the bounty.”

  “More bravos,” Culverhouse sent the girl on her way with a slap on her rear and took a slurping pull from his mug. “I don’t care if you bastards die, but the rune plates cost hard coin.”

  “The only hard coin you’ll be out is the bounty,” the Jinxman said levelly. “Speaking of which, have it handy-we don’t like to wait.”

  The Trade-Master was wearing canvas trousers and an open leather vest decorated with Goblin teeth over his naked torso; leaning back against the table he scratched his stomach as he grinned broadly at Shad, three gold teeth catching the sun, their position in line with the scar. “Nobody finds Culverhouse unready.”

  “Good. If you let us see the diagram of what we’re up against, we’ll drink some of your ale and work out how we’re going to do the deed.”

  “What a dump,” Derek muttered when the five were seated at a table away from the Trade-Master.

  “Welcome to unskilled labor,” Sam grinned sourly. “Cutting peat from ‘can see’ to ‘can’t see’ at four pennies a hundredweight.”

  “Damn.”

  “Culverhouse is a tight-fisted bastard; if you didn’t get a good look at the blade on his hip, its Dwarven-forged and he’s damn good with it. Nobody’s gonna get a union organized under his watch.”

  “Can we trust him?” Shad asked.

  “Not literally, but reputation is everything here. You welch on one debt and its cash up front forever more.”

  “What about when we come back from the job-if we end up dead Culverhouse can just say the lizard-men got us,” Jeff pointed out.

  “That might not be easy enough to make it worth a hundred Marks,” Shad grinned evilly. “His guards don’t look all that great. Derek, what do you make them to be?”

  “Second to fourth, with Culverhouse around eighth or ninth.”

  “They could take us, but only if they were willing to lose some men doing it. Sam, what is so great about this dump that Culverhouse is willing to pony up serious money to keep it? He looks mean, not stupid.”