The Good Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  Something bothered me though. The roar that’d gotten me moving to catch up to the group when they’d refused to tell me about the Emerald Sea. I’d heard it several more times over the course of the day. Sometimes nearer, sometimes farther away. But the way sound traveled was disconcerting, untrustworthy. Besides the trees, there were big mounds of vegetation and piles of rocks for sounds to bounce off of. All I knew was that no one else seemed to care about the noises behind us. Or, for that matter, around us.

  Ragnar and Skeld foraged while we hiked, stripping bushes clear of berries and even digging up wild onions, until they had quite the haul. They’d pass out berries here and there for us to eat as a snack on the move, and then took the opportunity to rest up on my pack.

  Cleeve and Nikolai held their own conversations up front, serious talk about their upcoming plans. They weren’t being overtly secretive, but it seemed like they wanted their space, so Lee and I hung back. I was thrilled to finally have a companion who was actually willing to talk to me, so spent a lot of the time asking him questions.

  Lee was a smart dude, and seemed to have an answer to every question I asked — he knew the names of rocks, trees, everything. Or at least he knew the Earth equivalents. Vuldranni didn’t seem to swerve that far afield. Oaks were still oaks. Same for aspens, pines, granite, gneiss, and schist. All of it was there. Sure, there were some things he couldn’t identify, but that was stuff I could obviously see wasn’t normal. The crazy stuff, like flowers that tracked movement, or rocks that could move, albeit slowly. Moss dotted with tiny eye stalks. Furry faces peeking out of perfect little windows in giant trees.

  As the sun started to dip, Cleeve found a spot he liked, an outcropping of dark rocks, kind of like the ones I’d seen in New York in Central Park. They seemed to sprout from the ground, and the forest chose to grow in a wide circle around them. A stream came from the center, trickling out of the rocks. There was enough space in between the bigger rocks that we could put our bedrolls down, and given how high the rocks were, we’d even be able to have a fire without being seen. It was a perfect camp site.

  The stream was too small for fish, but there were some bugs in the spring, big meaty critters that seemed kind of along the lines of crawdads. Ragnar gave one look at them and told us to be very careful. They were venomous, territorial, and prone to violence. Luckily though, they were reticent to leave the water, so as long as we stayed out, we’d be fine.

  “How much would it hurt?” I asked.

  “If it stung you?” Ragnar asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Worst pain I’ve ever experienced.”

  “You got stung?”

  “On the butt,” Skeld piped up happily. “Sat on one, he did.”

  “I did not,” Ragnar snapped back at Skeld. “That is completely false.”

  “Hilde was there! She told me.”

  “Hilde told you that because she liked you and wanted you to feel like I was no competition to you.”

  “You were no competition to me.”

  “Boys,” I said, trying to hide my smile, happy that their personalities were continuing to come out, “let’s just agree that this was a good warning, and no one should sit in the spring.”

  We cooked the onions and some greens into a soup of sorts. It was phenomenal to have something hot to eat the second night in a row. Back home, it’d been rare for me to miss a meal, certainly not during my last few years. And even more of a luxury — it’d always been hot food. More fast food than I’d care to admit, but still, hot. Salty and delicious, in its own disgusting way. And yet here, in this new land, the food was infinitely more scarce and a good deal simpler. But man it was unbelievably better tasting.

  I settled down in between a rock and the fire, so I got heat from both sides. During the day, it was temperate, very pleasant to walk around, but as soon as the sun went down, the temperature plummeted. I never felt like I was in danger of dying from exposure or anything like that — it was more just a lack of comfort.

  “Montana,” Cleeve called out, “first watch.”

  So much for comfort.

  Chapter 81

  I clambered up the rocks until I found a good spot to sit, where I could see the camp and its surrounding area. Fireflies blipped on and off for my own private little light show. Bats swooped in and around, eating the bugs before they could get near me. The fire crackled and popped, and sparks shot up into the air.

  With a sigh, I hopped down from the rock and did a loop around the clearing, picking up some wood here and there for the fire. I tossed a log on and continued around, cleaning all the dead wood off the ground until I had enough to make a stack.

  Snores came from the group.

  I ran through a few ideas, wondering how best to spend my down time. I didn’t feel like any more large weapon throwing. I decided to find a dagger, and while I searched in my bag, I realized something a little sad — all the fireflies had gone away. Which was a bit surprising, because I kind of thought the little buggers would go all night long.

  Then I realized another small detail: the night was quiet. The bugs that had been chirping away were now silent, and I couldn’t hear any of the creatures doing their thing out in the trees. Everything was very still.

  Keeping my eyes on the dark forest, I took a few tentative steps backward until I bumped a boulder.

  I could feel something watching me.

  My axe was in my hands nearly instantly.

  I turned it around a few times until I got a grip I liked, and then pushed my eyes into dark-vision so I could see.

  Nothing was there.

  Well, nothing I could see, but I could definitely feel something.

  The problem with our perfect camp was that the rocky outcropping blocked more than half the fucking woods. I scrambled up to the top, still gripping the axe.

  I scanned the woods.

  Something huge was moving through the trees, big enough that I couldn’t place what it was. But it moved with enough grace that not a single branch broke.

  Then I saw its eyes staring at me.

  Big, dinner-plate-sized eyes. Bright. Its eye-shine was super apparent in the dark-vision.

  It blinked.

  “Guys,” I said. “There’s something—”

  It hit me like a fucking freight train, uncoiling and striking in a heartbeat. I had no idea how it had crossed that distance so fast. The creature’s head slammed into my body, and there were definitely pops and cracks as several somethings inside me snapped.

  I flew across the clearing, shouting unintelligible curses to the party below me. I landed in a pine tree, its thick boughs doing a great job of slowing me down and keeping me from breaking my back against the trunk. They did a terrible job of catching me though, so I fell out of the tree. But the 20-foot fall wasn’t that bad. The ground was full of pine needles, so it was almost like landing on a mattress. A prickly, nice smelling mattress.

  The creature used two massive claws to grip the rocky outcropping. It loomed up and over so that it was looking down on the camp. The firelight illuminated its absolutely massive head, and the ropes of saliva stretching down towards the Lutra.

  My hirðmen were still waking up. Most everyone was.

  I shot an identification spell over:

  Forest Wyrm

  Level ??? Beast

  The wyrm. Great.

  I glanced around for something to distract the wyrm with before it devoured my buddies. My axe was nowhere to be seen, but I spotted a large rock to my right. I scooped it up and threw it as hard as I could.

  It tumbled through the air, and booped off the beast’s snoot.

  The wyrm shook its head in surprise, and then glared at me.

  So I grabbed another rock. And another. I threw rocks as hard and fast as I could, a cavalcade of stones raining down from the heavens, all with some measure of accuracy and hitting the wyrm’s face. With a target that size, it wasn’t particularly challenging to hit it. It was the size of a sma
ll barn, so I was quite literally hitting the broadside of a barn with my rock barrage. I don’t think it did any damage, but it definitely pissed the fuck out of the wyrm. He reared back and gave a mighty roar in my direction, so powerful I could feel my skin ripple from the sound-wave. My beard got plastered to my body in a sickening slime of wyrm saliva.

  The distraction was enough for Nikolai to get to his feet. He shouted a challenge at the wyrm, and his blade seemed to glow for a second before erupting in brilliant flames. He swung the sword, but the wyrm pushed back, its impossibly long neck arcing way up until it was well out of Nikolai’s reach.

  I ran back to the group, out of rocks and in need of a weapon.

  The wyrm held himself back, out of reach, watching us.

  Cleeve had his sword out, and stood ready. Both Skeld and Ragnar had their spears, and were on either side of me. Lee, for his part, was hiding under his bedroll, tucked up against a rock.

  I ripped open the bag of holding, then pulled a spear I’d liberated from the castle in the lake out of the bag.

  The creature let out a snort of excitement, its eyes opening wide.

  “Give me the spear,” Nikolai said, sheathing his sword.

  I tossed the spear to Nikolai, and he snatched it from the air. Immediately, purple tendrils rushed over the spear, disappearing inside the wood and metal. The weapon seemed to ripple, and then it changed. The wood got darker and longer. The spear head undulated, elongated, then got thicker in all dimensions. It became a completely different weapon, one that was much meaner looking.

  Nikolai hauled back, and with perfect form, he launched the spear.

  The weapon flew true, smashing into the wyrm’s neck. It knocked some scales off, but not much else. It certainly didn’t stick into the creature. There was no blood.

  The wyrm roared, then pushed off the rock into the darkness.

  “Was that it?” Lee asked.

  “No,” Cleeve said. “We face a stubborn opponent.”

  “He is intelligent for a beast,” Nikolai said, eyes scanning the darkness. “He will watch us, gauge our abilities. He may attack again, he may not. It is possible he determines we are too much trouble—”

  “He saw the bag,” Ragnar interrupted.

  “Then he will be back,” Nikolai said. “He will not leave a magic item such as that behind. The wyrm will be determined to have it for his hoard.”

  Silence reigned.

  Nikolai and Cleeve stood with their backs to the fire. They both had swords out and ready.

  “Is this a creature we can kill?” I asked.

  “It will be either him or us.”

  “Great.”

  I put the bag securely on my person, making sure it wasn’t just going to fall off, and then I climbed to the top of the rock. I pulled out two weapons: first, the Mammoth-Greatsword.

  Mammoth-Greatsword

  Item Type: Uncommon

  Item Class: Two-handed Melee

  Material: Steel

  Damage: 80-120 (Slashing)

  Durability: 80/80

  Weight: 52 lbs

  Requirements: Str 30

  Description: Built by giants, for giants, the mammoth sword is used for the hunting and killing of mammoths. Some fools use them as ostentatious decorations, but none but giants ever wield them in combat. Even among giants, they are often seen as ridiculous.

  The other, the small obsidian dagger I’d liberated from the goblins.

  Goblin Sacrificial Dagger

  Item Type: Common

  Item Class: One-handed dagger

  Material: Obsidian

  Damage: 21-25 (Slashing)

  Durability: 8/25

  Weight: 1 lb.

  Requirements: none

  Description: An unbelievably sharp blade used for ceremonial sacrifices to Goblin Gods, Spirits, Shades, Chiefs, Bosses, or Chefs.

  I did my best to hide the dagger in my belt, and then struck a pose with the mammoth greatsword over my shoulder.

  “Piddly wyrm,” I shouted into the darkness. “Hiding because he’s so scared. Why don’t you tuck your ugly tail under you and run back to your little cave?”

  “What are you doing?” Cleeve hissed from below.

  A bellow came from the woods, followed quickly by the cracking of wood. The wyrm pushed some trees over, and stood there for a heartbeat before roaring.

  I screamed back at him. Not quite as impressive. Despite my strength, I just didn’t have the lung power.

  What I had was a stupid plan that I’d seen work in a tabletop RPG I watched once.

  I gave the giant sword a lazy swing around, doing my best impression of someone who wasn’t actually strong enough to wield the giant weapon. I needed to make sure the wyrm was pissed off and overconfident.

  “Come and fight me, you coward!” I yelled.

  The wyrm launched itself at me, his giant talons swiping across, sending the sword pinwheeling into the woods. Then, as expected, he opened his mouth wide, and came crashing down on me.

  Chapter 82

  I jumped right in, snaking the dagger with one hand, and grabbing a handful of flesh with the other. Immediate downside: the smell. It was fetid, hot, and disgusting in there. An unreal malodorous combination forced its way down my throat much the same way I forced my way down the wyrm’s throat.

  I think he just thought I was stupid (maybe he was right), so he just swallowed, forcing me out of his mouth and into his esophagus. I was pleased to find that wyrm physiology isn’t completely alien, but I knew getting to his stomach was going to be a world of hurt. The muscles in the wyrm’s throat were strong as fuck, and they were crushing me. Also, not much in the way of air. That was something I hadn’t thought of. Another check in the stupid column for that. I still wore the Ring of Water-breathing I’d snagged back in my fight with the Agachnern, and I wondered how specific the water portion of the ring’s title was. I took a tentative breath…

  Score one for magic. It was horrible tasting, but there was enough oxygen in whatever I was breathing to keep me going.

  Struggling back and forth, I managed to get my hand around the dagger, and move it out ever so slightly so that it scraped along the creature’s esophageal lining. The wyrm stopped moving, and I stopped going down. With both hands, I pulled the dagger towards my face, slicing all along the way. I’d thought the wyrm’s breath smelled bad, but it was nothing compared to whatever foul things made up the creature’s viscera. I gagged and threw up. Which, you know, was great in a sort of long term killing the creature through infection way, but wasn’t going to do much in the short term. Then the dagger must’ve reached zero on its durability, because it snapped apart in my hand.

  The wyrm was running, or moving at speed, going crazy as it attempted to dislodge me. I was getting really dizzy, what with being upside down and moving in pretty close to absolute darkness. Which is when I had the brilliant idea to engage dark-vision. I couldn’t see much beyond wet muscle and dark blood. But at least I was seeing something.

  I got an arm into the hole, out of the esophagus and into the, well, flesh of the wyrm’s neck.

  He reacted by trying to throw me back up. I figured that was a sign I was doing what I needed to. so I doubled down, grabbing onto a ligament (tendon?) with one hand, and a flap of throat muscle with the other. I held on with all my strength.

  A second later, I got to experience a new level in disgusting when I got to see Teela again. Well, pieces of her. In various states of decay. Also, some other creatures of the forest. And some rocks. And wood. And something that had to be poop of some kind. Plus, you know, wyrm stomach acid.

  My face burned. Excruciating pain erupted across my whole body as the wyrm’s stomach contents washed over me, around me, and, to an extent, through me. But as the last bits of bile were expunged, I was still there, arms outstretched, white knuckling my grip points.

  Light came from down near my feet, and I had the sneaking suspicion the wyrm was reaching down its throat to pull m
e out.

  I used the quick pause in throat action to reach a hand into the bag of holding. I sent a thought for a carpet. Boom, it was in my hand. I hauled it hard against the throat, which was trying to swallow again, or move or push. The carpet protected me from the taloned fingers, and sure enough, the fingers of the beast crushed around the carpet and ripped it free.

  Next he started slamming his neck against something hard. I had a feeling my time inside this new friend was going to be rather limited.

  Back into the bag, I got another dagger out and started cutting. I sawed away at the flesh while the wyrm flailed around, making the hole bigger and deeper until I found what I was looking for: an artery. Blood thumped along, the vessel as thick around as my leg. In a sense, it was awe-inspiring to see the massive vessel. It made me feel small, insignificant. But little ol’ me had a sharp knife, and the flesh gave way under the steel. As soon as I made a puncture, the intense pressure tore the tiny hole wide open, and blood gushed everywhere.

  The wyrm started shaking, making awful noises before finally coming to a stillness after a minute or so. Even a big creature like that can’t last too long without blood going to the brain.

  I tried to crawl back, but the weight of wyrm collapsed on me, and I just couldn’t get enough leverage to push any of the flesh out of my way. I had to take an alternative route out. I used the dagger to cut and saw until I finally punched through the scales from the inside. My arm felt cold air. With a little work, I slipped my other arm through to the outside, and I then I pulled the fucking wyrm’s throat wide open. The scales popped off as I tore through. Finally, I wriggled free. My hands scrambled for purchase on his scales, but I was covered in wyrm narstiness, and thus had absolutely zero traction. So I slid, unceremoniously, down the creature until I finally came to a stop in a gross pile on top of some pine needles.