The Good Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  “New at this?”

  “Perhaps. Tree is fresh cut.”

  They looked around the area for a bit.

  “They will need the wagons and the horses,” Nikolai said. “We are far enough from Saumiers they will not be able to traverse the distance with our goods on foot.”

  I got a view of the barrier. A thick tree had been felled across the road, its trunk nearly ten feet wide.

  Nikolai was still mulling things over when dangerous-looking men and women came out of the forest and the branches of the fallen oak. Most had bows, some had daggers and short swords. There was one ginormous dude — just a straight brute — who had a hunk of wood attached to a handle, kind of like a massive war mallet or something.

  I did some quick counting. This was bad. Our adversaries outnumbered us almost two one.

  The horses whinnied, nervous.

  The bandits, an assumption at the time that later proved true, were all dressed in dark brown leathers with hoods over their heads. Most had masked faces. Their leader sauntered along the tree and dropped to a seated position.

  “Looks to be our lucky day,” he said in a genteel voice. “Plenty of goods in this haul to make even the most jaded king of thieves smile for a moment.”

  “King of thieves, is it?” Cleeve asked. “And here I thought you were but a common highwayman.”

  “You are in the presence of royalty,” the self-styled king said with a slight bow and flourish.

  “Be still my heart,” Cleeve replied, giving his face a fan of the hand. “Am I blushing?”

  “No, sir,” Nikolai answered quickly.

  “Just a little,” offered up one of the other guards.

  “Ah,” the king of thieves said, “if you are so taken by me, perhaps we can have a little lunch after you give all your goods to us. Just hand them over without violence.”

  “Oh,” Cleeve said, sliding his blade free from his scabbard, “I wish I could.”

  “But you can. ’Tis easy if you try.”

  “Just as easy as letting us through without taking anything that doesn’t belong to you.”

  The king mimed weighing the offers in his hands. One clearly won out. “No, I am afraid we need what you have got, good merchant. Are you sure you want to die for it?”

  “Are you?”

  There was a moment of feigned calm as we reached the edge of battle. I tried to figure out my first move.

  Cleeve moved faster than I could comprehend, pushing forward out of his saddle with his sword lunging towards the king of thieves. The king barely got his own blade up in the way, and there was a great clang as the two swords met.

  I realized the brute was charging me, his hammer above his head, ready to knock my head off.

  As fast as I could, I pulled the axe up, swung it around my back, and launched it at the brute.

  The brute’s eyes opened wide as the battle axe spun end over end until it slammed into his nose, lodging deep in the man’s gory remains. It hit with enough force to stop the man’s charge, and send him to the ground.

  His mallet, on the other hand, continued forward, sliding on the ground until it hit my foot. I kicked it up, and hefted the thing. Massively unwieldy and unbalanced. I sent a tingle of magic down my arm.

  WarMallet

  Item Type: Trash

  Item Class: Two-handed Melee

  Material: Wood

  Damage: 20-30 (Bludgeoning)

  Durability: 7/9

  Weight: 18 lbs

  Requirements: Str 18

  Description: A hunk of wood on a handle. One step above a club.

  The fight had turned into a maelstrom in the short time between throwing my axe and picking up the war mallet. I tried to see what the other guards were doing, but things were moving too quickly. Plus, there were definitely a lot of people who were looking to kill me. I needed to pay attention to myself.

  An arrow smacked into me. It hurt like a motherfucker, and made me angry. I ran at the woman who shot me. She fumbled with her bow, trying to get another arrow on the string, but gave up, dropping the bow and snatching the dagger off her belt just as I brought the hammer around into her midsection.

  The hunk of wood slammed against the woman, and with a sharp crack, it sounded like all her ribs broke at once. She dropped the ground. I brought the hammer down, and her torso flattened. Blood bubbles formed around her mouth, and she stopped breathing. She was done.

  And I’d done it to her.

  For a heartbeat, there was this feeling inside me, that I’d committed this great act of violence, and I could never be the same. What had I don—

  Nah.

  I’d done worse before. And given Vuldranni seemed to be predicated on savagery and violence, I’d likely do worse in the future. I’d just hoped that, with a second chance, maybe I could put some of those skills to use being a savior. Finally be the good guy.

  Three bandits converged on me from the woods: A man with a black mask and a club, a woman with a sword, and a man with a mace.

  I took a broad stance, then feigned throwing the hammer.

  They all flanked, and I took their momentary distraction to attack. I had basically nothing in the way of defense — my stupid tiny heater shield was back in the last wagon — so I knew I had to keep the pressure up.

  I swung towards Maceman. He brought his weapon up to block, holding it with both hands, but he misjudged the sheer size of the hammer’s head. Even though he got his handle against mine, the hammer had enough reach to slam into his face, basically caving it in.

  Maceman collapsed, a vague moan coming out through bloody bubbles in the mess that used to be his face.

  His collapse, however, meant I was overextended and open to my two opponents.

  I felt a burning in my midsection, and looked down to see a sword sticking into my gullet. Immediately, I dropped the hammer and grabbed the blade.

  Before I could make the first pull, a club soared towards my face. I reared back, ignoring the pain spreading across my midsection. The club missed my head by mere fractions of an inch. I felt my mustache whiskers blowing in its wind.

  The swordsman tried to pull her blade back, but I held on and gave her a smile. Instead, I snatched her tunic and ripped her to me, and slammed my head against her face, feeling her nose crush against my forehead.

  The pain shocked her enough that she released her grip on the hilt.

  I gritted, tore the sword out, and brought it up just in time to block the club coming back in a return swing. It thunked to the side.

  A quick step forward to get out of the way of Clubber, and I brought my shoulder into Swordswoman just as she unsheathed a dagger, driving her back. She stumbled over some roots and the limp legs of Maceman, and fell backwards to the ground. I drove my sword at her, but at the last second, clubber blocked my move.

  I growled, angry that my kill had been stolen.

  A step back, and I was in position. My midsection howled with pain, but I did my best to ignore it. I knew the wound was serious, and it took everything in me not to slide my hand down and probe the damage.

  Clubber and I squared off, while the swordswoman, now sword-less, crab crawled away.

  When it comes to close-quarters melee, the club has a few distinct disadvantages compared to a sword. For example, lunges don’t do much. You need to swing to get any real damage. Preferably a big swing. And, each parry of a sword risks losing chunks of your weapon.

  My opponent seemed to realize this, and was on the defensive, circling me around.

  I caught a flick of his eyes to the side, and I knew something bad was about to happen. I pulled my delicate bit (my head), inward and brought my more beatable bits (my shoulders) up, and the speeding mace connected with my upper arm instead of my skull. It hurt like blazes as the blade-like flanges struck deep into my deltoid. My left arm was useless as anything but hamburger as the swordswoman, now Macewoman, ripped it free.

  A guttural and barbaric “Yawp,” escaped from my
throat. Burning rage washed over me, hot one minute, and frighteningly cold the next. All I wanted was to kill the assholes hurting me and trying to hurt my friends. I didn’t care if I made it out alive as long as they didn’t.

  Clubber swung.

  I accepted I was going to be hit, and lunged forward with my blade straight.

  My sword went through his throat as his club slammed across my face.

  I spun, blood spraying out of my mouth, then tumbled to the ground.

  The woman was already above me, mace high above her head, ready to crush my skull into bits.

  As my death neared, everything slowed down for a moment. My brain, never my staunchest ally in the past, seemed to click on, and started running through the scant strategies I had left. Only one thing stood out.

  Magic.

  I shot my arm out and pointed at the woman’s head. My fingers twisted, and I forced the mana through my hand, I cast humus.

  Dirt flew out of the ground and gathered tightly around her head. Roughly a cube of beautiful, black, fertile earth coalesced about her face.

  She shrieked, and started coughing. Which just caused more dirt to go into her lungs. She swung the mace, but nothing was behind it, strength wise, and she had no aim because she couldn’t see. Which meant she had no idea that I’d already rolled out of the way.

  The mace smacked into the ground.

  The woman pawed at the dirt, coughing desperately.

  I had enough time to grab the sword out of her comrade and slice through her throat.

  Then I made sure the other two were finished.

  I leaned against a tree, and finally let the pain actually wash over me. I was probably going to die. I felt my stomach. Big hole. Very ruined. Lots of nasty fluids commingling in ways I knew they shouldn’t. I spit out some blood and what seemed like a tooth. I ran my tongue around my mouth to confirm I was missing a tooth and came to realize I was missing several. And had a few only partially there.

  “Thuper,” I lisped.

  Chapter 26

  As I sat there, I realized I couldn’t hear much. Groans, sure, but the clash of steel on steel had stopped. I stumbled out of the woods, and saw our fight with the bandits had ended.

  Cleeve looked fine, not even a hair out of place. The King of Thieves, however, was very much dead. His head had been separated from his body.

  Lee peeked out of his wagon, Darius hiding right next to him.

  The rest of the caravan looked pretty good, and even though I thought I’d been close to death, by the time I limped over to Cleeve, my teeth had, more or less, reformed.

  “You fought well,” he said.

  “Good teacher,” I replied.

  “Let Cole see to you,” Cleeve said. “He’ll patch you up.”

  Cole was at our wagon. He’d opened up a small hatch, making a work station of sorts. There were some medical tools in place, as well as various first-aid errata required for treating wounds. I also spotted a few small bottles filled with a glittering red liquid. Other guards were downing them, but by the time I got there, Teela quaffed the last one.

  Cole was busy with one of the other guards, wrapping a bandage around the woman’s arm where he’d just pulled an arrow free. The already-treated guards busied themselves lining up the bandits’ bodies and stripping them of everything. Clothing, armor, weapons, pouches, all of it got set in front of the first wagon.

  I leaned against the wagon, waiting for Cole to finish with the others.

  He motioned to me.

  “Armor,” he said.

  My shoulder worked well enough that I could pull my ruined leather cuirass over my head and drop it to the ground. My shirt was soaked in blood. Like, I could wring blood out of it. Cole grimaced as he saw the damage to the armor and the shirt. He helped me get the shirt off and then tossed it to the side — there was no saving it. Then he reached over for what I assumed would have been a health potion, but only found empty bottles.

  He growled.

  Instead, he grabbed a waterskin and aimed a stream of water at my torso, washing off the blood as he searched for wounds. Eventually, he’d washed off my whole abdomen. He poked at a pink scar on my stomach. Then he looked over my shoulder, which was just smooth skin taut over a bulging deltoid.

  Cole prodded at me for a moment or two. I could tell he wanted to ask me how I’d healed so fast. But asking such a question would require more than the single word a day he allotted to me.

  “Guess I’m good,” I said.

  He rubbed his thumb against my abs, as if he was trying to clean a smudge off them. Then shook his head when he realized that the pink scar had even faded.

  I looked at the other guards and drivers, and it didn’t seem like many managed to make it out without injuries of some kind. Some, like Teela, had gotten health potions, but others were clearly hurting. I thought about my spell. But using it would make my ability to do magic very apparent. I would have to go to the Imperial government and would likely be pushed into service, whatever that meant. It didn’t look like anyone was permanently damaged, so I just let it go.

  There was a definitive method to how the loot was divided. First, all the coins were put together. Half went to Cleeve, and the rest was doled out equally. Then, the objects. Cleeve got first pick, then the rest of us by seniority. There were a few choices pieces, mostly those belonging to the king of thieves. I noticed everyone bypassed the unblemished chainmail, so that once it was my turn, it was basically the only thing of value remaining. Clearly, they’d seen I had no armor at the moment.

  I picked up the chain, and gave it a once over.

  Chainmail Shirt

  Item Type: Common

  Item Class: Heavy

  Material: Iron

  Armor: +24

  Durability: Good

  Weight: 45 pounds

  Requirements: n/a

  Description: Made from interlocking iron rings in a 4 in 1 pattern, chainmail is excellent at protecting from slashing attacks, fair at protecting from piercing attacks, and not great at protecting from bludgeoning.

  Coupled with a padded shirt from the dead brute, I had a decent set of armor again. Definitely snugger than my leather, but it offered significantly more protection. The chain went down to my thighs, and then all the way down my arms. Practically speaking, there was a lot of other armor I needed, but now I was particularly looking for a pair of gauntlets.

  Everything not chosen by the caravan was taken by Lee and inventoried before getting tucked into his wagon. Ultimately, everything could either be sold or bartered. I had a feeling I knew where the trade goods we had for the hunters had come from.

  I retrieved my axe, still quite covered in gore from the fight, and wiped it off on the grass. I slid the axe into the side of the wagon, in reach of my seat. Just as I pulled myself up, I noticed Darius was having a very serious discussion with Cleeve. Also, there was still a giant tree across the road with forest encroached on either side. We’d need to move the tree before continuing our journey.

  The guards had grabbed block and tackle from under one of the wagons and started to get a pulley system set up so we could drag the tree out of our way enough for the caravan to squeak by.

  Reluctantly, I hopped back down, pulled the axe back out, and headed over to the tree.

  Before I got there, Cleeve shouted from on top of the first wagon.

  “Oi!”

  Everyone stopped.

  “We have a minor problem we need to solve before we move further,” Cleeve said.

  “Besides the tree?” piped up one of the guards.

  “I can make you chop the tree into pulp. What I can’t do is make you pull the wagon. We’ve got two draft horses down, plus all four guard horses down.”

  Everyone looked over to see the horses behind Darius. Most were limping. Blood trailed down their hides, a particularly poignant sight with chestnut draft horses. Darius was rubbing noses gently.

  I felt a twinge of happiness that none of our
horses had been killed in the battle — there’s just something about animals dying that made me so angry and sad. Still, I saw the problem: we had a wagon full of stuff and no way to pull it.

  “Drivers,” Cleeve called out, “unload as much as you can from the first wagon, and add it to yours. I know we’ll overload, but it’s mostly flat until Saumiers, and we only need to make it there. Everyone else, on the tree.”

  While my curiosity lingered on the horses, I forced my focus on working on the tree. For the first time, the other guards gave me some attention. There was some joshing and talking, and even a few personal questions asked. Also, I finally learned the rest of their names.

  There was Makkal Hamidov, with dark skin, big eyes, and one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen. He was clean-shaven, which seemed to be the general look for the Empire.

  Virginia Licinius was small but muscular with perfect black hair, a pert nose, and heavy armor. A small sword rested on one hip, and a larger sword hung on her back. She was really good with knots.

  After getting all the pulleys set, we went about chopping all the branches, roots, and anything else that might prevent the tree from rolling. As a group, we grabbed the line, and started pulling. The trunk slowly moved off the road, and soon there was enough room for a wagon to squeeze by. The road wasn’t completely cleared, but it was enough for us. It felt great to accomplish something together.

  Chapter 27

  We turned our attention back to the wagons. The lead wagon was still very much full. The drivers were standing around arguing about which wagons could take more weight, and which horses weren’t exhausted. Basically, they’d made exactly zero headway while we cleared the tree. Cleeve looked nearly ashen — this was something of a nightmare for him. Darius physically held up two horses while Cole tended their wounds.

  I looked over at the harness, an idea forming. Then I pulled up my attributes just to be sure.