Dragon Apocalypse (The Berserker and the Pedant Book 2)

by Josh Powell

  Pellonia nodded. “Before Arthur turned all evil, he tried to make a copy of me so that I could stay here and the copy could go on the Awakening. There was some sort of feedback caused by having so many orbs active and he accidentally made four copies of me. One went to the ship, three were taken by Phage, and I got away.”

  Pellonia continued, “The Orb of Skzd can open a portal to anywhere in the world, so if they need longer range they might be trying to open a portal back to the Phage homeworld to send in reinforcements.”

  “We’ve got to stop them,” Gurken said.

  “I’ll help,” Davina said. “Arthur fooled me into helping him, and I’ve got to make things right.”

  “Very well,” said Gurken.

  Pellonia put her hands up and furled her brow. “Whatever happened to that berserker rage, Gurken? You’re all forgiveness and diplomacy now. It’s quite unnerving.”

  Gurken shrugged. “And my axe? Where’s my axe, Davina?”

  “Oooo, as to that…”

  “Yes?”

  “It was confiscated to pay for our taxes.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “I have the receipt.” She handed the receipt to Gurken. It read “This receipt entitles the bearers, a/an band of accountants registered as The Iron Maidens, to receive one mystic axe in exchange for the sum of 79,131 pieces of gold within 30 days of the issuance of the receipt.”

  “Have you the money to bail out the axe?” Gurken asked.

  “I’m afraid not, I was just going to let them keep it. That’s an awful lot of gold.”

  “We’ve got to get that sponsor,” Pellonia said. “Davina, can you take us to meet Nevil FitzClarence?”

  “I’d be delighted to,” Davina said.

  “Halt!” said the gatekeeper to the FitzClarence estate. He stood just beyond the ornately decorated and gilded gate entrance. “What business do you have within?”

  “Ulric, you know I work for BAG. You know what I’m here for, let me in,” Davina said.

  “Sorry, Davina. It’s my job to ask, it’s the only thing I do. Let me do my job, please,” Ulric whispered. In a louder voice he said, “What business do you have within?”

  Davina rolled her eyes and said, “We seek an audience with Nevil FitzClarence to petition him for a writ of expeditious undertaking for these adventurers. You know he loves these things, let us pass.”

  “Very well, I will send for the page.”

  He turned to the messenger boy and gave a short command and the boy took off at such an expedient pace that Davina was quite impressed. He returned momentarily with the page and everyone was escorted along a path that crossed the lawn and wound around a fountain sculpture depicting a handsome wealthy individual exiting a carriage and braving entrance to a foreboding mine.

  There was a sculpture of a hideous troll coming out of the mine, water spurting from his mouth. Statues of a dwarf, a small girl, and a centaur, stood behind the wealthy individual, the water from the troll flowing in an arc over his head and onto the head of the centaur.

  Pellonia stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the sculpture. “I don’t recall it happening quite like that.” Gurken watched the water spurting from the trolls mouth and onto the centaur. He smiled and said, “At least the troll isn’t spitting on you.”

  Elaborate marble steps led to the entrance of the house and the page stopped in front of the doorman. The doorman shooed him away and said “I apologize that you had to deal with one of the lesser staff. Please enter.” He held the door open and Davina lead the others inside.

  As they stepped foot into the home, they encountered the first footman who lead them to the staircase where the housekeeper shooed him away and lead our heroes up the stairs where the second footman apologized for the indignity of having to have spoken to the housekeeper only to have the butler arrive, dismiss the first footman, and apologize for having had to speak to one of such lowly station.

  The butler led them to the sitting room, where the house steward interjected and introduced himself after releasing the butler to fetch some refreshments. He invited them to sit in the upper library and await his master, upon which time the secretary arrived and dispatched the house steward to retrieve the master of the house.

  Quite exhausted and confused, the adventurers — if we can call those without an adventuring license “adventurers” — were quite relieved when Nevil FitzClarence finally arrived.

  “Gurken, Pellonia, it is so good to see you again after our quest. I take it things turned out well?” Nevil said.

  “Yes, and no,” Pellonia replied. “We saved the world, in no small part due to your contribution, however, though the battle is won, the war is not. The Phage lurk hidden in this world and seek still to destroy it.”

  “Ghastly!” Nevil exclaimed. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “They’re seeking a sponsor, your lordship,” Davina said.

  “Why, yes, you would need a sponsor now that you’re in Arendal. I’d be delighted to sponsor your adventuring party, Pellonia,” Nevil said.

  “That’s great, I really appreciate it,” Pellonia said.

  “Not at all,” said Lord FitzClarence. “I even have a quest for you!”

  “A quest?” said Pellonia. “We’re really looking to—”

  “Yes, a quest! It’s really quite important. You see, plant demons have been lurking beneath the city. They’ve scared away the sewer workers and the entire city is beginning to, shall we say, back up. Another questing party, The Lightning Brigade, went off in search of them a week ago, but they’ve not returned and the attacks continue.”

  Pellonia wrinkled her nose. “You want us to go down into the sewers?”

  “Well, that’s the quest that’s available. You need a sponsor, we need the sewers cleaned out of plant monsters.”

  “Fine,” Pellonia said. “But we’ll need enough gold to get our items out and Gurken’s axe. And we’ll need the axe up front.”

  “Seems perfectly reasonable to me,” Lord FitzClarence said, clapping his hands. The secretary ran into the room. “Please prepare documentation for the official sponsorship of… what did you say your adventuring party’s name is?”

  “The Ice Capaders.”

  “Fabulous name,” said Lord FitzClarence. “Please prepare documentation for the official sponsorship of Lord FitzClarence’s Ice Capaders. Initial outlay shall be enough to cover the bail on Gurken’s axe, currently held under the account of Davina Bloodhammer. Second payment shall be made in the form of bail to cover the release of the remaining items on the Ice Capaders’ account. Does that suffice?”

  “It does,” said Pellonia.

  “Excellent!” said Lord FitzClarence, then you are invited to dine with me at a party in your honor tonight. I shall invite the rest of the nobility; anyone who is anyone shall be there. You should even be able to acquire additional sponsors. The top adventuring parties earn more from noble patrons than they do from adventuring!”

  “That sounds like a great deal,” Pellonia said. “However, we really just want to get our stuff back and be on our way. The Phage are trying to get back to this world after we prevented them from destroying it last time. If they get back, it will be disastrous. We don’t really have time to go on sponsored quests.”

  “Saving the world! That sounds like a fabulous quest! There will be no shortage of co-sponsors for that. Tell me more about this Phage while Gurken’s axe is retrieved.”

  Lord FitzClarence was true to his word. That evening a fabulous feast was thrown in their honor. Before the guests arrived, Davina returned to BAG to fulfill her obligations and The Ice Capaders were thoroughly bathed, rinsed, and groomed by the Lord’s servants.

  Pellonia was outfit with the finest clothing in the latest styles a rogue would wear: a soft black suede cloak made from the flesh of unweaned calves, and boots made from the same, a shiny mulberry silk blouse, and black linen trousers. Gurken was outfit with exquisitely engraved ceremonial platin
um plate armor, a jewel-encrusted helm, and brown suede boots made from the flesh of unweaned sheep. Maximina donned platinum scale mail and matched it with plum colored silken boots, gloves, scarf, and cloak embroidered with golden thread and a platinum tiara shimmering with diamonds. Ohm was given a brazenly colored silken outfit of the brightest yellows and boldest reds.

  The Ice Capaders sat in the seats of honor beside the lord at the head of the grand table, which formed a large ‘W’ shape. Hundreds of nobles sat in order of their station, with those of higher rank seated next to the adventurers and those of the lowest seated at the other end of the long tables. Dozens of servants brought a feast of fowl and beef, with specialty items from the ends of the known world and beyond.

  Pellonia engaged in small talk with a rather charming prince of Arendal, Prince Elbert Windsor, who enthralled her with tales of life at court. Gurken outdrank Randall Violet, Duke of Aerilon, a neighboring city, providing Maximina with the occasion to tease the lovely Ilda Violet, Duchess of Aerilon, about her décolletage. The duchess blushed prettily and soon the two, having drunk too much wine, retired to discuss whatever it is that two young ladies retire to discuss on such an occasion.

  Ohm was set upon by admiring young ladies of nobility, drawn to his voice and handsome body. Each young lady was more eager than the last to pet his dragon and touch his lute. He ate and drank his fill of food and mead and played late into the night, under the suspicious and watchful eyes of the ladies’ governesses, until all had fallen asleep on the plush couches near the stage. Somehow, he had still not managed to acquire a patron by morning.

  Gurken woke the next morning and raised his head from the feasting table. His face peeled away from the table, some unidentifiable sticky substance attaching him to it. He poured some water from a nearby pitcher over his face and used his hands to wipe it off.

  “Now, that’s a party!” Gurken shouted.

  Pellonia strode into the room, refreshed from a night’s rest and already changed into her adventuring gear, the ceremonial garb from the night before discarded in favor of more practical attire.

  “It’s time to get leave for our quest, Gurken. Where is everyone?” Pellonia asked.

  Gurken shrugged, saw a leg of uneaten mutton and dug into it with a ferocity that reminded Pellonia of the days when Gurken still raged. A groan rose from nearby a fireplace, and Ohm sat up, waking a number of slumbering ladies that had fallen asleep on his chest. The governesses quickly awoke, saw the situation, and latched onto their respective lady, ushering them away.

  Ohm looked up and yelled, “Apocalypse! Come down! What are you doing sleeping on the chandelier? And with a parrot, no less!”

  Apocalypse looked apologetically at the bird, and glode… glided… glade? Anyway, he flew down, landing on Ohm’s shoulder.

  Maximina wandered in, dressed in the same outfit as the night before, clothing disheveled, with matted hair in a dazzling configuration and a big stupid grin on her face. “A night to remember,” she sighed contentedly.

  A servant of some rank or another scurried into the room.

  “Glorious Ice Capaders,” he said. “The time has come to prepare for the introductory parade to mark the inauguration of the quest.” He clapped his hands and a stream of servants entered the room, taking the companions and leading them to separate rooms to further bathe and toilet and change into their adventuring garb.

  When all was done, they met Lord FitzClarence back in the great hall. The room had been cleaned from the previous night’s festivities and a small crowd had gathered in the room. A servant approached Gurken, returning his axe, and Lord FitzClarence addressed them.

  “Are you prepared to begin your quest?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Berserker and the Dungeon

  THE DOORS FROM the grand hall swung open, revealing a podium and stage in front of an enormous crowd. The crowd began hollering and cheering as Lord FitzClarence stood at the podium, and they quieted down to hear him speak. He described the quest in gruesome detail, taking time to make a jab at the rival noble who had sponsored the previous adventuring party to have attempted the quest, The Lightning Brigade.

  After describing the quest, he launched into a quite favorable introduction of the Ice Capaders by calling each out individually to cheers and shouts of admiration.

  Pellonia waved, confused by the spectacle. Gurken roared, growled, and generally played to the crowd. Maximina entered the stage dramatically, bowing to the crowd before creating the illusion of an immense ice troll roaring at the crowd. The crowd went berserk with applause. Ohm attempted to play his lute, but was apologetically ushered to the side of the stage by the servants of Lord FitzClarence.

  After the individual introductions, Lord FitzClarence launched into vivid explanation of how The Ice Capaders had accompanied him on his quest to retrieve the Orb of Skzd from the troll cave and were now ready to attempt a dangerous quest of their own. Pellonia and Gurken raised an eyebrow, staring in wonder at Lord FitzClarence, who had merely given them a ride in his carriage to the entrance of the mines.

  After the speech, minstrels began to play a ballad and walk out into the crowd. The crowd parted, allowing the minstrels to pass. Lord FitzClarence followed, gesturing for our heroes to, in turn, follow him. The crowd surged in behind the minstrels, lifting Lord FitzClarence, Pellonia, Gurken, Maximina, and Ohm onto their shoulders and carrying them after the minstrels.

  Lord FitzClarence leaned over shaking hands along the way.

  “Questing is quite the spectacle in Arendal,” Pellonia shouted to Gurken.

  “Yes, finally a place that understands the true importance of the adventurer. I wonder if they have a temple of Durstin here,” Gurken shouted back.

  “I, for one, could get used to his,” said Maximina.

  “I didn’t even acquire a patron,” Ohm complained. “How am I ever to be a full time bard? I suppose I’ll have to keep adventuring for now.”

  The procession ended and the crowd formed a circle around a round metal grate in the cobblestones. A possibly noxious green mist emanated from beneath the grate. Lord FitzClarence launched into another speech about the dangers The Ice Capaders were sure to face and some men wandered over to the grate, driving metal poles underneath, wedging it up. The green mist billowed out and one of the men began to cough as it enveloped him.

  The grate crashed back down with a loud metallic clang as the men jumped back and away from the smoke, apparently deciding that the green mist was no longer possibly noxious so much as conclusively so. Lord FitzClarence stopped speaking and the crowd grew silent as it watched the grate. The grate began to quiver and shake. A few wise individuals took he opportunity to turn and flee, but most drew in closer to get a better look at the mist obscured grate.

  The grate exploded into the air, flying up and knocking back the crowd with a concussive force. Vines slithered out of the opening, grasping those in the front of the crowd, crushing them, and tossing them hundreds of feet into the air. The crowd panicked, and no longer seemed concerned about the mist. They ran in every direction as a mass of vines disgorged from the hole and into the streets.

  The vines tore into people, flinging them about. One peasant was ensnared by the leg and wrapped around and around with vines until only his eyes peeked out. A sort of a vine mummy, if you will. His eyes turned purple and red as blood was compressed into them.

  A massive trunk burst forth from the hole, exploding the earth outwards, showering The Ice Brigade with dirt and rocks. The creature gave a tremendous earthen roar, as if channeling the raw fury of nature. “Rooooaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!”

  “Treant!” yelled Gurken as he happily unslung his recently reacquired axe from his back. He tapped on Jera, the rune engraved on his axe that symbolized the cycle of life, that cyclical pattern of the universe that describes how everything changes in its own time. It was also the rune of a good harvest, which Gurken was, at this moment, hoping to have. The rune, to his consternation, did
nothing.

  Pellonia drew a pair of knives. Maximina handed two crossbows and some quiver cartridges to two servants, saying, “Hand the crossbow to me when mine is empty, and reload the one I hand you!” Ohm watched everything impassively, an unreadable expression on his face. He sighed and said, “Time to pay the bills,” and began to play a tune half-heartedly on his lute. Apocalypse took flight.

  The hair on Pellonia’s arms stood on end, sending shivers down her spine. Gurken and Maximina noticed it happening to them as well, and they looked to Ohm for some sort of explanation. Ohm shrugged but continued to sing and play the lute. Sparks began to crackle along the trunk of the tree, small sparks of lightning danced up the trunk as the treant lifted itself out of the hole.

  Gurken charged the treant, roaring at the top of his lungs. Pellonia circled around to the treant’s side, hoping to flank it. Maximina raised the crossbow, aiming directly between its eyes. Ohm casually strummed out a G major to superdominant A minor in a deceptive cadence, setting an appropriate theme for the encounter.

  Arcs of lightning crackled and shot out of the treant, knocking everyone to the ground. The sound of splitting wood pierced the air as the treant burst into flames and pieces cascaded about, bits falling to the ground still aflame.

  “Tiiiiiimmmmmbbbbbeeeerrrrr!” came a familiar shout from within the hole. An orb flew out of the pit, lightning sizzling around it. Another three orbs rose after it over the rubble, fire crackled, ice creaked, and light glowed, from the orbs. Arthur climbed out of the pit, followed by Rufus, an elven woman, and a mysterious hooded figure. They stood around the pit looking at the fallen treant, smiling and laughing amongst themselves.

  “Arthur?” Pellonia asked, shaking her head to clear it, and standing up.

  Arthur turned to look at her, he smirked.

  “Well, well, well,” Arthur said. “What have we here? Pell-own-ia. And, there’s Gurken. And some other fools along with you?”