“So, straight back to the hut?” I asked the others once Jadrenka was gone. I wanted to get on with the mission and get back as quickly as possible. My dreams of late had left me a little worried about Greta, so I wanted to get back and check on her. To do that, I had to finish this. I really should have had her seek out the Rangers and have them smuggle her somewhere safe.
“I’d like to stop back at that centaur village,” Burin said. “We should let them know that Vsevolod is dead.” It was on the way, and he had a point. So I couldn’t exactly argue.
We followed what can be loosely termed a road – more of a worn track – for a couple hours before we spotted something behind a bush off to one side. “Is that a sword?” Terry asked, indicating a bit of metal glinting in the sunlight. It appeared to be sticking out over the top of the bush, as if someone was holding it at the ready.
“It’s a falchion, I think,” Burin said.
“And that appears to be the top few inches of the head of the creature holding it,” Gregor remarked. “Is a gnoll, maybe?”
“What would a gnoll be doing here?” I asked. “Don’t they normally live in warmer climates?”
“Maybe we should ask,” Burin suggested. “Hello!” he called out.
The gnoll twitched visibly, but continued pretending it hadn’t been seen. Gregor shook his head and suddenly teleported, hitting the “hidden” gnoll from behind with a knockout blow. Or at least, I think that’s what he was doing. I couldn’t see him through the bush and the gnoll. “Don’t worry, I don’t see you,” I heard him say to the gnoll.
“Oh, good,” I heard the gnoll say back. I looked over to say something to Terry about the stupidity of the gnoll, but discovered she had gone over to a nearby tree and was now taking a nap, cradling Bekkin in her arms. It was almost adorable.
Burin shrugged and said, “I guess we’re fighting.” He then trudged forward towards the bush.
I heard more fighting from the other side, as Gregor seemed to be doing his best to knock out the gnoll. “Hey! You lied!” the gnoll roared, then swung his sword. Gregor grunted in pain. I unleashed a volley of force bolts, trying to help without hitting so hard as to kill the creature.
Burin continued his path, straight forward, and walked right into the bush. I can only imagine the look on the gnoll’s face when a dwarven hand shot out from the bush, its touch wracking his body with bitter cold. A few moments later, the gnoll was down, unconscious.
“That was a bracing fight!” Gregor crowed as I calmly pulled out the healing wand to tend to his wounds. “We should keep him for training!”
“We really don’t have time to take care of a gnoll,” I said. “Besides, don’t you already have a pet?”
“A pet? What pet?”
“Barnaby?”
The color suddenly drained from his face. “Oh no!” He quickly tore open his bag and retrieved the cage he had stuffed within. It was apparent that Barnaby the Falcon had asphyxiated due to being in the bag too long without an influx of fresh air.
I wanted to say something to comfort him, but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, Burin spoke. “Well, at least he’s well preserved. Maybe we can eat him later.”
Gregor looked thoughtful. “I have never tasted falcon before. Perhaps, this is okay.” He still seemed a bit upset, but I got the feeling he would be okay.
“What do you think an anti-paladin of Lamashtu would be doing all the way out here?” Burin asked, showing me the unholy symbol the gnoll was carrying.
“No idea,” I answered. I hoped he wasn’t here for me. Daddy had really pissed off the Mother of Monsters, and she holds a grudge.
“If we are not keeping him, we should take his sword and armor, then leave him here with wooden replacements,” Gregor said. “I bet he goes at least three days before he notices difference.”
The thought amused me a little, and Terry was taking a nap. “I’ll set up Cortana. Let me see that holy symbol while we wait for the boot up.”
I defaced the unholy symbol, giving the three-eyed jackal some mascara, blush and a moustache. I tried to do it with just a knife at first, but I’m no artist, so I enlisted Cortana’s aid as soon as she was booted up.
The gnoll’s armor was a near perfect replica made of stout oak painted the same color as the original using a metallic paint, as was the sword. The only difference in either of them was that we’d had Cortana write the Gnollish equivalent of “Kick Me” on his back.
In truth, we probably should have killed him – it did seem like he was trying to ambush us, after all – but this was funnier, so we went with it. I was happy for the distraction. And if Lamashtu was annoyed with him for making her look bad, then she might strip him of his powers, so he’d be nearly harmless.
It was nearly dusk when we reached the centaur village – the direct track was a lot quicker for returning than the detour we’d taken on the way in – and the centaurs greeted us warmly. Save a few kids and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a hero, apparently. In fact, inquiring about them was the first thing Terry did when we arrived. Turns out they were all doing just fine, which was good to hear.
The centaurs insisted we stay with them for the night and head out in the morning, hospitality we were happy to accept. Plus it meant that we could party with the chieftain, who pulled out his private reserve to toast us. “Tell us, heroes, of your journey into Artrosa!” Korak Kaag roared, raising his mug as other centaurs cheered.
We told the tale, taking advantage of the fact that Terry had gone to bed early to share the hilarious details she might have been too embarrassed to hear us repeat. At the end, Burin was finishing the story. “And then the little girl shot both the svathurim and Vsevolod, killing both with a single volley.”
Gregor suddenly brought his hand to his face. “I should have skinned the svathurim!” he gasped. I laughed and drank a gulp from my mug, the welcome warmth of strong liquor flowing through my body.
“Vsevolod is dead, truly?” Korak Kaag asked.
“Absolutely,” Burin said, drawing something from his bag. “These are his hooves. Sorry, but his head got crushed by tentacles,” the dwarf apologized.
“My bad! Sorry about that,” I said, drawing laughter from the centaurs. I held up my mug, motioning for a refill. One of the centaurs obliged.
I had another strange dream that night about the three-legged wolf and the dragon, only this time, I decided to stay and fight, and died for my trouble. When she reappeared, I talked to Nebbie about it. She told me that it was probably nothing but anxiety, but if I ever encountered a dragon and a three-legged wolf, I should probably run.
“Fair enough,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I had a headache, likely the result of the moonshine we had drunk the night before. Thankfully, I had Cortana. A few minutes later, I downed a couple quick-dissolving Excedrin and a couple glasses of water. A few minutes after that, I was starting to feel better.
Well enough to face the midmorning sun, at least. It would probably be at least a few hours before I felt truly better. At least I didn’t need to eat, since I was pretty sure that wasn’t happening unless I could find somewhere with fried croquettes to soak up any remaining alcohol in my stomach first.
I guess I could have used the nanite gun. I’m pretty sure it has a powerful enough setting to cure a hangover. I just didn’t feel like I could justify wasting half a nanite canister on something I’ve learned to deal with in the past. After all, I once used a fake ID to sneak into a biker bar, where I proceeded to drink a two hundred and fifty pound member of a certain famous biker gang under the table. If that hangover didn’t kill me, a little moonshine wasn’t going to do it either.
My parents pretended not to know what I’d done, though Mama still woke me early for calisthenics and running the next morning. And it’s not like I could wear the leather jacket I’d won anywhere. I mean, it was sized for a two hundred and fifty pound man. And the sleeves were a bit short for me, so I looked goofy. But I still have it somewhere as a trophy.
We hit the road, Gregor confident that the marks he’d made on the trees during our initial trip would guide us back. I was dubious and would have liked a guide, but thankfully I was wrong. At no point did it feel like we were lost. And I think the centaurs were wary of leading us because they assumed one of them would have to carry Terry. So I don’t think they wanted to go, even if they appreciated our efforts. So it was all probably for the best.
We were perhaps two, maybe three miles away from the hut when our dwarven vanguard suddenly cried out in surprise. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I ran into something,” Burin answered.
“There’s nothing there,” Terry said, not really looking while she dealt with Bekkin, who had finally grown annoyed with being carried around like a toy.
“No, look, there’s blood floating in the air,” Gregor said as Burin grabbed a bandage to tend to his wound.
“In several places, at that,” I noted.
Burin – whose speed at wrapping his wounds suggests experience – and I both began checking for magic. “Oh, that’s not good,” Burin said.
“Get back here this instant!” I heard Terry shout.
“I know what you mean,” I said, ignoring the girl. “It’s like someone hardened bits of the ethereal plane. Based on the spell effect, how far do you think this field of shards extends?” I had my suspicions, but I wanted his input first.
“Maybe one or two hundred feet in total length, though there’s always the possibility that it bends or curves at any point.” That was my expectation as well, though I hadn’t considered that it might be curved.
“Uh, guys, something’s wrong,” Terry called over to us. There was genuine concern in her voice.
I turned and saw the girl staring, mouth agape, at Bekkin, who was now floating about five feet in the air. Almost as if someone invisible was holding him by the back of the neck… “TERRY, GET BACK!” I told her.
“Why? It’s just Bekkin,” she argued. She looked like she was about to say more, but then suddenly Bekkin squealed in pain. It started out as a strong sound, but faded quickly, as if something was draining the life from him. As he did so, I could see the very life draining from the pig. He even looked like he was being desiccated over the course of a few seconds. “BEKKIN!” Terry cried out.
The shriveled corpse of the pig flew through the air, landing at Terry’s feet. “Terry Guiser… You’ve been treating that body poorly. I expected more of a father.” At the sound of the voice, Terry was suddenly struck speechless. Afraid wasn’t even the right word. She looked like she was a loud noise away from peeing herself.
Suddenly, a man appeared standing next to where Bekkin had been floating. The best way to describe him would be to call him a “harmless-looking Korean or Chinese grandfather in a black coat and fedora”. He even had a crude crutch, adding to the harmless effect, and he was covered in bandages over numerous parts of his body. But as harmless as he looked, every hair on the back of my neck stood up. My every instinct told me to treat him as I would a live cobra.
He looked at me, and struck me with some kind of spell. There were no magic words or motions, just a sudden wave of magic energy. And then I felt, for lack of a better way to describe it, the strength of my personality simply diminish. Had I been a sorceress, I would have been severely weakened in my ability to cast, possibly even unable to cast all but the most basic of spells. I suspect that was precisely what he was going for.
The man looked at Gregor. “I smell Sergei’s black and white morality on you, boy.”
Gregor clenched his fists. “How do you know Sergei?” His tone was dangerous.
“I feel bad for the man. He was so stuck in his ways. You see, I preferred to eat my fill, while he subsisted on mere scraps.” He looked at Burin. “You know all about that, don’t you, dwarf? Oh yes, Segrit has told me all about you. You were a decent vessel for the demon, but you were too afraid to use its power.”
“There are four of us and one of you,” Burin said angrily.
“I see only you, dwarf,” the man said. “I see your soul laid bare. Now, the woman there, she is much more of an enigma. Like trying to peer into the darkest of voids. I can tell that she tries to be good, but it is against her nature.” His eyes locked with mine. “You really should free the beast within. Don’t run from yourself.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Burin said. “He’s the one hiding something from himself.”
“Why side with such a broken little man?” the stranger asked.
“Of course I’m little,” Burin said. “I’m a dwarf.”
“SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” Terry screeched, her eyes wild, as she shot the man with bullets of pure magical flame. The man drew the bullets into his mouth, slurping up the streaks of flame like spaghetti.
“Is this best course?” Gregor asked. “Should we not retreat? He seems strong.” Nonetheless, he teleported in and struck the old man from behind, trying to knock him out, but a magical barrier protected him.
“That was impressive,” the old man said. “You almost dented my shield. You have potential. What do you say? Abandon these fools, come work for me. I promise you, we’ll find out who killed Sergei together, and I’ll enjoy watching you tear him apart.”
“You,” Gregor stammered. “You can do this?”
“When you stand atop a mountain, it is easy to see everything transpiring beneath you.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Burin said. “We’re in a forest, and I’m sure it’s pretty hard to see into the forest from a mountain above it.” The dwarf cast a spell and crossed the distance. He grabbed the old man, his touch now bitingly cold.
“That actually hurt!” the old man said. “I’m impressed!”
“Then you’re going to love this,” I said, unleashing a fireball right on him.
“Surprising! I do believe it’s time to let the minions have a bit of fun.” He whistled.
From behind me, I heard a voice. “OI! Them’s the ones what hurt Bill and killed Steve! Get em!” I was then hit from behind by a couple glancing blows from some crossbow bolts while others missed entirely.
“Are you sure? You really reckon that’s them?”
“Why? We was told they was the ones, so them’s the ones!”
“I dunno. I just figured they’d be bigger, is all.” I turned and saw a quintet of Irriseni guardsmen hurriedly reloading their crossbows, but I wasn’t at all prepared for what was beyond them.
“GRETA!” I shouted. My lover was lying in the snow just past the guardsmen. She was covered in dried blood and bruises. But most shockingly, her right arm was missing. The wound was ragged, and just at the shoulder. Her arm hadn’t been sliced off, or even sawed off. No, whoever had done this had ripped her arm clean out of its socket, tearing flesh and connective tissue along with it.
“We found your friend to be a great help, though we had to persuade her a bit, of course,” the old man said, and suddenly I recognized his voice. He had been in my dream, the one where I’d witnessed Greta being tortured. “Tell me, children, have you ever heard the story of Terrance Guiser? He was a man that challenged a dragon. The dragon had supported him, gave him work. The dragon even came to respect Terrance, perhaps you could even say that the dragon liked the young man.
“But then he turned on me. Shot me in the heart, you see. Now, I expect assassins constantly. In my work you have to. There’s always the chance your rivals or enemies will try to have you killed. But for some reason, an old man’s sentimentality, perhaps, I didn’t see Terrance coming. He surprised me, and for that, I, the great Typhon Lee, the mighty dragon himself, nearly died.
“For his troubles, I went to his farm. I flayed his wife. Her screams soothe my sleep, as I hear her begging for mercy as I rip each tiny strand of skin from the muscle underneath, using only my mind. Then, shortly before she died, I lit their farmhouse on fire, their young son still inside. But his daughter, oh, to her I did so much more. I trapped her soul in an abyss, where she can watch the man who should have saved her live…”
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Terry screeched, shooting again. This time, her bullets hit, but did only glancing blows.
“Oh, I guess someone doesn’t want you to know the whole story,” the old man said with a laugh. “Then I guess you’ll just die not knowing.”
He stomped hard and the ground cracked, causing magma to seep up from below and bathing him in hellish light. The light became brighter, and more tangible as it enveloped him. It shimmered as it continued to coalesce, and he became a powerful looking etheric Chinese-style dragon.
Suddenly, another small Asian-looking man appeared. He looked familiar, then I remembered, I had seen him in a drawing on my phone, a portrait of Old Man, the divine herald of the god Irori! He is said to train students who have shown particular discipline in exchange for undetermined service to his god.
At that moment, it hit me. Gregor’s “God of Martial Arts” wasn’t just real, but was actually a powerful being in service to a god!
The Old Man charged the dragon, and with deftness well beyond his apparent age, he grappled the great creature. “GO!” he commanded, looking at Gregor. “Get the girl and run!”
“But how will I get stronger if I do not fight?” Gregor argued.
“You do not get stronger if you are dead! Now go!”
Typhon thrashed and unleashed a breath of magical force, striking all of us save Gregor, who was on his far side still. “Yes, run! But leave Guiser here for me!”
Burin struck Typhon with another magical touch. “Burin, there’s no time! I’m gonna need your help carrying Greta!” I shouted, unleashing another fireball, but this time at the guards between me and the injured wolf-woman.
As the fireball sailed through the air and expanded, I heard one of the guards speak. “Oh. That’s how they killed Steve.” And then, with a burst of flame, all of the guards were dead.
Behind me, I heard a grunt and chanced a glance, where I saw Burin flying through the air and slamming into Terry. Gregor teleported again, scooping up Terry, who looked defeated and offered no resistance. “Bekkin…” I heard her say.
Burin rushed towards me and I hit him with a spell to help him run faster, then moved to Greta’s side. He grew larger and scooped her up, and we bounded around the edge of the field of etheric shards, or at least where we suspected it ended, and began a dead run towards the hut.
“THIS ISN’T OVER, GUISER!” I heard Typhon Lee roar. “I will have you, and whatever family you have!”
“We’re not family,” Burin said. “Or are we. Wait, are we related, little girl?”
Terry didn’t answer.
As we neared the hut, it began to stand as it eyed Greta. I glared at it and the hut sat back down, offering no resistance as we all rushed inside. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I muttered under my breath, right before I entered. In the distance, I heard the roar of a dragon reverberate through the forest and decided that if I needed to have a talk with the hut, later would be better.
Inside, we made a mad dash to the cauldron and threw the keys inside. Once more, we felt the hut lurch as it began the process of teleporting to its new location, though where that was, we couldn’t say.
“You should have left me,” Terry said, finally breaking her silence. “He wouldn’t have chased you if you had left me. I wanted nothing more than a chance to fight him, to kill him once and for all. Then I got my wish, and he was still too powerful for me. You should have left me to die.”
Gregor lightly thumped her head. “Shut up, stupid. You can’t get stronger when you’re dead. And when God of Martial Arts says to get girl and go, you get girl and go. So I couldn’t leave you.”
“If the old man who helped us was who I think he was,” Burin said, “then we were way out of our league against this Typhon fellow. For someone as powerful as the Herald of Irori to take him seriously, Typhon must be incredibly powerful.”
“Who is Irori?” Gregor asked.
“The god of martial arts,” Burin said. “You know, the one you worship.”
“Bah. I do not worship. I train.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, despite my worry.