“Isn’t that always how it works,” said Sam. “Sounds so great on paper. Then you get there, and bam.”
“You’re telling me.” The clerk leafed through a second stack of papers. “Looks like we only have dragonfly larvae. At the moment supplies are thin.”
“Do the best you can.” Sam actually had no idea if larvae would be acceptable. But better to get whatever they could rather than settle for nothing.
Lee located a pair of slatted crates marked ‘dragonfly larvae,’ on a lower shelf between a set of empty iron cages and a box marked ‘venom extraction kits.’
He pulled out one of the crates, gingerly opening the hinged cover. The term larvae implied they would be sluggish, but he wasn’t sure just how sluggish. Nestled atop wood-shavings in the box were what appeared to be a dozen translucent salami. They were honey-colored at the core, brown around the edges, and thankfully quite motionless.
“So they transferred you here just this season?” said Sam.
“Yup. Ohhh. Missed that,” said the clerk, flipping through a third stack of papers in a wooden bin at the far corner of his desk. “Shortage notice just came in yesterday. You’ll need a ration chit with an imperial seal, initialed by an officer ranked lieutenant or higher before I can let you have them.”
Sam grimaced, as numerous responses darted through his head, including:
Is the space between your ears occupied by something other than moth larvae? If we need messenger dragonflies, then we by definition don’t have such current information.
If you’re eager to have such documentation, perhaps you’d like to serve as our personal meat-shield as we make the week-long round trip to fetch it.
You bone-headed, bureaucratic baboon.
Admittedly this last response wasn’t terribly creative, but sometimes simplicity has its charm.
He smiled and nodded, finally responded with, “Interesting. I’m certain Lady Isylnoir can provide the appropriate documentation.”
Sam nodded, he and Lee left, meeting up with the others at the tavern late that afternoon. Not that there was cause to celebrate, but it kept them out of the biting wind.
“So, four days in the wilderness, and now we find we’re missing the right documentation?” said Sam.
Gnebnik nodded.
“Isn’t there something we have that will work? A royal seal or signet ring or something?” said Lee.
Gnebnik shook his head.
Lee raised his mug. “Here’s to… I dunno… here’s to ale.”
The other three clunked their mugs against his, seeming to agree with this sentiment at least.
Gnebnik grimaced at the first sip. “Uuugh. Not the same stuff as yesterday. It’s off.”
Sam, not overly fond of even yesterday’s ale, raised an eyebrow. “Safe to drink?”
“Yeah, just tastes like piss water,” said Gnebnik.
“Did you get the hardware you wanted at least?” Lee sniffed at the meager foam head on his ale between sips.
“Had ta settle for different sizes, but I got most of it.”
“And the venom ducts fetched full price at the apothecary,” said Shin. “More than what we expected, actually. Though I suppose with the increased prices everywhere, it doesn’t matter.”
Lee dunked a piece of hardtack into the thin broth in a futile attempt to soak up a bit of flavor. “I wonder how my friends back home are doing. Or my family for that matter. My father hadn’t taken well to the heatwave last summer, and this summer’s supposed to be worse.”
Sam put a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“You must miss your friends and family too,” said Lee.
“A little,” said Sam. “My father would love it here. A big fan of adventure books. Used to read me tales of Lewis and Clark when I was a child. Or the wild west.”
“Really?”
“At least he would love it up to the point he had to freeze, starve, and almost get eaten by some huge demon snail.”
“And all to fetch a dozen brown sausages, which sit a few hundred paces distant, but which we can’t get to.”
“Brown sausages?” said Shin.
“That’s what Lee called them—the larvae I mean. I didn’t look at them, myself.”
“They shouldn’t be brown. They should be golden. The color of honey.”
“Oh? They were golden at the center. Most of them anyway. Why?”
“Sounds like they’re going into hibernation.” Shin drooped his head, sighing deeply. “They need to be more careful how they store the larvae. If they let them get too cold, they’ll go into full hibernation.” Shin shook his head. “They may just be tools to the empire, but they’re still living beings.”
Lee furrowed his brow. “So, let me get this straight. The objective of this quest—these larvae—are in bad shape. We can’t get them anyway, because we’re missing a document, and we’ve only partially fulfilled the secondary objectives?”
Gnebnik and Shin nodded.
Sam stood. “Maybe I can get us some better ale, at least.”
He snaked his way through the crowd, Shin’s agility training at least paying dividends in this case. “Have any other ale? Something like that Nagdyre ale we had yesterday.”
The barkeep was tall and slender, a hand higher than even Lee’s impressive frame. Yet his demeanor was calm and his tone soothing. “All out. Autumn Ale’s supposed to arrive next week.”
“What? Local brew not good enough for yer tender taste buds?” growled a man—or perhaps gorilla would have been a better term for the person at the bar. He stood easily as tall as Lee despite a hunched posture. The haphazard layers of cloth and leather he wore left his profession ambiguous, although a beer gut left his recreational preferences less so.
“If you think we’re picky, you should see our battlemage, Lady Isylnoir,” said Sam. He was used to large, grumpy individuals, and based on the way the guard had responded to Gnebnik the prior day, this seemed a good way to terminate a conversation he didn’t want to have in the first place.
“Looks like we got ourselves a battlemage’s lackey.” The man elbowed a companion of similar size, and possibly worse disposition, who stood and turned to face Sam.
The second man stepped forward, jabbed a mostly-empty mug into Sam’s chest, splattering the dregs. “Oh, dearie me. Looks like I’ve spilled. I’m a bit clumsy drinking with my left hand. You see I lost my right thanks to our battlemage.”
“I’m sorry for your injury,” said Sam. How had he suddenly been put in the position of defending a battlemage? “Look, I really didn’t mean anything by—”
“It was a sabertooth. Battlemage could have stopped it, but that would have been a waste of magic.”
“Ya see, humans, all we’re good for, is monster fodder. And here you are being a good little lackey for your master.”
“Sam here is no lackey.” A familiar voice boomed behind Sam. “He’s a valued member of our party.”
“Lee, it’s OK, we really don’t need…”
“Oh, you have a whole party of battlemage bootlickers.”
“We have a whole party of adventurers who don’t take kindly to—”
The first man kicked his barstool aside, hitting a tall, thin figure whose head was covered by the hood of a cloak, and took a swing at Lee.
“Watch it, you made me spill my ale,” said the cloaked figure, lowering her hood to reveal a pair of feline ears and vertically slitted eyes.
Lee shifted stance, the gorilla-sized fist of the first man grazing an ear as it missed. Still painful, but this was a pain he was used to. Planting his feet firmly, he returned a solid gut punch. Despite the man’s girth, a guttural grunt told Lee it wasn’t a hit he would casually shrug off. Lee grinned. “Sam, you take the other guy. I’d feel bad pummeling a man who only has one hand to fight with.”
Sam stepped back and to the right, the wide arching fist of the one handed man missing his head by at least a foot. “My friend and I real
ly don’t want to get into a—”
An empty copper mug sailed past Sam’s head, missing mostly due to poor aim. The mug glanced off the head of a gnome miner, and splattered into a bowl of broth belonging to a human berserker. At least that’s the class Sam assigned to this individual based on a string of curses, and the return fire—which involved an entire bench. He stepped back again.
Lee lunged forward, landing a blow to the second man’s lower ribs. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t mind pummeling a man with one hand.”
A dull boom pierced the tavern, a cloud of blue-gray smoke billowing from just in front of the bar. The barkeep set a smoking blunderbuss pistol on the countertop, pointing a second at Lee. “Gentlemen, do I have your attention?”
Lee took half a step back, fists at the ready, but nodded at the barkeep.
“Good. You’ll find sleeping on the street to be an excellent cure for hot tempers. Payment for lodging is forfeit.”
Sam snapped, “What? They started—”
“Would you like a pistol-load of rock-salt added to your tab?”
Gnebnik put a hand on Lee’s shoulder, whispering, “Outside. Move.”
The dozen would-be rabble-rousers shuffled for the door. The party regrouped twenty paces down the street. Gnebnik glared at the crowd, and when seeing that the pair that had accosted Sam dispersed with the others, finally spoke. “That was damn foolish!”
“I don’t care,” said Lee. “I wasn’t about to let a friend get pummeled.”
Gnebnik shook his head. “Not that. Ya should have taken it outside. Doesn’t matter if it’s a fight to the death in the wilds, or a brawl. Pick your fights and your locations.”
“Never mind that,” said Sam. “What now? Where do we sleep?”
“There’s bunks at the guild hall. Not as nice as at the tavern, but it’s a roof at least.”
“Fine,” said Lee.
Gnebnik glared at him. “You two are not guild members.”
“So where do we sleep?” said Sam.
“The stable.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Most of the creatures in the stable were horse-like in size and appearance, but there were just enough exotic mounts like Sally to give it an exotic flair. And stench. Sub-freezing temperatures did keep insects to a minimum, and while most of the mounts seemed to generate some body heat, the stable’s thin walls meant the temperature was well below what it had been in the inn. And unlike their evenings in the wilds, Sam and Lee couldn’t build a campfire to warm themselves.
Sam shivered. “Damn Isylnoir! Even in absentia she makes our lives miserable.”
“You really dislike her, huh,” said Lee.
“She stranded us here,” said Sam. “How do you think I feel?”
“Technically, I stranded us here,” Lee brushed a few straws of hay away from his bedroll. “She just cut-off our way back.”
“You did it because you have the attitude of an enthusiastic puppy. She did it out of malice.”
“More like indifference. I think malice would require too much effort on her part.”
“You’re catching on.”
Sally lifted her head, swiveled her long neck to gaze at Sam, and then at Lee, finally letting out a “Mrrrh” of agreement. Or perhaps she simply wanted another apple.
“I’m no fan of her type either,” said Lee. “But you get used to it. Working every day at the telegraph office. Every day, ‘yes sir,’ and ‘thank you madame,’ etcetera. Seems more personal for you.”
Sam rearranged the woolen blanket, trying to ward off the chill. “I know her type. I had to deal with plenty of princesses when I was younger.”
“Really—” Lee was interrupted by a reptilian muzzle bumping his shoulder. He gave Sally a few strokes on the nose, smearing reptilian snot on his fingers as he did. “You hobnobbed with nobility growing up?”
“I had to deal with plenty of people who thought they were nobility. People who may have left titles in the ‘old country,’ but not attitudes.”
“You’ve never talked much about your family.”
“No.”
“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, I just…”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah. Complicated.” Lee clenched and unclenched his fists. He rubbed his hands, trying to warm them up, wincing as he brushed the gashes and bruises on his knuckles. “I thought it would be simpler here. Like the hunting trips I used to take with my uncle. Roughing it for a week or so. But better: like the legends of old. I was a fool. I saw it all as a big game. Adventuring is nothing like a game. It’s nothing like my game.”
Sam took a deep breath. He wasn’t the only one with problems. “Then perhaps you need to change your game.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always wanted to make a game based on the times of legend. Say what you will about this world, but we seem to be living the times of legend.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’m going to start taking notes. When we get back, I’ll create a new game. A better game. I don’t care how long it takes, when I get back… when we get back, I’ll create the best game around.”
“That’s the Lee I know. Now if we could just get those damn dragonfly larvae.”
“Yeah. Or we could just leave.”
“Leave?”
“Take off on our own. Try to make our way to one of the big cities. Find one of those portals.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’re the one that wanted to be here.”
“And you didn’t. And you’re stuck because of me.”
“I wouldn’t have stayed here if I didn’t want to. You’re not that persuasive, Lee.”
“Right. So what do you want?”
“Of course I want to get home. Who knows, maybe we even have the chance to come back. But Gnebnik was right about needing a party to have the slightest chance of survival. This world is a whole new level of dangerous. Having people you can trust, people who have your back—”
“Ha, who would have thought they would turn out to be a gnome and a cat-person.”
“They’re called—”
“Yes, I know they’re called neko. I just meant they’re not human.”
“Doesn’t bother me. I trust them, yet they’re not human. I wonder what that means?” Sam rubbed his hands together, gazed at them as though he were a palm reader, with a particularly difficult fortune to read. “Although I still don’t like being called a thief!”
Lee grinned at him. “Too bad you aren’t really a thief. That would sure solve the problem for us.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking that robbing an imperial supply depot might be… poorly advised.” Sam sat up to re-adjust the blanket yet again. “Still. I like where you’re going with this. Forget about what we can do, and think about what needs to get done.”
“Yeah. There must be another way. Could we forge those papers we need?”
“Possibly. But we’d need to see what they’re supposed to look like.”
“Maybe we should think of it like a game. I am pretty good at games you know. Not just running around hitting things with fists. Or swords.”
“You do just fine, Lee,” said Sam. “And I’d much rather have you on my team than the quartermaster’s clerk.”
“Hahaha, of course with him on your team, our problem would be solved.”
“Hmm… what if he was on our team?”
“Oh?”
“I may have an idea.”
Chapter 13
“Good morning!” Sam strode into the supply depot office. He had washed off the worst of the stable’s stench with a damp rag, tidied his appearance, and hoped confidence would carry the rest.
Lee and Shin nodded a greeting to the clerk, and Lee showed Shin the shelf containing the larvae.
The clerk nodded. “Good morning. Found the rest of the paperwork?”
“There might be a slight delay, so our ranger wanted to check something out,” said Sam, consciously wording it as a
statement, not a question.
The clerk glanced at the neko, uttered a slight whine and shook his head.
“So, you tried this year’s autumn ale from Nagdyre?” said Sam. “Supposed to be a good year.”
“Not yet. Shipments to Irondale keep getting delayed. Supposed to have been arriving next week for the last three weeks.”
Sam glanced at Shin, who shook his head theatrically.
“Oooh! Is it as you feared?”
The neko returned a sad nod. “Doesn’t look good.”
Sam turned to the clerk. “Tough luck. Anyway, we’ll be back in a few weeks with the right paperwork. Could you do me a favor and give your replacement a message for me?”
“My replacement?”
“Or is your commanding officer the forgiving type? In that case I can just tell you.”
The clerk seemed to turn a shade paler as he fidgeted with a sheaf of papers. “Just what is this message?”
“When the new dragonfly larvae arrive, they need to be stored in a warmer spot in the room or they’ll die like these ones have.”
“They’re dead? How did you know? I mean, why didn’t you say something yesterday.”
“I didn’t know. Our ranger told me. Apparently it’s an easy mistake to make, so if your commanding officer is the forgive—”
“Do you know how valuable those things are?”
“So your commanding officer is not the forgiving type, I take it.”
The clerk stumbled to his feet, banging his thigh against the desk, which nearly knocked over the inkwell. “Are you sure they’re dead? How do you know? I mean, they’re larvae. Aren’t they just supposed to sit there dormant?”
“When we were discussing it last night, our ranger brought it to my attention,” said Sam. “Shin?”
The clerk lurched to the crate and peered inside.
Shin glanced at him, then back at the larvae. “So you don’t know what that brown coloration means? I thought it was common knowledge.”
“I never had a problem like this back in Drizzlewood Meadows. So what should I do?”
“Discard them before they start rotting, I’d say,” said Sam. “Perhaps you could say you lost them?”
Hazelhearth Hires Heroes Page 11