Another Stupid Trilogy

by Bill Ricardi

  Knowing that the thinner creature was a spellcaster, Peter disengaged from his maimed foe, who was limping hard and would be unable to follow. He chanted a prayer that sounded familiar to me. Soon the dying stalks had their revenge. The druid’s Tangling Plants surged from the soil, no longer limp and helpless. They coiled about the thin fungus walker, immobilizing it.

  Ames took their foe’s leg, while at the same time Bruce sacrificed a blow to his left forearm in order to cleanly behead his opponent. But neither could rest. The wounded human charged towards the wounded fungus walker before it could hobble too close to our concentrating druid. Ames, seeing me retreating to check on our son, triggered the Ring of Leaping. The feline landed on the partially frozen creature’s back, hacking away with claws and short sword. It flailed, elbow swinging back to catch the were-cat in the ribs. Ames continued the assault despite, or perhaps because of, the pain.

  I lost track of what was happening, having to turn my back on the battle. I fell to my knees when I found Benno. Blood was streaming from his mouth, and he was coughing. I immediately came to the conclusion that he was suffering from a punctured lung, having seen it before when Ames had been run through. But when I reached down, the younger orc just looked annoyed and slapped my hands away.

  “Mah vit nye vun.”

  Hearing Benno able to talk sent a surge of relief through my body. I stood quickly and offered him a hand. “What was that boy?”

  He spat more blood and tried again as I hauled him back to his feet, “Ah bit mah tongue.”

  We rushed back towards the clearing, but the battle was all-but over. Ames had cut the frozen creature’s throat from ear to ear, and was limping over to deliver the coup de grace to the one legged fungus walker that they stranded earlier. Bruce, quite viciously, maimed the opposite hip of the foe that our druid has slashed up earlier. Even with one arm wounded and bleeding, it was no match. The human split open the creature’s mushroom laden skull, and then grimly stalked over to the spellcaster, who was helpless to break free of Peter’s actively channeled Tangling Plants incantation.

  After all of the creatures were dispatched, we took stock of our own condition. Hierophant Petrinoth’s assessment was: “That could have gone better.”

  Ames had broken at least one rib on the right side, and bruised a shoulder on the left. Bruce’s left forearm was mangled in a nasty looking blunt cut, where the skin was both split and bruised. Benno’s breastbone was sore, and he bit his tongue hard enough in the fall that his spellcasting wasn’t assured.

  The first thing Benno wanted to be sure of is that his Amulet of Enhanced Enchanting hadn’t been damaged. I assured him that it was in better condition than his face. A Minor Healing incantation from Peter was all that it took to get my son speaking properly again. His chest was still sore, but he would live.

  Human and were-cat also received Minor Healing in order to stop the most intense pain and bleeding. They seemed disappointed when Petrinoth told them to bandage the afflicted areas using the poultice that he provided. Without more healing, the two would be fairly limited in future engagements.

  What we didn’t know was that the druid was just getting started. Peter called the human over first. He laid a palm on the medicated bandage and started to chant. The expression on Bruce’s face when the incantation ended was somewhere between amazement and disgust. The fidgeting began almost immediately.

  “Don’t take it off.” said the druid, dryly, when the human’s hand crept towards his bandage.

  Ames got the same treatment, Hierophant Petrinoth’s small hand pressed over my were-cat’s ribs while the leathers were still off. The feline started to squirm, paws clenching in order to muster enough self control. I could tell that my mate wanted to tear that bandage right off.

  Peter explained, “Your flesh and bones are knitting themselves back together. The odd sensations shall pass. It’s a side effect of the Regeneration, but within minutes the area will be numb. Within ten you’ll forget you were wounded at all. Within an hour, it will be like your injury never happened, no matter how ugly it might have seemed.”

  While we waited for the Regeneration to take a deeper hold, Peter and I scouted ahead. On the Northeast side of the scarred clearing, we discovered furrows in the earth, getting deeper as they led into the partially withered corn field.

  When we returned, I let the others know what was happening. “Trenches. Stretching out into the field, bordering on the foothills. Hierophant Petrinoth and I think that if we follow them, we’ll have our source of… strange fungus people.”

  I reached down to help Ames out of a low crouch, but the feline brushed my hand aside gently. I watched in wonder as the were-cat stood, free of pain. Similarly, Bruce was flexing his once-horribly-injured arm, clenching and unclenching his fist. My esteem for advanced druidic healing increased sevenfold.

  I checked in on Benno, asking, “Can you talk?”

  He responded, primly, “If I so choose.”

  The five of us walked through the clearing, Peter’s Heat Vision prayer giving us the confidence to move through the dead, trampled vegetation without fear of falling prey to an ambush. At the Northeast edge of the zone of death, we walked into the gully that was once obfuscated by the cornfield. As more healthy plants started to rise around us, the trench deepened. Soon the raw earth was surrounding us. The trench was three paces wide and two deep.

  Hierophant Petrinoth sounded upset as he murmured, “The fungus walkers simply don’t do this sort of thing. They normally don’t come anywhere near the surface world, nevermind act out in a malicious manner against surface races.”

  None of us could come up with an explanation for Peter. Somehow, I doubted the truth would give him much solace given the death toll that had already been charged.

  The trench made a sharp right turn, heading directly towards the foothills. We saw two hulking figures about a dozen paces out. Hip to hip, the large fungus walkers virtually blocked the entire width of the trench. There was frantic activity going on behind them. But all we could see was that pair of mushroom-headed behemoths, easily taller than any minotaur I’d ever seen.

  Ames led with a shot from their hand crossbow. The little projectile didn’t do a lot of damage, but it did force the huge fungus walker to step up or get slowly picked apart.

  Bruce and Ames didn’t shy away from the confrontation. Our recently injured front line waded in, each hugging the opposite side of the trench, using the earthen wall as partial cover as they approached the outside range of the giant fungus walkers’ reach.

  Seeing that Benno was having an issue getting a clean line of sight, Peter reached out and grasped my son’s shoulder. He took some webbing from his pouch, similar to what the two of us used to cast our Spider’s Web spell. But when the druid’s prayer was over, Benno’s eyes went wide. I’m sure there was some psychic communication between the two that I wasn’t privy to. All I know is that my son was soon scaling the side of the trench like an arachnid. His green hands and booted feet seemed to be able to stick to the walls at will. Upside down, but with a higher perspective, my son took out a patch of fur and an amber wand before starting to chant.

  I was a bit annoyed, as a badly aimed Lightning Bolt could have started a wildfire up above. But I trusted that my boy had a plan that would have prevented that eventuality. Perhaps I was just frustrated because the limitation of ‘no fire’ forced me into a rather different repertoire. And since I wasn’t about to use Ebon Chains of Binding on one of those things, I started to cast my last effective combat spell.

  The creatures held their ground. They seemed less interested in our demise, and more interested in being an effective barrier. The leftmost fungal foe lashed out with the back of their fist, attempting to make Bruce become one with the earthen wall. The human hopped back, narrowly avoiding the tremendous blow. He retaliated with a strong riposte, digging a small hole in the knuckle of his foe’s hand. It hardly noticed. Ames’ giant reached out to grab and crush the
cat. The feline deftly dodged away from the edge of the trench, hacking at the fungus walker’s wrist with that wicked little short sword. The creature quickly withdrew its hand, reassessing the wisdom of that approach.

  The guts in my hand melted into green ichor, which formed the bolts of acid that leapt towards the fungal giant that Ames was fighting. They burned into the creature’s left shoulder, melting through mushrooms and flesh and scarring bone. It didn’t scream, though the injured arm hung uselessly by its side. I allowed the drain to peck away at my mind, before shoring up my mental reserves. Shortly after, Benno’s Lightning Bolt struck the chest of Bruce’s opponent. The big creature jerked and shuddered in place. Now it moved more slowly, swinging with less power and conviction.

  I was about to scold my son for firing off a Lightning Bolt so close to our ally. But then I remembered Bruce’s enchanted armor. My boy could have fired directly through the human and Bruce would have remained unharmed. Tactically, Benno seemed to be one step ahead of me.

  Our elf decided to be nimble. Having waited until Benno finished casting, Peter used my son as a ladder of sorts, grabbing the well-anchored orc and pulling himself up. He scrambled up to the lip of the trench and raced past the area that was clogged by our two giants. It looked like he wanted to see what we were about to walk into.

  Even though it seemed like our front line had matters well in hand, my son scrambled forward like a spider along the trench wall. When he was just above and behind Bruce, the younger orc squeezed a small waterskin and performed his brief incantation. His second Fan of Frost caught the fungus walker in the face, blinding it.

  That was all the opening Bruce needed. He pounced forward and lashed out with his wicked looking tulwar, cutting clean through the creature’s ankle. It tumbled over silently. The next dismemberment involved head from shoulders, normally the final word in such a conflict.

  Ames was dancing around at the very edge of the fungus walker’s range. Having only one arm left to swipe or grab with, the only thing it could do effectively was hold the were-cat back, suffering minor stabs and cuts all the while. But when Bruce joined in, the battle was over swiftly. The two skilled combatants picked apart their wounded foe in seconds. Ames’ short sword found the base of its skull, and it stopped moving.

  There was a horrific clattering and rumbling from up ahead that shook the ground beneath our feet. It felt like an earthquake. For a moment I feared that the walls of our trench would collapse upon the four of us. But as suddenly as it started, the noise and the shaking stopped. We rushed forward to see what happened around the next bend.

  We saw Petrinoth standing in front of a pile of dirt and stones at the side of the foothill. It looked like half the hillside had slid down, exposing raw earth to the night air where once there was grass.

  Peter cursed roundly in Elvish, or at least that was my guess from the general tone. He said, “The rest retreated into a cave and took out the entrance. Look for a gap, we need to find out why… why all of this has come about.”

  Ames did find a gap, but it was only about the size of a cannonball. Still, the druid was pleased.

  “I can turn into a ferret and get in there.”

  The rest of us traded glances. It was Ames who spoke up, “You don’t know what’s down there. It might be suicidal.”

  The elf held up both hands, in a gesture intended to stop further objections. He said, “I won’t be doing anything brave, I assure you. I want to slip in, see if I can find any signs of why these normally peaceful folks would turn to violence, and slip back out. If I see anything dangerous in there, I’ll scamper back right away. If something goes wrong, if there’s a further collapse, I’ll wait on the other side. As I’ve heard told, Sorch has used the Stone Shape spell to heroic ends in the past. He can make a ferret-sized hole if need be.”

  I considered the plan. He would be alone. But as a druid, he was best equipped to handle the situation. “I can at that. We’ll rest here. If you’re not back in an hour, we’ll assume that we need to camp and prepare the right spells for a rescue. I’ll send you a Max’s Message before we bed down, to make sure we have assessed things correctly.”

  Peter nodded. He said, “Your enhanced vision will be wearing out soon enough. Assuming you’ll need your Light spells to read, stay in the trench and you should be well enough concealed.”

  With that, the druid started to shrink in place. Unlike the were creatures that I’ve seen transform, this was far less ‘messy’. There was no crackling of bone or slide of sinew and muscle. There wasn’t any fear of ripped or lost clothing. Hierophant Petrinoth and everything he owned simply melted away, until only a ferret remained. The little creature chittered and dook-dooked at us before scampering up to the narrow gap in the caved-in rocks. Then he was gone.

  Bruce said, “Druids ain’t right in th’ head, are they?”

  I thought back to my experiences with Shaman. I replied, “Nope. Not even close.”

  We made our camp inside of the trench, just in front of the collapsed area. Even though I wasn’t as effective in combat as I had hoped to be, I could still provide aid and comfort to my party. The cast iron pot made an appearance, giving us heat and a healthy meal after our exertions. Potato, turnip, and salted mackerel stew was on the menu. When we were done, I made coffee for Ames and Bruce, just in case the were-cat and human had to watch over Benno and I, should we need to memorize a suite of spells and mount a rescue.

  As the warrior and my mate were drinking and chatting, I noticed my son sitting on his own, staring off into the distance. Our enhanced vision chose that moment to fail. I murmured a Light cantrip, centering the radius on my cooling Pot of Heating. That left my son just on the edge of the field of light. I ambled over to sit by his side.

  “Copper for your thoughts?”

  He grumbled and looked away.

  I tilted my head and asked, “Are you still sore about the thing with Rick? I said i was sorry.”

  The younger orc turned towards me so he could snarl, “Go ‘way. Me no talk like dis.”

  In that moment, I saw everything that was present in my own mind contained within my son. The pride. The anger. The passion. The inner strength. Everything that tribal life followed by unexpected opportunity could forge in a young man.

  I reached out and stroked my boy’s hair. I assured him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Frustrated tears rolled down his cheeks. He hated this level of drain, and I could tell that the boy had pushed himself right to the limit. My hatred for Glogur's curse paled in comparison to Benno’s. And in times like these, the unfairness sat in my son’s guts and festered. We talked about it before, and I said the same thing then that I did this time:

  “Talk to me. Tell me a story.”

  I noticed Ames glancing over. Those emerald green eyes showed recognition of the situation before looking away. My mate knew that this was an orc thing.

  Benno growled and ducked away from my head petting. “No.”

  I took off my gloves and reached out again, this time to rub away the wet, salty trail of tears with a calloused thumb. “Yeah. Tell me about your new boyfriend.”

  That shocked him out of his self pity. After a speechless moment, he asked, “How you know?”

  “A father knows.”

  Benno hesitated, then he said, “Can’t say lots. Promise not to. His family and job not know.”

  I nodded, wiping my boy’s cheeks dry with my hands.

  He continued, “He older. Real smart human. Gots good job. Kinda shy. But real cuddly.”

  Just to avoid any misunderstanding I asked, “And not currently mated or married to anyone else, right?”

  The younger orc snorted and punched my shoulder lightly. “Not Rick, Dad! And no, not mated.”

  Trusting that he would understand that I didn’t want to hear about bedroom antics, I asked, “What do you do together?”

  Benno’s eyes got distant. “Long walk. Study. He like art, we go see art. Stuff and
things.”

  I smiled, making sure that my son knew that I approved of his happiness. I asked, “When do I get to meet him?”

  The younger orc hesitated. His hesitation was rewarded.

  Bruce called out, “He’s back.”

  A ferret entered our camp. I slipped the Silk Gloves of Secrecy back on, before we all stood and walked over.

  We watched the creature. And waited.

  Ames said, “Maybe this isn’t him. Maybe this is just a normal ferret. Staring at us. Like we’re idiots.”

  There was another moment of uncomfortable silence, and within that moment we contemplated the possibility that Ames was right.

  But soon after, the little creature grew and took the shape of a small, but intact, elven druid.

  Peter took a deep breath, then he said, “Sorry, I was just catching my breath. There was a lot of scurrying. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll try to define exactly what I saw.”

  The druid described the winding caverns deep underneath the foothills of Tatertown. When he descended significantly, he started to see signs.

  “The caverns that the fungus walkers likely called ‘home’ had been devastated. Some kind of earth elemental had been at work, deep underground. It stirred up the trouble, forcing the fungal creatures out of their traditional territory. For some reason they blamed us, and took to the surface so that they could retaliate.”

  I said, “They might not be entirely incorrect. If Omi-Suteth was right, the recent environmental disturbances are partly the fault of the gods, and partly our fault. Though who knows, perhaps the fungus people also have some blame in the matter. They’re part of the mortal realm too.”