Another Stupid Trilogy

by Bill Ricardi

  I said, “Shaman, the elven Eyes are coming. Whatever the Eyes see goes right back to the southern Elven Council. If they see that the Chief is involved in raising an undead army against them, that’s it. They’ll go to war with the orcs. And not just our tribe, since when other tribes see elves in our lands, they’re going to respond. The chieftain is starting a war.”

  Hemitath said, “If that’s the case Sorch, we need to move now. I’ve expended some of my power, but it doesn’t sound like there’s time to rest. The Eyes are relentless, they don’t care about terrain or armies. Nothing I say will sway the Council if they see the Jeywafa tribe complicit in this.”

  Shaman called over to the smart orcs, “Pack it all up. Got ten minutes, then we go.” There was a flurry of activity as books, papers, and personal items all got stuffed into backpacks and watertight sacks.

  Ames, ever practical, asked Hemitath, “What do you have left?”

  The old elven woman frowned. “I wasn’t expecting direct confrontation. I have some combat magic, but I was focused on obfuscation, communication. I thought we would be hiding and organizing for a couple of days. I never predicted this kind of brash escalation.”

  I murmured, “Well. That’s my fault.”

  Shaman and Hemitath looked to me for an explanation. I told them about my recent brush with death, and how that had apparently imprinted my memories into the stream of Negative Energy, giving it not only a focus, but specific spirits that it could summon.

  Hemitath shook her head. She said, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Sorch. If it wasn’t you, it would have been one of their own members doing it intentionally. At least this way we know what we’re dealing with. We know the terrain. It could have been much worse.”

  I didn’t really see how things could get much worse, but I wasn’t going to argue with Hemitath’s kind words. There was no benefit to anyone.

  Toby said, “Sorch. Use your scroll.”

  I frowned, “The jumpstart scroll? But what if-”

  The minotaur cut me off. “If we don’t have time to rest between now and then, and we’re going up against all that, I think that-”

  And I in turn cut my dear friend off. “You’re right, of course. You don’t save something for a rainy day in the middle of a typhoon.”

  I got the Enhance Intelligence scroll out of my pack. Hemitath made a lesson out of it, explaining to the orcish students how a scroll was a stored casting of a spell, with the material components already used and the power already invested. She explained that the special inks cost a lot of money and the creation of the scroll itself cost time. The apprentices watched in fascination as I read words from that unrolled parchment, and each letter and symbol seemed to burn from the paper. When I finished, I felt the surge the enhancement, magnified by my Amulet of Enhanced Enchanting. I wasn’t quite up to the point that I had been prior to casting my Conjure Minor Elemental spell, but at least I was better off.

  We headed out of the cave as a single unit. With four apprentice mages, Shaman, and Hemitath in tow, our group was ten strong… plus an emerald tree boa and a crazy flying lizard. Ames looked back at the group, half of them filthy, the apprentices looking lost and confused.

  “What could go wrong?” the were-cat asked before taking the usual ten pace lead. I stayed with the bulk of the party this time, Lizzy and Dutch making much more stealthy and alert guides and companions for the rogue. The snake cut through the low terrain easily, her tongue flicking out to better ‘taste-smell’ her surroundings. Lizzy saved her strength, simply staying perched on my love’s shoulder, her keen lacertilian eyes always scanning.

  We stopped when Ames did. The feline signaled that we could slowly creep up into the brush, which is what we did. Up ahead was the southern entrance to the village. There were a dozen guards on high alert, and not all of them were the typical orcish warriors I would have expected. In addition to the usual bashers were a couple of leather-clad clerics donning the warped holy symbol of Harrington. A cold fire seeped into my veins when I saw my people shoulder to shoulder with these evil men.

  Silently, we considered the situation. The terrain surrounding the village naturally funneled visitors towards a southerly approach. There was also an approach from the northwest, but it was narrow and usually heavily guarded. The western huts and tents lay against a low foothill, mostly occupied by bashers, traders, and the chieftain’s favorites. The eastern hovels were situated by a short but steep drop off into the swamp, and were occupied by the families and tradesmen of the tribe. The line of northern tents was where all of the ‘nobility’ was located: The Chief’s tent, Shaman’s tent, the hunt leaders, and a tent for honored guests.

  And sitting a few paces in front of the Chief’s tent was, of course, the Voodoo Engine. Normally there would be a ring of smart-orc bedrolls and makeshift rain shields surrounding it, but times had changed. With no need for orc mages to power the Engine, I expected that area to be fairly clear. Indeed, all I saw in the distance was four tiki torches marking the ‘safe zone’ around the artifact. Anyone drunk or stupid enough to wander inside would be pummeled by the bashers, or worse.

  We couldn’t get any closer without being seen, as there was simply no cover large enough to hide so many of us. In fact there was no cover that would hide even a single minotaur effectively. Hemitath gestured that she wanted to discuss the matter, so we wriggled our way back to a more safe distance.

  The elven archmage murmured, “I can use my Mass Camouflage spell to mask our presence, but it isn’t true invisibility. It makes us blend in with our surroundings. So we could move slowly. But really we need a distraction to make it effective.”

  Ames asked, “To what end though? Are we planning to sneak in and assassinate the Chief? And then somehow destroy the Arcane Syphon?”

  Shaman shook his head. “We turn all against us, we dead. Couple dozen bashers, Chief, rest of tribe, and whatever Voodoo Engine bring.”

  Toby said, “I don’t like those odds either. What do you propose instead?”

  Shaman shrugged. “I challenge Chief for tribe.”

  I hissed, “Are you insane? There are already clerics of the Duke infiltrating our ranks. Who knows what kind of power the Voodoo Engine can summon. Walking in there alone is suicide.”

  My oldest friend nodded, “Oh, I know. You comin’ with me.”

  I just stared at Shaman.

  He insisted, “Look, we got right to be dere. Bashers no look comfortable with foreigners around. I already gots some support in tribe. And while we make big scene, rest can sneak in.”

  I looked around. Some people were nodding. “No, no, please tell me you aren’t buying into his insanity? He’s becoming an old man, his brain is mostly muck and feathers.”

  Tara murmured, “Sorch, if he can divide the tribe, garner some support… we can get into position somewhere inside and be ready to strike when the time comes.”

  I groaned a little bit and stood up. “You’re going to get us both killed.” I accused my friend and mentor.

  Shaman rose as well. Lizzy flitted over to rest on his head. “Maybe. But at least won’t be boring.”

  Hemitath rolled into a crouch and took some finely crushed glass from her belt pouch. As Shaman and I walked north towards the village, the archmage’s chanting had already started.

  I said, “I can’t believe we’re doing this. How do you plan to beat him anyway?”

  Shaman snorted. “No plan to beat him. Just stall until you smart folk bail me out!”

  We walked up to the bashers patrolling at the edge of the village. The first one saw Shaman and just nodded, ready to step aside. The human next to him was less helpful, however.

  Harrington’s cleric shouted, “No visitors today! Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

  Shaman said, “Me live here, no visit.”

  One of the other bashers said, “You no live here no more, Chief say you go marry into some other tribe, make alliance. Not need you here no more.�
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  This sparked some spirited debate between the bashers who were sympathetic towards Shaman and everyone else. I just stood behind Shaman, hood pulled up and arms folded across my chest.

  One of the bashers that hadn’t picked a side pointed his spear at me. “Who dat?”

  Shaman said, quickly, “My bodyguard.”

  The same cleric that had started all this fuss walked over to me. “The lord Harrington has declared no visitors today!”

  I unfolded my arms, and then reached up as in if to draw back my hood. Instead I uncoiled with a right hook that caught the unsuspecting priest right in the forehead. He fell to the ground, dazed.

  I said, “Mind own business, human.”

  There was a chorus of laughter from everyone but the other cleric, who had drawn his mace and stepped towards me. One of the bashers reached out and grabbed the interloper’s shoulder, hard. He said, “Hey. He right. You two mind own business, dis tribe stuff.”

  The general murmur was very pro-orc and anti-human at that point. Shaman seized the moment and walked into the village. I folded my arms again and followed. Behind us there were threats and arguing, but none of it was directed towards us.

  In some ways, the village looked like a ghost town. I saw the occasional set of eyes peering out of one of the family tents, but nobody ventured forth into the main square. There were some bashers on patrol around the northern tents. Two more of Harrington’s clerics had emerged and were flanking the Voodoo Engine itself.

  I murmured to Shaman, “This isn’t my village.”

  My friend murmured back, “Bad things happen since you go. Bad people. But not so different. You just got eyes that more open now.”

  As we reached the center of the village, Harrington’s clerics took notice. So did the bashers. These warriors didn’t look nearly as friendly as the last batch. Shaman and I glanced at each other. Before they could get too close or too pokey, Shaman drew a deep breath and shouted:

  “CHIEF! ME CHALLENGE YOU FOR TRIBE!”

  I winced and ducked away from my screaming mentor for a moment.

  Everyone stopped walking towards us. The clerics looked at each other and started to discuss something. The bashers in front of us glanced over at the Chief’s tent, as if expecting it to be torn asunder in rage. Orc faces poked out of tents to our right and left, most of them wearing expressions of disbelief. But for a long while, nothing at all happened by means of a response.

  Shaman murmured, “You think he hear me?”

  I said, “I think the damned elves in the eastern forest heard you.”

  Finally, the Chief opened the flaps to his tent. His pale green face had been streaked with war paint, showing red and black in the afternoon sun. The saw-toothed two handed sword that he was fond of using was still sheathed across his back. His salt and pepper hair fluttered freely in the slight breeze. The vicious orc took his time, turning his back to us in order to button the tent flap back up. It was as in if we meant nothing at all to him. But as intimidating as that might seem, I got another message entirely.

  I nudged Shaman in the ribs and murmured, “He’s stalling.”

  Shaman snorted a little. “We stalling too. Our stall better than his stall?”

  It was a damned fine question that my friend posed. I just hoped that our surprise would be the better one.

  The Chief slowly padded out towards the Voodoo Engine. “Shaman. You come back. Thought me send you out to find wife in other tribe. Make us allies.”

  Shaman said, “Oh me do dat. Find nice one. Northern bride. You would like.”

  The Chief ran his gnarled fingers over the stone and metal surface of his prize artifact. “Then why you here bother me? You should be up north. Make little orc. Maybe pecker no work and she send you back?”

  There was a round of raucous laughter from the assembled bashers. Harrington’s priests made their way over to the Voodoo Engine, just as the Chief was stepping around it.

  Shaman waited for the laughter to die out before he replied. “Know you rather talk about pecker all day, but me wonder why you let human run village now?”

  The Chief snarled at the accusation. A quiet settled over the warriors very quickly. “Dey don’t run squat. Me make deal with Harrington, you not smart enough to get dat. We trade some time with Voodoo Engine for gold. For army to crush elf! When through, me be a god-king. Me lead tribe to glory. Instead of all dis power, what you offer tribe?”

  Shaman took a moment to consider that very question. Or maybe he was just stalling some more. Either way, the next words out of my friend’s mouth were inspired ones:

  “Freedom. Bashers no want serve some demon worshiped by deeze human scum. They no want honor earned by fight alongside zombie and skeleton. Dere no glory in dat. Basher want hunt biggest game. People want serve chief with heart beating in chest, not demon fire and rotten flesh. Other tribe want ally who put orc first. Put life first. Not one who make deal with devils.”

  This time it was Shaman’s words that drew a reaction from many of the bashers. They yelped and cheered, raising spears and swords in support. The Chief cast his gaze towards those who would oppose him. He found only hatred staring back.

  The Chief called out, “Grenth!”

  Out of the tent next to Chief’s came a tall, lanky looking orc. Grenth was the tribe’s ‘emissary’, and had been for many years. He would be sent off on supposedly diplomatic missions and often not return for weeks at a time. I had long suspected the evil, antisocial brute to be the Chief’s assassin. The wicked club he carried had a massive alligator’s tooth embedded in the head. It was perfect for splitting open skulls and otherwise ending intertribal disputes.

  The Chief pointed. “Grenth my second in challenge. Who yours?”

  I cleared my throat. “I am Sha-”

  “I AM SHAMAN’S SECOND!”

  I knew that voice.

  Ames appeared from a smudge in space directly next to Shaman, the visual effect courtesy of the Mass Camouflage spell being broken. My feline mate laid a paw protectively on my orcish friend’s shoulder.

  Shaman had to think on his feet. “Uhh, yes. I summon Great Cat of the North as second! Anyone who interfere get eaten, and soul freeze forever.”

  I hissed, “Ames! What in the hells are you doing?!”

  The were-cat rumbled, low, “Change of plans. Benno needs you.”

  Ames’ tail flicked, the tip pointing off to our right. I followed the line visually, until I saw a pair eyes peering from one of the family tents to our east.

  I walked over to the tent in question, as in if clearing the field of battle for the upcoming challenge. I stopped just outside and fixed my eyes on the clerics meditating by the Voodoo Engine. A small hand reached out from the tent flap and touched my hip.

  ‘Sorch, I can get you inside Voodoo Engine.’

  I frowned, watching the challenge ceremony unfold as the boy spoke into my mind. I formed words in my head, the same way one would respond to Max’s Message.

  ‘What do you mean inside?’ I thought.

  Benno sent, ‘The Engine is here, but is not here too. I can get you to be not here.’

  I tried to remember my studies on magical items. Here but not here? Then I recalled my conversation with Assistant Donnelly. Did the boy mean…

  ‘The Astral Plane? You can put me with the Voodoo Engine’s Astral presence? How does that help?’

  Now the lad sounded annoyed within my mind. ‘Auntie say that how they get made. Maybe you unmake from there? You say engine is run by demon thing, dis how you find out. Gotta touch you and Engine at same time to get there.’

  As I watched the clerics touching the artifact, I went over the options in my head. Hemitath was probably the most experienced person alive when it came to the Arcane Syphons. They were likely created with a combination of engineering, arcane, divine, and psychic power. If she thought this was a good idea, well, I certainly didn’t have a better one. And Assistant Donnelly did mention that combat
could be undertaken at the Astral level. It was worth a try.

  I thought, ‘We need to wait for the right moment. Stay close.’

  I half expected Benno to clutch tightly to my leg, but the hand withdrew. I had spent so much time around humans, it was easy for me to forget that the lad was a teenager in human terms. He would start to court females, and in some cases males, of his own age within the next year or so. He would take on adult responsibilities and an adult body soon after. It was hard to think of Benno as someone who could have a family of his own in the next 2 years, but that was the case. I made a mental note to treat him more like Leeson, and expect similar reactions despite his physical size.

  Shaman and the Chief had been going through the formal declarations of the challenge. This consisted of reciting accomplishments, wealth acquired, battles won, and the like. But once again, the Chief seemed content to slow down the process. He went into far too much detail. Even his own loyal bashers were looking bored. These stalling tactics continued until one of the priests of Harrington walked away from the Voodoo Engine to whisper in the Chief’s ear.

  The brutish orc chieftain smiled toothily. “But biggest thing me gots is power. New friends show you army we gots on our side. You decide if worthy.”

  A low, growling hum sounded from the Voodoo Engine. Heavy mist surrounded the village, and with it the sensation of oppression, of imprisonment. Suddenly the guards standing at the northwest entrance to the village staggered backwards, as if they had seen a ghost. That wasn’t far off the mark, as it turned out.

  Out of the unnatural fog stepped a familiar, unwelcome figure. Undeath had been kind to him. The Necromancer’s nose had been fully repaired when the Voodoo Engine pulled him back from the hells where he deservedly resided. The pale and slightly rotten elf had an intact neck, rather than the one that had been perforated by Ames. There were no signs of the ritual burning that Toby had performed. Other than an increased pallor of death, this was the same creature that nearly killed my mate.

  As the risen Necromancer shuffled deeper into the village, the Chief continued, “So why should allow challenge, me ask? Shaman make kitty cat. I make lord of death. He got bodyguard. Me got army. This not real challenge. Maybe just let new friends take care of pest.”