Threadbare Volume 1

by Andrew Seiple

  “Tell me ya got to level ten,” Jarrik begged Beryl, who nodded, sweaty-faced, bruised all up and down her side, but with a big grin.

  “I did. I can get us out of here.”

  “Oh, give me that tigerseye, will you?” Garon asked Celia. “Quest’s done.”

  She handed it to him, then hugged the fat youth tightly. “Thank you.”

  “Eh. Most of our loot’s gone. Except some small gems, and a few of magic items we’ll have to turn in so there’s no point in getting attached.” He scooped up an armload of weapons and armor. “Let’s go. Experience is its own reward, looks like.”

  “Divine Transit!” Beryl said, and the world blurred around Threadbare...

  ...and instantly, they were back at the beginning of the dungeon.

  “Oh this is gonna make things so much easier,“ Beryl grinned. “Thanks, guys. Good party.”

  “Good party,” Celia agreed. Level eleven! In one day she’d gone up four levels! And that wasn’t even counting her gains as a scout, and an enchanter. She was so close to her level five skills there she could taste it...

  ...but it was time to go. Night had fallen while they were up there, a trip that was supposed to take perhaps half the day gone way late, due to Threadbare’s unexpected fall.

  They walked out of the entrance, and headed back to the gatehouse. It was shut once more, and the guards were on the dungeon side of the gate, now. Atop the gatehouse, a man dressed in blue robes, with a bushy beard, stared down at them.

  “Halt and surrender your unregistered magic items,” the guards demanded.

  “Sure. It’s a good haul, the Crown should be happy,” Garon said, offering the collection from the chest one by one. “Come on, get his little cape too,” he reminded Celia.

  Forlorn, she handed over the Paws Button cape, the dagger, and the Static Rod. “I think that’s it.”

  “We’re done here too,” Beryl said, after checking with the brothers. Come on—”

  “Analyze Magic,” The old man in the gatehouse window said. Then his eyes narrowed. “Check the bear.”

  “What? No!” Celia said. “He’s not a magic item, he’s a golem, that’s all.”

  “Yes, and there’s something in him that’s registering,” said the wizard.

  “Don’t—” Then one of the guards tore Threadbare from Celia’s arms. He fought back, but the armored man ignored his attacks, squeezing each part of him, compressing the stuffing. Red zeroes flew upward as he swiped at the guard, to no avail.

  “Something inside him,” The guard said, then Threadbare shuddered as the man casually tore his side open, and a red ‘120’ floated up into the air.

  Your Golem Body skill is now level 19!

  Your Toughness skill is now level 11!

  Max HP +2

  “Don’t you rip him up—” The other guard moved past Threadbare’s field of vision, halberd leveled, and he heard Beryl shouting.

  And the guard holding him pulled out the scepter. A tiny golden thing, with a teddy bear’s head on it.

  The shouting stopped, replaced by stunned disbelief.

  “There it is,” said the wizard. “Trying to smuggle out items, hm? Trying to cheat the Crown?”

  Threadbare feebly grabbed for the scepter, and the guard tossed him aside. Jarrik just managed to catch him, before he went over the edge of the cliff.

  LUCK +1

  “Mend! Mend! Mend! Mend!” Celia shouted, and Threadbare was mostly whole again. He leaped out of Jarrik’s arms and squared himself, glaring at the guards, standing between the one with the halberd and his girl.

  “I don’t know why you decided to break the law over such a small trinket,” said the guard holding the scepter, “but it makes no difference. You are under arrest, for smuggling. Come quietly and be tried for your crime or resist and die here, it’s your choice.”

  CHAPTER 13: WHEN BAD IDEAS COLLIDE

  Mordecai approached Caradon’s house with caution, caution that turned into concern, as he stepped out of the woods. Half the windows were broken, one wall was covered with holes, and the yard was filled with bloodstains and fur. Mordecai knelt down, looked at it. “Manticore?” he gasped in disbelief. Then the old scout remembered what he’d taught so many others, and stepped back into cover, fading into the trees as he activated his camouflage. Wind’s Whisper, he thought, and the skill activated. “Caradon, ya in there? Give me a sign if it’s safe ta come in,” Mordecai mouthed.

  After a pause, a bedsheet waved from one of the upper story windows.

  Mordecai walked into the lower room. The table was on the floor, legs shattered, and the chairs were scattered kindling. A glass picture frame lay shattered and spiderwebbed on the table remnants. All the pictures and trinkets on the mantle lay scattered about, and the floor around the fireplace was scorched so badly that he could see the basement through it. Smoke filled the air.

  Emmet was nowhere to be seen.

  The stairs looked broken, gaping gaps where some steps should be, and jagged nailed boards sticking up from impact craters. Emmet had done that, Mordecai could tell.

  “Run Silent,” Caradon shouted from upstairs.

  “Run Deep!” Mordecai shouted back. “What the hell, Caradon?”

  “Get upstairs!”

  Mordecai leaped, caught the upper railing, and flipped himself over, hatchet out and ready for trouble. Then he relaxed. Nobody but the old man was up here, his senses told him. And two things moving clumsily, one big and one tiny. Animi or golems, and the big one was Emmet.

  “Invite Golem,” he heard Caradon mutter, as he entered the old man’s room. Books lay strewn all over the place, one of the windows was broken, manticore spines were embedded in the wall across from the window, and Caradon turned to him with a sigh, putting down his cards. “Still not responding to that,” Caradon explained, beaming. “Probably intelligence related. She can’t read or speak, I bet that’s why!” The golem maker said, standing and waving his hands. His clothing was torn, his apron hanging askew.

  “What happened?”

  “I succeeded.” Caradon smiled. “I succeeded.” He pointed at a tiny black teddy bear, who waved back and showed him her cards.

  “A grindluck deck? What...” Mordecai’s eyes went wide.

  “She came out with minimal luck. That’s what caused all this. Worse than an infant’s, worse than a goblin’s. But she’s up to about twenty-five now. We’ll keep working on that, won’t we Missus Fluffbear?”

  “That’s Amelia’s old... bear...” Mordecai blinked.

  “Yes. And she works. They’re people, Mordecai. They can gain stats, and I’m pretty sure they can gain class levels.”

  “Going by tha last teddy bear you made, yeah, yeah they can.”

  “Oh, did he pick up something? That’s nice,” Caradon said. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and I need you to stand guard.”

  “Did he pick up something? What are ya talkin’ about? You mean you didn’t give him tha rul...” Mordecai froze. “Wait, guard? What are you—”

  “It works. And I know what I did wrong. I’m going to give Emmet the upgrade, I’ve got just enough sanity left for that.”

  Mordecai froze. “Caradon...”

  “He’s a superior golem, Toy Golems are at the bottom of the chain. Armor golems will surely have superior luck!”

  “Caradon—”

  “These are our hopes and dreams, Mordecai! Moreso than we ever planned! It’s a chance, it’s our only chance, and every minute I delay is a minute that the King’s forces draw around us! Balmoran has fallen, Mordecai, and this is our only hope! This is Celia’s only hope!” Cardon’s fist hit the table.

  Missus Fluffbear tried to give him more cards.

  “What? No, thank you.” Caradon said, momentarily distracted. He turned back to the old scout. “Look, we can handle this.”

  “This is a bad idear,” Mordecai said.

  “I’m low on sanity, just enough for the upgrade, but I’ve got
ten years worth of spare scrolls downstairs. You stand guard, I’ll chip in if necessary, and Emmet will grind his luck through fighting or cards. We can do this. I just spent the day doing it, and this was a worst-case scenario. Help me, Mordecai. Please, help me.”

  “It’s a bad idear, ya. Didn’t say I wasn’t gonna do it. We come this far on bad idears, why stop now?” Mordecai sighed, pulling out his bow. “Dark as a witch’s asscrack out there, but I should be able to hear most things comin’. Lemme go get them scrolls for ya. Where are they?”

  “Downstairs in my study. A book entitled Keep an Ace in the Hole.”

  “I’ll go get them for ya, then set up on the roof. Good luck, old man.”

  “You too, old man.”

  Mordecai leaped down to the floor below, as Caradon thundered behind him.

  “Greater Golem Upgrade!”

  The book was empty. Mordecai stared at the hollow space where a bunch of scrolls had once been.

  “Caradon!” he shouted.

  Then the first lightning bolt struck the house, as the storm built overhead.

  *****

  Lightning rumbled, far off, and Celia shivered. There wasn’t enough warmth in the cell. The little girl had never been in jail before, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  Ten feet by ten feet wide, it held a bedroll in one corner, and a chamber pot that smelled like it had been changed a few years ago. Though Celia desperately needed to pee, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, even if the boys had promised to turn their backs.

  The cold stone walls were only a little warmer than the snowy mountains a few feet outside, and the bars set high in the wall looked out over a sheer drop. They’d thought of pushing Threadbare out of them and sending him to get help, but even with his stuffed form and the benefits of Golem Body, there was no way he’d survive the fall.

  The guards had shut them in here and left them. Nobody guarded the dark hallway beyond, lit by a single glowstone hanging from a chain. The guards hadn’t even bothered taking their equipment, except for Threadbare’s confiscated scepter. At first they thought it had been an oversight, but as an hour crawled by and Jarrik wondered for the seventh time why that was so, Garon voiced the truth of the matter;

  “The guards don’t care. We can’t take them on even with our stuff.”

  “We didn’t even try,” Jarrik shook his head.

  “Yeah, because it’d be suicide. They’re knights for sure, and did you see how Threadbare was wailing on that one? He was doing decent damage to the Dungeon Boss. But it was all zeroes on the guard, he had to be double his level if he was a day, or that magical armor was stupid tough, or both. And with a wizard up out of our reach? No, we would’ve died.”

  “That one guard hurt poor Threadbare more than the dungeon boss too,” Celia added. “In one hit, anyway, and he wasn’t even trying.”

  “Guards ain’t usually this buff,” Bak’Shaz said.

  “Aye,” Beryl frowned. “They go off duty in town and get into bar fights, and they’re not that hot. They’re decent, but not that badass.”

  “Goes back ta what I was saying before,” Jarrik put his arm around Beryl, and leaned back against the cold wall as he considered. “Something’s goin’ on. High-level guards out here, dragon riders comin’ inta the barracks, closed dungeons... I don’t like this. This ent good.”

  “And they planted a magic item on poor Threadbare!” Celia hugged him tightly. “Why?”

  The little golem tried to gesture and explain that no, he’d had that to begin with, and he was quite sorry because it had slipped his mind, but Celia just thought he was squirming and put him down.

  “We could send him through the bars,” Beryl nodded to the darkened corridor. “See what he could find.”

  “No! You saw how that one guard tore him up like he was... just a... just a thing!” Celia was horrified. “If they catch him out there they won’t think twice about killing him!”

  “It might be our only option,” Garon said. “Besides, he can handle himself. He fell into certain death and walked out of that hidden dungeon area with two new jobs.”

  “Three if you count tailor,” Bak’shaz offered.

  “Look, I got this, maybe.” Beryl said. “Let me talk with Aeterna. Ask her for advice.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Jarrik brightened up. “Yeah, good idea.”

  The little cleric closed her eyes, cupped her hands, and chanted. “Pray to Aeterna!”

  The children, and Threadbare, leaned in to watch Beryl as her lips moved, silently.

  They were hoping for divine intervention. They didn’t get that. No, not at all.

  *****

  Anise’s heels clicked as her boots hit the stone floor. The corridor was dark, lit only by a single glowstone. She approached the bars, taking no effort to hide the sound of her approach.

  “Someone’s coming,” She heard one of the half-breeds whisper.

  “Shh! Don’t interrupt Beryl!” The girl whispered back.

  “It’s all right, I’m done. She said say yes.”

  “What?”

  “The goddess said say—”

  Anise moved into the pool of light just outside the cell. “Oh dear, such a misunderstanding.” She looked down at the little golden scepter in her hands, and looked back to Celia. “Would you and your little friends like to go free?”

  There was a long pause. The dwarven godlicker slapped her forehead. “Yes!” she said.

  “Come along then.” Anise took out a slender key and unlocked the cell door, then unlocked the door to the rest of the keep. The children filed out, cautiously, save for Threadbare who marched up and pointed at his scepter. She handed it to him with a closed-mouth smile, and patted his head, before moving further into the keep.

  They followed her through empty halls, past abandoned rooms and arrow slits letting in nothing but darkness and the cold night’s air. The wind howled down the hallways as they went, playing an odd sort of tune entirely by accident. Anise sneered to herself as she felt the tension build behind her. The glowstones were few and far between here, leaving large pools of darkness between them, and she felt almost at home.

  It was one of the half-orcs that broke the tension. “Where are all the guards?” The fat one asked.

  “Gone,” Anise replied. “Seven of them went to go seal this dungeon for good. The rest are headed to town. There’s a small matter to take care of tonight.”

  “Seal the dungeon? What?” The godlicker gasped, her ridiculous braids swaying as she stomped up to walk alongside Anise. “You can’t do that!”

  “Me? No. The guards? Yes,” Anise said. “King’s orders. As is the business with the town.”

  “Business with the town? What business with the town?” The tall half-breed with the bow moved up to flank Anise on her other side.

  Anise halted, and nodded to a thick wooden door. “There’s the exit. I trust you can find your way home?” She opened it, letting a sliver of moonlight into the darkness.

  “What business with the town?” The tall green one insisted, moving towards her, pushing away the fat one’s cautioning hand.

  Anise ignored him, walked past him to kneel by Celia. “Thank you so much for trusting me,” she said, icy blue eyes staring into the girl’s own green orbs. “I won’t forget it. We’re going to sort matters out with Caradon, and then your long nightmare will be over. We will do what we must, and then I will help you, Cecilia. I will help you become who you were meant to be.”

  “Nightmare?” Celia blinked, staring uneasily at the pale white arm, almost shining in the moonlight, and the bloody hue of the scarlet nails on her shoulder. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “You will, soon. Which is good, because we’ve got so much to talk about,” Anise smiled. “But you’re going to have to hurry if you want to say goodbye to him.” Anise turned and stood, stepping back out of the moonlight into darkness, regarding the children without pity. “That goes for all of you. Say goo
dbye to everyone you know and love, children. Ladybug ladybug, fly away home...”

  Green skin turned pale. The children backed away from her as one, and Celia clutched Threadbare tight as they ran out the door. Anise smiled. “No,” she said, grabbing at the air well after they’d left. “Wait,” she said, going to the door. “Stop!” she commanded the air, shutting the door.

  She gave it another five minutes to make sure they weren’t coming back or anything stupid like that, then hauled out a disk of black marble. She kissed it, then knelt, holding it aloft with one hand as she watched a red image blur into existence, standing on the flat disk. A man in heavy armor, his horned helm crowning plate worked with demonic faces and glowing with its own enchantments.

  “Master,” she whispered. “The children have escaped me. I tried to stop them, but failed.”

  His anger smote her down, and she fell, gasping as she continued. “Cecilia is returning home, master, home to Caradon! But her friends, I don’t think... I think they might go into the town! I fear... I fear we have loose ends.”

  Her master bowed his head. Seconds passed, and Anise kept her face sorrowful, kept her ambition caged in her heart, hoping against hope that she’d struck the right tone...

  “No loose ends,” her master said. “We planned for this, if necessary. Once Cecilia is clear, put the town to the sword. Then join me. It’s time to end this sordid farce.”

  “Thy will be done,” she said, closing her eyes. “My love...”

  *****

  Zuula sat on her porch, and listened to the night. She listened to the song of hunting creatures falling silent, listened to trees rustling against the wind, and finally, listened to the sound of running feet moving poorly through her woods.

  It was time. She reached for her mask—

  —and made her perception check, as she realized that she knew the sounds of those particular approaching feet. She stood bolt upright, and stared out at the woods, possibilities churning in her mind. No, this would not do!

  “Mom!” Jarrik shouted, as he burst out of the treeline; first as usual, her little scout. But she pushed down motherly pride, drowning it in a sea of motherly worry.