by Bill Ricardi
I don’t know what I was thinking, or if I was thinking at all. I just found myself clawing my way up the skeletal fiend’s lower body as it tried to push me away and reach its axe. I saw the hole that my acid had burnt in its scale mail, and brutally thrust my sword into its body cavity.
Suddenly the undead warchief was ablaze. I quickly let go of the blade, causing it to disappear, but the mundane fire remained. As fast as I could with one arm and one leg, I scrambled away from my now-burning skeletal foe. In a morbid and absurd race, it clawed at the ground and dragged its burning body after me, shrieking silently all the while.
But before I could either pass out or the burning warchief could catch and embrace me in a final act of fiery vengeance, there was a crunching sound. I looked back to see a big hoof buried in the smouldering skull of my foe. Toby had made it.
With the death of their warchief, the rest of the undead strike force immediately retreated to the west. There they could find a different undead commander and start the process over again, for the glory of their dead king. Any stragglers that could not walk or ride away were quickly crushed by our vengeful warriors.
The rest of the morning was a blur. In fact I don’t recall much until the middle of that afternoon. But one thing I do remember clearly was being laid next Rick, surrounded by a dozen other wounded folk. I glanced over and knew that he was worse off than I was. They had removed the javelins from his shoulder and his gut, but his chest was hardly moving. If I ‘might’ bleed out from my wound, Rick’s death was a near certainty.
But then a huge figure crouched before us and blocked out the sun. There were no words at all. Two huge hands started to glow and were pressed to Rick’s belly. Instead of the hands becoming bloody, the human’s wound seemed to be infected by the glow.
I had never seen a paladin perform the ‘laying of hands’. I knew it was a daily favor granted to them, but I didn’t realize the significance. There were no materials exchanged, no incantation. It was just the raw power of Toby’s god channeled through the hands of the faithful. It was beautiful.
Then the minotaur shifted his hands to my leg and side. They were no longer glowing, but I heard that low, silky smooth bass voice murmuring a plea to Aro-Remset. It was only a minor divine invocation, but I didn’t care about the pedigree of the spell, as long as it worked. The bleeding slowed. The bone no longer felt fragmented. Some of the pain was gone. It was enough to help me find the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness for a few hours.
When I opened my eyes again, I was packed into the back of our wagon, wrapped up in a thick blanket beside Rick. Will was chatting with the much-weakened human at my side, and Toby was smiling absently as he watched me regain consciousness.
I reached up with my right hand to touch Toby’s chest and murmur, “Ruined.”
The minotaur glanced down to see me touching his tabard, slashed to pieces and drenched in the blood of his friends and allies. He murmured, comfortingly, “It’s okay.”
“How many dead?” I croaked.
The big bull-man shook his head. “None. Thanks to you.”
They relayed the aftermath of the battle to me: There were several wounded, many as severely as myself. But because of The Magic Shop’s meager stash of minor healing potions, and because of the actions of Toby, Sister Janet, and a couple of civilian clerics making the journey, everybody made it. Like us, they would require bed rest for a few days because the healing was spread so thin. But Sister Janet proclaimed that no deaths in an assault of that magnitude was nothing short of miraculous.
As the minotaur checked in on Rick, I was treated to a visit from my small human friend. Will asked how I was, but I just gave him a grunt. He got worried and called Toby back over, and then I had both of them prodding me and asking me questions. I brushed them away, irritatedly.
“Me no like talk, when like dis.”
The minotaur raised a brow and looked at Will. The small human shook his head.
“Sorch, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re probably not going to be able to cast for a day or two. There’s no need to take a vow of silence until then. Besides, ummm…”
He shared a glance with Toby, who also said, “Ummm…”
I looked up at the two of them from my makeshift bed. “What?” I asked, irritated.
The human sighed a bit. “You’re sort of ‘outed’ as an orc, my friend.”
Toby explained, quickly, before I could get all worked up. “Your hood fell off as you were crawling away from the burning skeleton. Not to mention that your wounds were being treated along with everyone else, and it’s hard to miss that your skin is green, even through all that blood.”
I threw up my hands, in silent exasperation. Then I winced, because everything still hurt.
From off to my right, I heard Rick’s voice. It was good to hear since just a few hours ago I would have written him off as a dead man. “It doesn’t matter Sorch. After what you did, these people see you as a hero, no matter what race you happen to be.”
Toby was quick to nod his agreement. “Even the elves said that your bravery should be lauded. Elves! Complimenting an orc. I had to check if the sun was still moving in the sky, or if this was the end of days.”
I snorted, but relaxed. They must have seen it in my posture as the tension melted away from abused muscles, because there were faint, relieved chuckles at my reaction.
“Anyway, that’s about the size of it.” said Will. “The only things of value were the armor and the axe on the fiend that you fought. Everyone agreed that the armor should go to that young man who the elves pulled out of battle, as he could use the upgrade in equipment. One of the smiths and I will mend it, physically and magically, and then gift it to him. The axe has a minor enchantment on it, and the group said that we could sell it to make up for the healing potions that got used up.”
“Seem fair.” I croaked.
In two days I was able to start casting spells again without pain thanks to Toby’s constant care, as well as frequent visits from Sister Janet. A couple of days after that and I was fully recovered, from a mental standpoint. Nobody made fun of me for my heritage or for my temporary mental weakness. In fact, the only person to mention it was Sister Janet, who wanted to hear all about my life and document it in the caravan’s history. I agreed to the retelling. Others listened quietly as I recounted my life and journey so far, but out of respect, only Janet asked questions. I was more than happy to spend a couple of nights by the fire with her, watching her experienced hands stroke ink into parchment.
The rest of the journey transpired without major incident. Ashy plains melted away, and with them the ominous foreboding of the land of the dead king. Snow dusted the ground as we climbed into the foothills. Each day was colder, crisper than the last.
The morning of the first snow, Toby looked a little sad. So I asked him, “What’s wrong, my big friend?”
The minotaur sighed. “I love my home, but now I have to wear boots again. I hate boots.”
Eventually hills gave way to mountains, and there was ankle-deep snow in every direction. Hunting picked up again, and the occasional rabbit or fox would supplement our dry meals.
The last day was slow going, as fresh snow was falling. Rather than make camp for the night, we ate and then were told to mount back up. Miles said that the crew would press on into the wee hours so that we could reach their permanent camp outside the city. They had both mundane and magical means to light their way. He told us all to get some rest on the wagons, and by dawn we would be at the destination.
We bid our farewells to everybody that night, as much of the crew would likely be asleep when we waked, and the other guards and passengers would likely have their own schedules to keep. Sister Janet granted us her final blessing, and told us that she looked forward to seeing us again in the future, if fate was so kind to allow it.
The four of us climbed into our wagon and bundled up. Four people couldn’t lay out recumbent in the free space available,
but three of us could sit up in comfortable little blanket-cocoons and still give Toby enough space. I was almost excited enough to stay up all night, but after around three weeks on the road, I was feeling quite exhausted. Nature won out. I closed my eyes, knowing that when I woke it would be the first day of Late Fall. After what dreams might come, I would be in the heart of Ice House, the city of adventure.
Chapter 11
Ice House’s southern gate was much like Limt’s northern gate. Just colder. All of the larger caravan companies had built permanent offices here. The ‘alcove’, an area that referred to the wide open space outside the gates where multiple caravans could load and unload, was well policed by both company and city watchmen. By the time we woke most of the staff was inside the A.S.C. barracks, catching some much needed sleep. Their compatriots, based here in Ice House, were doing the inventory and unloading shipments that the company was responsible for.
After much grumbling and groaning, we managed to emerge from our relatively warm cocoons. Will had thoughtfully provided a coat for me to wear over my cloak, a detail that I wouldn’t have remembered. We joined the queue of people inside of the Advanced Scouting and Commerce warehouse, waiting for them to sign off on a job well done. Miles was there personally to shake our hands, and we were invited back any time. Once all accounts were settled and papers signed, our troop of four headed through the south gate and into the city proper.
When I first entered Ice House, I wasn’t sure what I would find. I knew it to be a melting pot of sorts, and on that account I was proven correct. Predominantly, the city was populated by elves and humans in fairly even numbers. But sprinkled into the population was a fair number of every civilized race on Panos: Orcs of course, minotaurs, were-wolves, were-cats, halflings, lizardmen, and a host of other minor species. All of them bundled up against the cold, some of them looking wary, but nobody holding any obvious or open aggression towards me or each other… at least not in broad daylight or in the middle of Main Street.
What I was unprepared for was the architecture. The entire city was surrounded by icy mountain walls, save for the north and south gates which were hand-laid stone. As far as buildings went, there were four kinds of structures: Dusky gray stone mined from the mountain itself was a common building material for the older buildings. Lightly colored, almost white wood was the material of choice for the newer structures. Over a quarter of the city was, surprisingly, made of glass. The thick glass buildings (undoubtedly summoned by elven magic) were the basis of agriculture in Ice House, serving as the city’s greenhouses. Finally, ice itself was the most common building material on the outer edge of the city. Often these buildings were natural formations of some kind, and extended into the cave systems to the east and west of the city. The sheer amount of ice and glass gave Ice House its crystalline look and feel.
I looked around in wide-eyed wonder. It was more ice and snow than I had ever imagined. The beauty, the purity of it all was unreal to me. More than once I had to be guided and tugged along by my friends. In short, I looked like a tourist. But in that moment, I didn’t really care.
Just then, I swear that I heard Shaman’s voice in my head. ‘Is it wonderful?’
“Yeah.”
Rick paused to ask, “What was that Sorch?”
“Nothing.”
After walking down Main Street for ten minutes, we turned sharply and entered a narrow alley. A few moments later, our party approached the rear of one of the old stone buildings. The sign hanging above the door said, amusingly, ‘The Spastic Vole’. Toby was smiling toothily. Rick and Will were grinning as well. Clearly this was a fun place of some sort.
After having entered the establishment, I had to admit that I was a little confused. Clearly there was a tavern aspect to the place. People were drinking and having a good time at the stone bar just to the left of the entryway. As I was led farther into the room by my friends, I became even more puzzled. It looked like the right hand side of The Spastic Vole was a fully functional restaurant of some kind. The scent of wood fired bread rolls and fresh roasted rabbit assailed my nostrils in the most fantastic fashion. My friends ignored my pleas to try out the local fare, instead dragging me deeper into the room.
We passed through some heavy wool curtains. They were the only opening that allowed one through the wood and cloth privacy partitions that stretched from floor to ceiling. Clearly the intention was to deaden the noise in this area so that it didn’t reach the drinkers and diners near the front of house. This part of The Spastic Vole was less well lit. Only flickering torchlight guided us towards the back wall. We took a seat at one of the comfortable corner booths.
“I promise you Sorch, we can still order food here.” Will assured me.
Toby snorted. “You can order a lot here.”
Rick elbowed the big man. “Don’t ruin the surprise.”
“Fine, fine.”
“Seriously, you’ll scare poor Sorch, he’s never been to the big city.”
“Fine!”
I looked from the face of the minotaur, to that of the tall man, and finally settled on Will as the friendliest source of information. “Will. Why are there metal poles on that stage?”
He giggled. “Oh, well. You know, Sorch. They’re props for our live performances.”
I tilted my head. “What do you mean ‘our’ performances? You participate?”
My question cause Toby to snort and bellow out a helpless stream of laughter. Will started slapping his shoulder to try and get the minotaur to stop, to no avail.
As the small human tried and failed to calm the bull-man, Rick answered the question. “Not as such. Toby, Will, and myself are investors in this place. The main owner is our last adventuring partner, who I believe you’ll be meeting shortly.”
Will flagged down a waiter, declaring that the best way to shut up a minotaur was to stuff his face. Toby agreed. A round of fresh baked and buttered sage and thyme rolls appeared, followed by flagons of dark ale and a plate of roasted carrots and honey coated chicken legs. The food seemed to melt in my mouth. All due respect to Will and Rick’s cooking, but this was the best meal that I had ever eaten.
As I sopped up the honey-pepper gravy with the rest of my bread roll, there was a raucous cheer. I popped the remainder of the meal into my greedy maw, and then looked around to see what the cause of this commotion might be.
Up on the stage was a were-cat. I had seen a few in passing as we entered Ice House. They were exotic creatures. The ones we had passed didn’t make eye contact, instead cloaking their faces and moving quickly past. Then again, those creatures were more… heavily dressed than this one.
Rick slapped me on the shoulder. “Sorch, meet Ames!” He had to shout to be heard over the whooping and hollering.
Ames was dressed only in a thin gown of black cotton. The feline was covered in thick white fur from eartips, to tailtip, to toes. In addition to protecting the cat from arctic temperatures, it obscured any hint of Ames’ gender. The were-cat moved across the stage with the kind of lithe grace one would expect from a feline species. Each step was deliberate, firm black footpads meeting the polished wood of the stage with gentle precision. I stared, transfixed by the performance.
I had to ask, “Is Ames… I should say, what gender is-”
Toby cut the question off. “We don’t know. And amongst their people it is exceedingly rude to ask. There’s some ancient history involved best left to another time. They seem to know when confronted with another were-cat. But with others… let’s just say they’ll let you know if they want you to know.”
I nodded. For the moment it would remain a mystery.
Looking back up at the stage, I watched as the cat stalked up to one of the metal poles. Ames rubbed their cheek against the cold iron. Then the feline did something that made the audience whistle and shout. The cat slowly opened their maw and dragged that long pink tongue several inches up the polished metal rod.
Such a display was more overtly lewd than anyt
hing I had seen before. I wasn’t totally unexposed to sexual themes or expressions. When I was younger and times were better, there were nights with some of the unmated tribal girls. They definitely ‘educated’ me on the basics. But it was private, quiet. Nothing like this.
Ames scanned the room as they slowly circled the pole, one leg locked around it at the knee to serve as a pivot point. Will and Rick whistled and waved their arms. The cat’s visage brightened, and they inclined their head towards our table. I found myself on the receiving end of an intense stare, those deep emerald eyes seeming to drink me in. I felt like I was being hunted, for a brief moment.
The dancer finished that slow 180 degree turn. With their back facing the audience, a single sharp claw was extended, and the laces holding that flimsy cotton garment together were sliced. When it fell away there was more shouting from the audience of course. Ames’ fluffy white tail twitched and swayed above the fuzzy feline rump, which slowly shook and gyrated as the cat rubbed their body lewdly against the pole.
That was when I discovered that I loved pole dancing.
The rest of the dance was somewhat of a blur. I know that my jaw never fully closed, and I must have looked like either a country bumpkin or an idiot. Nobody seemed to mind though, particularly not Ames. At one point the feline locked eyes with me and resumed that intense stare, before slowly allowing their legs to part and sinking into a full side split. It certainly got a reaction out of me, and out of many others in the crowd as well. The dance ended shortly after, to a round of applause and catcalls.
Then, before I realized what was happening, Ames was walking over to join us. Far too late, I thought that maybe I should scoot in and make room. But the feline took the decision out of my hands. Without missing a beat, the exotic dancer slipped into my lap and wrapped those warm arms around my neck. “Why hello Toby, and Will, and Rick. I see you’ve brought me a chew toy, how thoughtful!”