Everything Is Worth Killing- Isaac's Tale

by Alex Oakchest

  “We can go around,” said Harrien. “If this is Mines of Light, there will be other entrances.”

  Judah shook his head. “This mountain range has a circumference of miles. See the map? And not just that; the terrain is treacherous. It will take weeks to search all the way around the mountain base, and even then, the entrance is hidden with a mark that only Nino and Kostig had seen. If the gnomes have discovered a different entrance in their demolitions, we should thank Mother Providence for her gift.”

  “So we can’t kill them, or I don’t want to kill them yet, and we can’t walk around,” I said. “We need something else…”

  I thought about it for a while. Killing the miner gnomes would have been an effective solution, but I wasn’t a murder machine.

  Sure, if I had to get into the mines in the next 30 seconds or I’d die, I’d kill them. If these dudes discovered us and started throwing dynamite at us, I’d slaughter them. If the entire Tallsteep and Lonehill existences relied on getting into the mines in the next ten minutes, I’d chop their heads off.

  But none of that applied, and you can’t just go around lopping off people’s heads. So, we needed another way.

  I opened my inventory bag. Despite its magical capacity, it was getting pretty tight in there. I guessed that was a good thing because it meant I had accumulated lots of stuff, but its space wasn’t infinite and I’d need a new bag soon.

  I rummaged through all my belongings, finally finding something that made me think, ah.

  “Ah,” I said.

  “Idea, Isaac?” asked Harrien.

  “I think so. Kayla, Judah, I think you guys are best suited for this plan. Here, take this,” I said, handing Judah a tin.

  It didn’t take long for Kayla and Judah to creep toward the mountain base, cutting an arc around the gnomes so the miners didn’t spot them.

  We were deep into the night now, and the only light sources were the stars way above, and the gnomes’ goo hats that glowed and seemed like multicolored specters floating to and fro.

  I peered into the darkness to try and watch Kayla and Judah’s progress, but it was impossible. It was only ten minutes later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard words whispered into my ear, that I knew they were back.

  “Done,” said Kayla.

  Despite the surprise, I kept control of myself so that I didn’t draw attention. “That was quick.”

  “You know the saying. If you want speed and quality, ask Tallsteeps. If you desire a mess to clean up, ask Lonehills.”

  Tosvig and Cleavon glared at her now, but they didn’t say anything.

  “Now?” asked Kayla.

  “Now we wait.”

  And it was a long wait, actually. I mean, I had expected nothing less. Siddel had told me that many wolf packs headed north to escape the winter, and only the loners and a few scattered packs remained around these parts.

  The wolflust tincture Kayla and Judah had spread near the mines did its job regardless, and we eventually heard a gnome shout something.

  “Wolf! Wolf!”

  The glowing goos grouped together thirty feet ahead of us. The gnomes were standing side by side now. I heard a howling sound, and then another.

  And then came the explosion.

  It was a small one, and even though the sound boomed out into the still night, I knew this wasn’t dynamite.

  I knew this because there was no accompanying sound of loose debris, and because the gnomes had caused the explosion right next to them. That would have been a silly thing to do.

  No, this was a distraction of some kind, using something other than dynamite. It seemed to have done the trick, because I saw six colorful blobs heading in our direction, though taking another path.

  They headed east, and soon the gnomes had fled straight past us and were running along the path that led back to Agnartis.

  “Let’s deal with the wolves and we’ll head into the mine,” I said.

  I remembered what I had been like a week after I woke up in this world. Back then, I had just decided on a tactical retreat from Kirkwall village after a bunch of ogres claimed it as their own. Roddie and I fled through the wilds, with the distant howling of wolves scaring the bejesus out of me.

  Now, Roddie was back in the secret valley camp, safe and happy. I, meanwhile, wasn’t safe but I also wasn’t so defenseless anymore. Even though I was with a group of veteran survivors who could easily handle a few overgrow pooches, some of the confidence I felt now was based on my own abilities.

  I was ready to fight if I had to. Tense, but not scared.

  Only four wolves had responded to the scent of the wolflust tincture. It was a pack with an older wolf leading it, a female wolf, and two younger ones. At first, they had gone to chase the miner gnomes, but the breeze soon carried our scents to them and we heard them prowl our way.

  Wolves weren’t creatures to take lightly, and even people like Adi-Boto or Tosvig could get hurt trying to take them on.

  This made me think about using the wolfbane tincture I had in my bag. While wolflust had attracted the hounds to the area, wolfbane would do the opposite without us needing to exert energy in killing them.

  But, I didn’t get elementals or buffs when stuff ran away from me. It was a tricky one.

  Elementals were precious. So was raw flesh for the buffs it gave. And though four wolves would always be dangerous, these looked small and skinny, no doubt from how little food could be found in the wintry wilds.

  I drew my new sword and I heard Judah, Tosvig and the others draw weapons of their own, and we faced the wolves together.

  As battles went, there was no glory in it.

  I killed one of them using my new sword, thrusting my blade through its belly as it leaped at me. The others slaughtered the rest amidst a chorus of shouts, howls, and finally, whelps of pain.

  It was over before adrenaline had time to flood my body. A pack of beasts dead, just like that. Who knew how long the wolf family had prowled the wilds, scavenging and surviving, just to meet their end here?

  By the time it was over, I was barely sweating. Could I have done this two months ago? Hell, I bet I couldn’t have swung a sword two months ago, let alone killed a wolf with one. It was a weird thing to be happy about, the idea I was getting better at slaughter.

  While the other guys headed into the mountain base tunnel to shelter from the winter wind, I approached our fallen canine enemies.

  Harrien got to two of the dead wolves before me, but I beat him to the other corpses and grabbed the elementals.

  Elementals Received:

  [Sight] x1 [Total: 2]

  [Speed] x1 [Total: 7]

  My elemental list was getting out of control now. Not that I was complaining, but I had so many different ones, yet I only knew four spells. Since setting out from the Tallsteep camp and all the stuff with the komonaut and then the gnomes, I hadn’t had time to practice anything else.

  I needed to carve out a little time. Maybe later, when everyone slept. I would volunteer for guard duty and study one of the spellbooks in my inventory. I had two books with new spells ready to learn and damn it, I was going to find the time.

  “Isaac,” said Judah, from over by the tunnel, the wind making his voice sound like a hiss. “Come on.”

  They were all waiting for me now. They were desperate to go explore the tunnel and hopefully find that this really was the Mine of Light. It meant something a lot deeper to both the Lonehills and Tallsteeps than it did to me.

  To me, coming here was a way to get the Tallsteep chief to pull his thumb out of his ass and help the Lonehills take care of the ogre threat.

  To them, to the guys watching me and probably thinking hurry the hell up Isaac, you ass, this was a mythological place. A place they had learned about since they were children. An important thread in the tapestry of their collective culture.

  And here I was, messing around with wolf corpses. I guess that seeing them all together, and me being out here with the dead wo
lves, it made our differences apparent.

  It wasn’t as if I could kid myself that I was really one of them. But at least it’d be nice not to be reminded that I was alone. To have to think that, of the only other humans I had seen, four were killed by the Runenmer, one was a duke who I couldn’t trust, and the other had stabbed me in the thigh.

  Maybe that was people for you.

  Either way, I had this nagging feeling in my head that told me I didn’t belong with the Tallsteeps or Lonehills in the long term, and I needed to find others. Maybe a group that I could really describe as my people.

  “Isaac, come on!” said Judah.

  “One second,” I said.

  Using the hunting knife I’d taken from Siddel in what seemed like a long, long time ago, I cut the wolf open the way he’d shown me and sliced away some of its flesh. I cut this into chunks and put them in a jar that I once used to keep water in.

  Items Received:

  Wolf Flesh x2

  I’d have to wait to see what kind of buff they gave me, because I wasn’t going to waste any out here.

  And now, it was time to head into the mines.

  CHAPTER 37 – Cleft Lip (1)

  Way Before Isaac

  ‘Gnomish prophesies will tell you how a gnome’s life will turn out. But most gnomish prophesies are written by those who will benefit from them.’

  - Duke Jericha, the only Gnomish Duke to win his seat through merit

  “We will be as fine as spring rain, Hacinda. Don’t crease your pretty forehead.”

  Cleft said the words the same as he has a thousand times before, and she looked as unconvinced as the thousand times before. Call it intuition or experience, she was right.

  And now, he had to convince her she wasn’t. The last thing he needed to worry about while he was out doing something dangerous, was his soulmate thinking he was doing something dangerous.

  She punched his arm. “Don’t try and flatter me, ass.”

  “Flattery is my main weapon against you. Besides, I was being honest. We will be okay.”

  She cupped her hand around his cheek and ran her thumb over his disfigure lip. “Be careful.”

  “I always am,” he said.

  “Yes, until you think you can get an elemental. And then careful Cleft becomes idiot Cleft.”

  “Idiot Cleft never quite leaves me; he just takes a break sometimes. This is a hunt, that’s all. Siddel saw some turkeys in the north, but huntmaster Mayhew wouldn’t let him investigate. I’m telling you, Siddel will take his place one day. He’s got the guts for it. Anyway, if we find a flock, it’ll be a big bonus for our winter stores. And if I’m lucky, the Elder might give me a spellbook as a reward.”

  “Cleft…”

  He knew what she was going to say now. He could see it in her eyes. “Don’t say it, Hacinda. I can’t hear it, not from you. Bad enough that the Elder says it.”

  “I just…I love you the way you are. Why are you so obsessed with getting another elemental? Not everyone is a caster.”

  “I can cast some things. I used hrr-illumin last week.”

  “And I was proud of you. Cycling for as long as you did, most people would have given up.”

  Huh. That was a backhanded compliment if ever he’d heard one, even if there was no chance she meant it that way.

  “Eight hours to cast a magic beam of light,” he said. “My parents would have been proud. Well, at least I can hunt,” he said.

  “I know how much it hurts you,” she said. “But don’t take a risk just to get a spellbook or elemental. It isn’t worth it.”

  “I know. I told you, it’s just a simple turkey hunt. I’ll return as a turkey-wielding hero.”

  She watched him leave, and he kept looking back to see her standing there with her hands on her hips, her swollen belly sticking out, sunlight glinting off the circle on her forehead.

  He and his friends Cleavon and Arnet would be gone for a few days if this worked out. As risky as it would be, he was looking forward to it, too. They never got the chance to spend as much time together now they were older and had responsibilities.

  The three of them had been like brothers since they were little, with Cleft and Cleavon even sharing the same nursemaid after both their mothers died in childbirth, on the same day. In a way, it made them feel like real brothers.

  Certainly, they defended each other like siblings. When other Lonehill kids teased Cleft about the lip condition that gave him his name, Cleavon stepped in. When Cleavon struggled to master a stance cycle and earned ridicule, Cleft stood up for him, more than ready to bruise his knuckles.

  Course, the Lonehills rarely solved quarrels using fists, preferring other methods. It was Cleft’s readiness to use force that made him both ridiculed and feared at the same time.

  Arnet completed their group, born two weeks after Cleft and Cleavon but an ever-present when they were growing up. The three boys learned spell movements, hunting, livestock care, and crop cultivation at the same time as each other.

  “I told Aleah I’d be gone four days, no more,” said Cleavon.

  Cleft grinned. “I told Hacinda three days.”

  “And I have not let a woman press her thumb to me,” said Arnet, “So I have promised my time to nobody.”

  “What do you think we’ll get?” said Cleavon.

  Cleft pointed at the northern horizon. “So, there’s a pack of komonauts. An adult, and four hatchlings.”

  “What about the other adult? Komonauts mate for life.”

  “Dead.”

  “Even so, Cleft…a single hatchling is dangerous. Let alone four. And an adult will pulverize us.”

  Cleft shook his head. “I spoke with Nino. He says komonauts aren’t dangerous if you know how to handle them. They might look scary, but their behavior is predictable.”

  “Predictable doesn’t always mean good. Predictable can mean I predict that the komonauts will squish us with rocks.”

  “Nino says that won’t happen if we’re careful. He says only an idiot gets hurt by a komonaut.”

  “So what’s your plan, Cleft?”

  Cleft took a tin out of his bag. “I stole this from Siddel’s father.”

  “What is it?” asked Arnet.

  “Komonaut-lust. All we need is this and a suitable trap, and we can do this without any risk.”

  Heading north until they were out of sight of the village and then cutting southeast and then straight east, they had traveled for a full day.

  At first, they were just three friends talking about funny tales from their childhood. Their talk then drifted to Cleft’s idea of a trap for the komonauts, and then to the rewards they would get. In this way, they passed the time as they walked.

  “I’m telling you,” said Arnet. “The Elder will be so impressed he’ll-”

  He stopped talking when a clicking sound came from underfoot.

  He had walked into something spread out inches above the ground. Way too late, Cleft realized it was a wire of some sort.

  The wire snapped, and something fell from a nearby tree.

  It was goo, great blobs of it falling like rain. When they landed on Arnet’s arm they began to burn, and Cleft saw them sizzle through his skin, and soon he could smell his friend’s flesh burning.

  Cleft began to cycle hrr-eisre. He’d never been able to cast it before, but maybe now, with adrenaline rushing through him, with his friend needing it…

  “I’ll cast the spell,” said Cleavon, taking control. “He needs hrr-wassir, not eisre. You’d blast a hole in him with an ice spell at this range.”

  Cleft grabbed Arnet’s unburned arm and guided his screaming friend away from where the goo had fallen.

  “Sit,” he said gently.

  As he reached into his bag for water, he heard sounds.

  Noises from the east of them.

  And now the west.

  “Gnomes!” shouted Cleavon.

  Hours later, Arnet wasn’t dying anymore; he was dead.

&nb
sp; The gnomish ooze had mutilated his neck and chest, and even Cleavon’s wassir spell hadn’t been able to help.

  And now, Cleft and Cleavon were stuck in a cave with his corpse.

  How did it come to this? Cleft retraced it all, as if remembering it would force sand back into the hourglass.

  When twelve gnomes had attacked them in the forest, Cleft had cut one of their throats and stabbed another in the belly. Cleavon, who loved to practice offensive spells but froze when they were actually needed, hadn’t helped much.

  It was clear they would not leave this forest alive. Not if they tried to fight.

  Cleft grabbed Cleavon. “We have to run.”

  “I won’t leave him.”

  “Arnet’s good as gone.”

  “We can’t leave him here we these creatures.”

  Damn it all. Cleft was ready to leave Cleavon here too, if he wouldn’t come. At that moment, with the prospect of never seeing his wife again, he realized what kind of person he was.

  “Cleft!” shouted Cleavon.

  It was only his friend’s voice that brought him back from the edge of abandoning them both.

  Cleavon heaved Arnet off the ground. Cleft helped, and together they supported their friend. Cleft tried hard not to look at Arnet’s skin where the ooze had burned through him.

  And then they ran.

  They sprinted through the woods, unable to head back south because the gnomes had it covered, so they fled east, though a section of the great woodland that neither mage had ever been through.

  They fled a hundred meters in this direction when the ground suddenly gave way without warning, and the three of them tumbled down into a hole.

  Cleft felt a blinding pain in his temple, and then everything went dark.

  When he awoke, he saw that he was in an underground cave of some kind. Next to him was stony ground covered in his blood. Arnet was nearby, his limbs curled in positions that shouldn’t have been possible.