by Drew Hayes
“Much, much weirder than that,” Bert said. “How much do you remember?”
Though it hurt his head to do it, Russell tried to think back to what had happened before he woke up. They’d been playing the section in the treasury, and one of the NPCs had died saving everyone. Then the book said another had picked up the artifact and…
It was all still there, in his mind. The strange light from the book, the glowing dice, the voices coming through him. Even more, he could recall flashes of things he hadn’t seen—a cavern filled gold lit by torches, the burning eyes of a dark-haired man clutching two strange objects, the howls of a wounded barbarian whose face seemed just a bit too familiar.
“Holy shit... I guess this means I know I’m not crazy.”
“Or we’re all insane,” Tim added.
“Technically, that’s the more likely option,” Bert said. “But just in case we’re not, how about we all agree to burn our character sheets and the module, then never talk about this again?”
“Are you fucking nuts?” Cheri took one last look at Russell before returning to her seat. “We just saw magic. Real magic. And you want to run in the other direction? What’s the point of playing these games if we don’t lean into opportunities like this when they appear?”
“Not being possessed by a book seems high on the list,” Bert countered.
“Look, we can decide what to do next when the game is over,” Russell announced. His words filled the room with silence as all eyes turned fearfully toward him.
“It’s not over?” Alexis whispered.
In response, Russell held up the module, his thumb indicating the few pages remaining. “You still have to get off the mountain. I can’t speak for all of you, but I think it’s safer to see this thing through to the end, rather than just leave the characters stranded. It’s your call, though.”
“Just a little bit more.” Tim was clutching his dice so hard they were unquestionably leaving impressions in his hand. “All we have to do is get out of the mountain.”
“And back down it,” Bert reminded him. “Remember, our escape coins don’t work through the mountain’s wards.”
“That’s right,” Russell said. “Ordinarily, I might just cheat to get you all out of this, but you’ll understand if I don’t want to depart from the module too much as things stand. That means you have to fight your way out, back down, and…” Russell paused as he turned the page in his book, carefully reading what came next. “Actually, never mind.”
* * *
“Shouldn’t we look for her?” Gabrielle asked.
“She’s an expert at disappearing whenever she feels like it, and we’ve got much bigger issues to deal with,” Eric said. “Namely, we need to figure out what happened to you and how to fix it.”
“Getting away from the dragon might also be prudent,” Grumph pointed out.
“Right. So we need to crack the wards.” The Bridge let off a small glow in Eric’s hand, and he tilted his head as if listening. “Grumph, how much of the day’s mana do you have left?”
“Most of it. Can’t cast well in here.”
“Well, get ready to use it all. I think I can show you how to magically brute-force away a ward. I doubt it will work for long, but it should be enough to let us use the teleportation coins.” Eric walked over to the half-orc, arm holding the artifact extended. “We’ll both hold it this time. Don’t ask me how, but I’m pretty sure I can keep it from overwhelming your mind at least long enough to get you the information.”
“Is no one else going to point out that we’re being pretty cavalier about allowing Eric to use an item that nearly sent him off the deep end?” Gabrielle asked.
“Aye, it’s an issue we will absolutely have a long discussion about, once we’re no longer in the treasury of a dragon and trying to make off with his most prized possession,” Thistle said.
Gabrielle grumbled a bit but voiced no more objection as she lifted her axe from the ground and sheathed it. Oddly, touching the shaft didn’t burn her hands, nor did she feel the same stir in her mind. One more mystery to tackle once they were safe... or as safe as they could be, hauling around a magical artifact and an undead barbarian.
Despite Eric’s assurances, Grumph still tensed as soon as his hand touched the Bridge; his whole body seemed as though it would begin shaking at any moment. Then, just when Gabrielle was getting worried, Grumph pulled his hand away. He was shaken, but seemed to be more or less all right.
“Get it?” Eric asked.
“Probably,” Grumph replied. He lifted his staff in the air and made a few test motions, clearly getting a feel for whatever he’d been shown.
“Good. When you do it, we’ll activate the coin and head back to Camnarael,” Eric said. He looked to Chalara, who was still keeping a safe distance from him. “The ward will be temporarily broken for everyone, so if you’d rather not fight your way down a mountain, then you should use your coin as well.”
“Seeing as there’s a pissed off dragon overhead, I think we’ll take you up on that,” Chalara replied. “But, there’s not like a huge rush, is there?”
“What do you mean?” Eric asked.
“Well... we did defeat the golems, you know. And while you all might be happy with your weird artifact, the rest of us came here hoping to score some loot.” Chalara spread her arms out, gesturing to the heaping piles of gold all around them. “Sort of seems like a shame not to help ourselves, especially since we know it’s ill-gotten gains, so it doesn’t even count as stealing.”
Eric looked to Gabrielle, who in turn looked to Thistle, who traded glances with Grumph and Timuscor before shrugging his small shoulders. They had all learned the value of gold and equipment, after all. And who knew what the challenges ahead of them were going to cost.
“Five minutes to grab as much as we can?” Thistle suggested.
Chalara nodded, and exchanged a slapping of hands with her gnome friend. “Works for us.”
* * *
Agrut and Everett were in the heat of battle, throwing magic and attacking Rathgan in earnest. Elora contemplated telling them goodbye and that she’d elected not to finish out the contract, but they seemed pretty busy. It would be rude, really, to disturb them while they battled an elder dragon.
Instead, she easily snuck past them in the chaos. If they survived, she’d try to slip them the antidote to her poison once they were back in town, assuming she had time and remembered. Something told her that the next few weeks would be quite busy, though. Whatever it was Eric had led her to—the object wrapped in a cloak and tucked away carefully in her backpack—Elora knew it would need a very particular type of buyer: someone curious, with deep pockets, but not dangerous. This was too strong to slip to some mad wizard; even through the cloth, she could feel its power. Nope, that sort of deal would lead to disaster, and while she was undoubtedly an opportunist, even Elora wasn’t that heartless.
She had a few ideas for potential buyers, but each would need to be carefully vetted. All of that came later, of course. For now, her first priority was slipping off the mountain. Then she’d have to find somewhere safe to stash the item until the deal was finalized. So many things to handle.
Luckily, she had a quick way back to Camnarael. Agrut had been designated to hold the party’s coin, probably because they didn’t trust her not to leave them if the going got tough. It wasn’t a bad strategy, really, except that it left her at a disadvantage. So Elora had opted to lift the item from Agrut’s pocket before they entered the elder dragon’s chamber.
This would strand the other two, but they were both strong–or at least, they thought themselves to be. She was certain they’d find their way back to the capital on their own. Probably even before the poison took full effect. Either way, it wasn’t her direct problem. She had a deal to broker, an artifact to hide, and, perhaps, an apprentice to apologize to.
But only if there was time for that last one. Elora was a busy rogue, after all.
Epilogue
Mitch, Glenn, and Terry were out the door the moment the light on their dice vanished, bolting so quickly they left behind books, bags, and tear stains on Jamie’s table. They’d be back, eventually. Their type never could handle failure with any sort of decorum. No, once they were clear, they would marshal together the twin forces of denial and delusion to convince themselves that this was a strategic retreat. When they returned, it would be with some sort of armament—or perhaps the police, if they were feeling particularly bold.
Not that any of it really mattered. By the time their heart rates slowed and their eyes dried, there would be no remnants of Jamie or her shop. Honestly, she’d half expected them to get suspicious after weeks and weeks of seeing no customers, but then again, they hadn’t gotten themselves into such a situation by being swift or observant.
Carefully, she piled their forgotten belongings together and dropped each one into an extra-durable, black garbage bag. Maybe these would end up on their doorsteps somewhere down the line, a not-so-subtle reminder of their cowardice if they began to make trouble again. Hopefully, there would be no need for such theatrics. When they tried to return and found only an empty building, she liked to think that they would be forced to swallow this lesson. At least, Glenn and Terry might; despite their vices, those two had the capacity to mend their ways. Mitch, however, was almost certainly a lost cause. But she’d tried, so her conscience was clear.
When the last garbage bag was thoroughly tied, Jamie left it on the floor and headed into the back. She wasn’t on cleanup duty; there were other resources for that. No, an employee with her talent was always needed somewhere more important. Broken Bridge Publishing was a small company, by both design and necessity, which meant that people like Jamie faced an almost Sisyphean task in terms of clearing their to-do lists. Well, she’d known what the job was when she signed on.
In the back room there was precious little, and all of it would be gone within the hour: the mini-fridge stocked with drinks, the card table, and the microwave that served as a kitchen, and of course, Jamie’s makeup station. All manner of props were housed in the custom-made trunk that folded out into a prep area, including a multi-colored wig, false nose ring, and a bounty of eye make-up that would have been very familiar to Russell and Cheri. Jamie wondered how those two were doing as she methodically stowed her props and tools. The similarity between them and the characters in Rathgan’s treasury hadn’t escaped her notice. It was going to be an interesting debrief; there was no question about that. The number of candidates was shrinking, so having a group make contact with the Bridge directly was no small event.
That alone wouldn’t be enough, however. The pace was picking up, but there was still so much left to be done. Including Rathgan’s piece of the Bridge, just over ten pieces had been accounted for, and there was still the matter of recovering the shard the rogue had stolen, although thankfully they had just the resource for that task. No, Russell and Cheri were hardly guaranteed anything, yet Jamie found herself cheering for them a bit all the same. Hopefully they made it to the next step, if not all the way.
With her trunk packed, Jamie wheeled it out the back door to her bland sedan—chosen specifically for how unremarkable it was—and slid it into the back seat. Moments later, her keys were in the ignition. She was out on the street just in time to see the silhouettes of people entering her shop. Not long now and no signs of Comics, Comics, Comics would remain, which was precisely how management wanted things.
Jamie checked her GPS and set a course, then turned up the radio. This was going to be a long drive; she may as well enjoy it.
* * *
The battle was a difficult one, due in no small part to incompetent lesser adventurers getting underfoot, but slowly and surely, they wore the dragon down. His spells were countered, his flesh pierced, and soon the floor of the cavern became sticky with Rathgan’s blood. As Everett lifted his sword, magic glowing along its blade, he took careful aim. The next time the elder dragon paused to breath fire, he and every other able-bodied warrior would spring into action. Rathgan’s neck would be sliced down the center, and their battle would be over.
But Rathgan didn’t breathe fire, despite his habit of using it when the adventurers were huddled in too close. Instead, he let out a few words and cast a spell. Everett braced for more lightning, or burning rocks, or even summoned minions. But what happened next was none of those things. A bright light seemed to explode all around the room, firing up into the night sky through the open ceiling and momentarily blinding all who were present.
When vision finally returned to Everett’s eyes, accompanied by flickering black spots, Rathgan was nowhere to be seen. A cheer rose from the other adventurers, confused at first, but growing more confident with every passing moment. The dragon must have fled, using the light as a distraction. By all accounts, they’d won the day and proven that Alcatham would not take attacks without fighting back.
Personally, Everett found the whole thing left him with a bad taste in his mouth, as well as a pain in his stomach. All that effort, and he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of seeing the dragon lying dead at his feet. It was downright disappointing after the thrill of a true battle. Still, at least a fleeing adversary couldn’t defend his treasure, so Everett was certain he’d be able to take some comfort in Rathgan’s gold, once they found it.
Everett headed over to Agrut, passing a broad-shouldered warrior in armor styled like metal scales who was curiously unharmed, shaking his head as he reached the sorcerer.
“He fled. Can you believe it?”
Agrut let out a small, dark laugh, more for himself than Everett. “Of course I can. Dragons are intelligent beings. What creature do you know of that would allow itself to be killed when fleeing was an option?”
“One with a bit of guts.” Everett spat, his saliva pink from the blood in his mouth. It hadn’t been the worst fight of his life; however, he’d hardly gotten through it unscathed. “Speaking of cowards, where’s the rogue?”
“Vanished, as far as I can tell,” Agrut replied. “Probably among the dead. Or perhaps she simply turned tail and fled at the sight of Rathgan’s true form.”
“Either way suits me fine, saves us the trouble of aggressive renegotiation.” Everett and Agrut had already agreed that, while a rogue was certainly useful on this quest, neither was willing to give up a genuine share of their take. It was a matter they’d planned to sort out with Elora once she was no longer of use, but it seemed she’d dealt with that burden by fleeing.
From across the cavern, yells rose up as the others uncovered a secret passage hidden by an illusory wall. Everett noticed the large man in the scale armor stepping through ahead of the others, somehow cutting aside the illusion like it wasn’t even there. He stopped after a few steps, looking back at the rest of the adventurers gathered nearby and saying something Everett was too far away to hear.
“He wants them all to wait while he checks for traps,” Agrut said. Lip-reading was a skill he’d picked up ages ago and took great pride in using freely.
“With that armor? Unlikely. He just wants to get first pick of the treasure,” Everett replied. Agrut was a few steps behind as they began moving, easily shoving the other adventurers aside as they forced their way through the crowd and into the hidden tunnel. Some protested, but Everett silenced them with a quick bash of his shield. This was not the time to fuss with lesser beings. There was someone trying to help himself to treasure that rightfully belong to Everett and Agrut, a sin that could not be allowed to pass.
They were nearly there when they heard the roar. It came from up ahead, and after the battle they’d fought, it was impossible to mistake the sound as anything but a dragon. And it sounded furious. Everett pulled his sword free and looked to Agrut, whose own staff was already in hand. They could hear the others’ pounding footsteps from behind but didn’t wait for backup. Plunging ahead, they took the next corner, darting past a familiar-looking pair of gold doors and racing headlong…
>
Into an empty cavern. There was nothing but the torches on the walls. No gold. No jewels. No magic items. Not even the man who’d come ahead of them. The only item Everett could spy was a broken stone pedestal in the far end of the room, little more than rubble and hardly worth taking.
“Where’s all the treasure?” It was impossible to tell which peon in the crowd uttered the question; they all echoed it soon after, anyway.
Everett bit back a flurry of curses and jammed his blade into its sheath before turning to Agrut.
“Anything?”
The sorcerer shook his head. “Nothing here seems to be veiled or hidden. I am picking up a lot of magic, however. Like something big was recently cast.”
“Could it have been the man who went in first?” Everett asked.
“A strong enough mage could easily punch a temporary hole in the wards,” Agrut told him. “However, teleporting out an elder dragon’s hoard would be a whole other matter. Such a feat would be exhausting even for Rathgan himself. No, most likely he moved his gold before the battle even started. That’s why he was so willing to flee; there was nothing to defend.”
Everett let out a harsh scream as he drove his metal boot into a nearby rock. “Damn it! All that and no treasure? We are going to sack the shit out of every hatchling nest on this mountain until we get what we’re due.”
“If the elder has flown, expect the smaller dragons to follow,” Agrut said. “But it’s worth a try on our way down. Perhaps we’ll find some herbs or potions, if nothing else. To be frank, my stomach has been twisting itself fiercely over the last few hours.”
“Mine as well; perhaps the meat in our last meal had turned.” Everett snickered slightly. “I suppose that might be why the rogue fled; her stomach became unruly, and she didn’t want anyone to see her in such an indelicate position.”
Funny as the image was, it didn’t quite take Everett’s mind off the pain in his own gut, or the disappointment of the vacant treasure room. Most bothersome of all, however, was the burning question that wouldn’t leave his mind.