by Hugo Huesca
The priest eyed the drone-butler. “Nice to see some civilization and decency coming to this wretched place. I meant Starevos, my Lord, not your Haunt.”
The two of them left Ed’s private quarters—which were not much different from the others he had made lately—and Ed led the way toward the Haunt’s section that was perpendicular to Lavy’s research and development, and behind the recently installed kitchens, which were close to the living quarters of the batblins and the public Mess Hall.
“As I was saying,” Ed said, going over the speech that he, Lavy, and Alder had practiced, “the Haunt’s spiritual wellbeing interests me greatly. It mirrors my own, I think. The influence of the Dark is terrible and almost irresistible, but with the help of a man of the faith, maybe…”
He left the idea hanging, hoping it’d take root in Zachary’s mind.
“The Light’s influence is stronger,” Zachary said. “I could show you.”
And in exchange, you’ll only need a bit of that civilization you keep talking about, Ed thought. It suited him just fine, because he planned to give those same comforts to everyone in the Haunt, not just himself and Zachary.
The Haunt’s section where Ed brought Zachary was very much a work in progress. It had only two rooms, and one of those was right underneath the other—hidden from sight.
“By Alita’s grace!” Zachary exclaimed when they arrived at the first of those two rooms. “This is… you really are serious…”
Ed nodded gravely.
“But the Light… Aren’t you afraid they’ll find us—I mean, find you—if they sense this place of worship?” Zachary asked.
The chapel was a modest version of the one Ed had seen in the catacombs—smaller and less expensive. It had four benches, two on each side, and a humble altar overseeing the place atop a raised dais. It had no windows, but Ed had managed to use the magical torches to give it the otherworldly feeling that was a required ingredient of such places. The tiny chimney and fireplace near a corner gave it the final touch.
“In the Militant Church’s scriptures, it is written that a clean soul has nothing to fear from the judgment of the Light,” said Ed. He had no idea what else was written in the scriptures, because he was simply parroting back what Alder had told him to say. “If, with your help, we can keep the souls of everyone here—including me—clean, there is nothing to fear, is there?”
Zachary looked unconvinced, and he gulped loudly, like a man with his feet too close to the fire. “I’m not sure the Light—um…” His lips twitched again. The priest was trapped because he couldn’t admit that the Light sometimes overdid its zealousness in dealing with the competition. It was time for Ed to go for the kill.
“I’m sure the gods have greater concerns than purging the Haunt. In fact, we’re actively fighting against their enemies, so we’re already allies,” Ed said. “However, let’s give the Light some time to acclimate, yes? I understand the gods can be slow to change their ways.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Zachary, jumping on the rope that he was being offered, “Alita and the Golden Cohorts have little need for change, since they’re already perfect—mostly.” That last word he said while gazing over his shoulder at the altar.
“Sure, sure. How about we compromise? You man this chapel, but dedicate it to a minor Light god, someone like Oynnes. I heard he’s easier to please than his brothers.”
Oynnes was the god of Commerce, according to Alder. He was beloved by merchants because he was the only Light god that accepted coin instead of prayer and other time-consuming forms of worship.
“It may… it may work,” said Zachary, “but the risk—”
“Let me worry about the risk, Zachary. I know what I’m doing,” said Ed, and he hoped he was telling the truth, because he knew what he was doing in theory. “And in any case, if the Light comes after us, we’ll evacuate you and the civilians. Surely, if you helped them survive in the Haunt, the villagers would be more willing to help you hide in Starevos?”
That was the final nail in Zachary’s coffin. The priest mulled it over and began to nod slowly.
“Remember,” Ed told him, “let’s start slow. How about some holy water to begin with? My friends and I will hunt dangerous undead soon, and we could use the Light’s blessing.”
“Yes, yes, I can help you with that. I suppose Oynnes will be pleased to take part in hunting undead, they’re terrible for business…”
“What do you need?”
“Purified water,” said Zachary. “It works better if cleansed by a Cleric’s spells that same day, but using non-divine water treatment methods could do in a pinch. As a priest, I’ve no magic of my own, so I’ll have to bless it using rituals.”
A long, technical explanation followed. Ed pieced together that Zachary could only make about one liter of holy water per day, and it’d only remain blessed for up to a week without a Cleric’s magic. If Ed got the priest an assistant, he could make more and make it last longer.
Blessing weaponry was faster. The ritual took an hour, but the blessing only lasted for a day, and it could be lost if the weapon drew blood from a living vein.
When Ed complained about the unfairness of that last limitation, Zachary explained that permanent blessings required a payment of experience points, along with special alloys of steel and silver known only to the Inquisition, and an advanced-ranked enchantment skill—at the very least. Those kinds of weapons were very expensive, and very sought after—but if a Dark-aligned person tried to wield one, the best he could expect was a serious burn, delivered via holy conflagration.
Still, after their conversation had ended and Ed had left the priest to familiarize himself with his new chapel, he felt he had fared much better than he had any reason to expect. Having access to holy water and blessed weapons gave the Haunt an advantage they very much needed against the kind of entities they’d be fighting.
Ed looked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, then walked down a dead-end tunnel next to the chapel. The walls of the tunnels were covered in the bright purple curtains that were slowly enveloping the entire Haunt. He pushed a curtain out of the way to reveal a small door behind. He knocked on it three times, waited, then knocked another two times.
Lavy opened the door. She was wearing a black, drone-made tunic. She ushered Ed inside and locked the door behind her.
This chapel looked more or less the same as its sister, but the altar was black and engraved with silver. It had no benches and no chimney, and there was a wicked vibe in the air, a tiny hint of wrongness, like spitting on a grave on Halloween.
“He bought it?” asked Lavy, a mocking smile drawn on her face.
“Zachary may be annoying, but he isn’t dumb,” Ed said. “He knows something is up. The thing is, as long as he gets what he wants, I’m pretty sure he’ll not care to look very hard.”
“He better not.”
Zachary had given Ed a special kind of trouble. He was technically a member of the Enemy: the Inquisition was powerful, unwilling to compromise, and would kill Ed and everyone near him if they ever uncovered his location. The priest wasn’t a criminal, though, so Ed couldn’t just kill him or jail him forever. At the same time, if Zachary ever left the Haunt he could risk the lives of everyone in it.
Ed’s solution, with Lavy’s help, was manipulative, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought about it. But it was also painless, and bloodless. They got Zachary to help the Haunt, with little to no risk, but more importantly they had given him a reason to integrate into the Haunt’s community in a way that satisfied everyone.
He walked up to the raised dais. Atop the altar lay a small rabbit’s corpse, its fresh blood marring the white stone surface. The tiny knife next to the corpse was stained red.
The rabbit was worth a single experience point, and Lavy had used that point to consecrate—or was it desecrate?—the altar to the Dark, satisfying the bare minimum requirement to do so.
“We haven’t been consumed by hol
y and, or, unholy fire,” Lavy pointed out. “So, we got away with it.”
“There was no reason not to,” Ed said. “We didn’t have to bend the rules at all, since it’s all Objectivity-compliant. The Light can’t locate Dark altars, the Dark can’t locate Light altars. These two altars are in the same location, so neither the Light nor the Dark can use them to find us—this way, at least.”
Ed sighed in exhaustion. Between Kes’ training regimen and all the work on the dungeon, he couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t sighing in exhaustion. But it was the good kind of tired. If he kept himself busy, he could forget the constant danger that loomed over the Haunt.
And the challenge kept him sharp.
“A friend of Warlock Chasan knew of a mage that once bent the rules too far,” Lavy said in a conversational tone. “The mage was an Enchanter, very gifted. She made a circlet that enhanced Mind. Mind is the attribute you use to enchant better magical items, you see. So she put it on and made another, better, circlet that enhanced Mind…”
“Oh,” said Ed. He winced involuntarily. That was a hell of a great idea, and a part of him was angry he hadn’t thought of it. The other part decided to wait for the rest of Lavy’s tale.
“All Objectivity-compliant—according to her, at least,” Lavy went on. “Her tower was in the middle of her city, you know, right in the center. It had a top engraved with gold sheets and precious stones, or so goes the story. It’s said she was on her fifteenth circlet when a mouth opened in the middle of the sky and ate her and half her tower in a single bite.”
Ed smiled nervously. “What was the Enchanter’s name?”
What he was thinking, instead, was, If the entire tower got eaten, how did people know she was on her fifteenth circlet?
“That’s the thing,” Lavy said. “No one knows. She was minor royalty in her kingdom, her name still written in a hundred or so records and artworks. But no one can remember. It’s all very strange. You can see her name written in those documents, but you can’t read it. Not even her own father remembers her name. But everyone who saw that mouth in the sky still remembers it. Some even saw what was behind it, but they won’t tell. Haven’t said a word ever since.”
She gave him a creepy grin.
“Point taken,” Ed said. “Don’t make Mind-enhancing circlets to loophole your way into godhood.”
“The teaching is, ‘Don’t push your luck, dung-brain,’ ” Lavy said, shaking her head. “Those are Warlock Chasan’s words. The mouth didn’t eat the Enchanter when she made the second circlet, it didn’t eat her when she made the third. You see, all the way to the fourteenth, she was thinking she had gotten away with it.”
“Until she didn’t.”
“Until she didn’t,” Lavy agreed.
Ed looked around, almost expecting reality to tear into a gigantic, fanged, gaping hole. “How about we take it easy with the altars for a while, huh?”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Your Dungeon Engineering has increased by 2…
Ed’s entire body ached with tension. Sweat ran freely down his forehead. He shook his head and brought his sword down a vertical slash, his forearms burning as if they were on fire.
“Again!” said Kes.
“Alita’s mercy,” said Alder sadly. The Bard looked much worse for the wear. His straw-blond hair was caked with sweat, and his face was prawn-red. “Someone end my suffering. Is Murmur still taking deals? My soul in exchange for a five-minute rest!”
“I heard that!” Kes exclaimed, bouncing back on the soles of her boots. In a heartbeat, she was in front of Alder, gazing into his terrified features with eyes like burning embers. “You just earned everyone another ten circuits around the Center, Alder Loom! And keep a decent speed this time, or I won’t count them!”
Lavy made a whimpering noise, but the Witch—wisely—refrained from further complaints. She was as red-faced as Alder, but her training mace didn’t waver like Alder’s did. She had recently earned her new Endurance point, now at a total of nine points, same as the Bard’s and one below Edward’s ten. Since increasing a higher attribute took more time, Ed’s own Endurance hadn’t risen yet, but according to Kes his Brawn would grow somewhere in the following couple days.
Some steps away from Lavy, a half-sized spear trembled slightly out of Ed’s line of sight. He had seen Klek train without complaint since day one, and the batblin’s Brawn and Endurance had reached rank six. The strongest batblins in the Haunt were ranked at an eight in those.
“Edward, your form got lazy again,” Kes told him, bringing his attention back to the training. “Start from the beginning.”
Ed’s eye twitched, but he knew better than to complain. The problem with Kes’ instructions, though, was that he couldn’t maintain proper form when his entire body was shaking with exhaustion. He positioned his feet slightly apart, lowered his center of gravity like Kes had taught him, lifted the weighted sword over his head, and brought it down.
During the third repetition, his slash gained a minimal sideways skew, though he couldn’t even fathom what he had done wrong. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice…
“Start again,” Kes said. “Don’t push your elbows like that next time.”
The worst part about this part of the training was that Kes wasn’t even teaching them how to fight yet. She insisted they had to get the basics right, or they’d develop bad habits that would cripple them later on. So, all this slashing and posturing—which they did after two hours of running and weight-training—was just so she could drill into their heads the proper way for their bodies to act when in possession of a weapon.
And drills required lots, and lots, and lots, of repetition.
Downward slash.
Downward slash. Sweat ran into his eyes again.
Downward slash…
When Kes mercifully let the four of them crawl out of the Training Center, Ed felt that he’d dream about downward slashes for the rest of his life. Probably have nightmares about them too.
The three humans and the batblin hovered next to a jar filled with cold water. Behind them, Kes remained in the Training Center, muttering to herself and fiddling with the equipment.
“Bards aren’t supposed to train their Brawn,” Alder complained. “It’s bad manners; we aren’t supposed to go into combat.”
“You’re telling me,” said Lavy. “As far as I’m concerned, not a single one of us four is built for direct combat.”
“That’s why we’re running so much, right?” Alder ventured. “With a bit more running, and my nimble feet bardic utterance, I reckon we could outpace Kharon himself if we had to.”
“Kharon can teleport,” said Ed. “So running won’t help at all.”
“We can’t punch him, either,” Lavy said. “Maybe we can get him to undergo Kes’ training, and he’ll run away on his own.”
The three of them chuckled softly, because at this point of their training they weren’t really complaining anymore, it was just that talking about Kes’ brutality was the way they relaxed after a session.
The only one who didn’t laugh was Klek. The batblin was deep in thought. His gray hide was almost black with sweat.
“Anything bothering you, Klek?” Ed asked the batblin.
Klek jumped a bit on his feet. “No, Lord Edward. I was trying to figure out how many days left until I’m as strong as Drusb. I need to be at least as strong as him if I want to protect the cloud.”
Drusb was the batblins cloudmaster, their leader. From what Ed knew of the batblins, they were a rough bunch, and when Ed had met them, they seemed to hate Klek. They had left him to die, in fact.
On the other hand, they had also abandoned Drusb.
“Klek, man, you’re already much stronger than you were last month,” Lavy told him worriedly. “Take it easy, little guy, you’ll break something important if you keep going at this rate.” When Lavy had first encountered Klek, she had tried to smash his skull with a rock because he stank.
“Scary lady, you’ll break faster than the mighty Ranger Slayer,” Klek boasted. “Maybe you’ll break another nail and cry again.”
“You little shit, we agreed we’d never mention that again,” Lavy said. She smacked the batblin on the shoulder, but her frown was way exaggerated, and her punch was more like a tap. The batblin and the Witch snorted, and their fake dispute died as fast as it had come.
Ed recalled the vivid memory of Lavy standing over Klek with a rock in her hand. That had been a long time ago—or so it seemed. Since then, Lavy and Klek had fought together, trained together, worked together… and something strange had happened to them. They were a family now, closer to each other than Klek was to the other batblins.
Ed had no idea what magic of the Haunt had allowed that to happen, but he recognized something special when he saw it. Something worth protecting. In any other circumstance, a woman like Lavy and a batblin like Klek would never have met, much less become friends.
Hell, as far as Ed was aware, this had never happened in the history of Starevos. Perhaps not even of Ivalis. Their interactions, more than the talents and the spells, was really magical. His dungeon grew, and it was hungry, but it was also fragile. Ed had to protect it, whatever the cost. He had to become stronger, yes, but it was even more important that the Haunt and its inhabitants became stronger too.
“So, Klek,” Alder said. “Why all the effort? You work harder than anyone in your cloud, and you say you do it for them, but… you know. They aren’t very nice to you.”
“They are fucking dung-for-brains is what you mean,” Lavy said. “They don’t deserve you, little guy.”
“My cloud is… it’s hard to explain it. This is how we’ve lived all our lives,” Klek said, looking at the floor. “We hid in the forest, hunted, ran from the wolves. Once in a while a bear ate one of us. It’s… it’s life, I guess.” The three humans exchanged worried glances, but the batblin took no notice. “But everyone does their part, otherwise we’d all die. Drusb leads us in combat. His wife, Stush, leads us when we aren’t fighting. Clunk was our best hunter, but he got killed by a wolf last month. My father, Virp, was the Shaman.” That name was familiar to Ed; he’d heard the batblins mention Virp a couple times before. “His part was to inspire the cloud, and to buff the warriors during combat. That was going to be my part, too, when I was born. But Shamans are born, not made, and I was born without the talent. So I had no part.” Klek smoothed his purple trousers with a trembling hand and refused to meet Ed’s gaze.