5

The Catacombs

Cricket swung the ogre's mace with all of his strength. The heavy iron head crashed into a thick trunk of mushroomwood, about two feet around, that had been covered in tar and burlap, and then more tar. Cricket felt the wood crunch. He wiped the sweat from his brow before lifting the weapon again with all four arms.

"This is getting a little easier." He panted between the words.

Jeshu tested the swing of a hammer against his own training dummy. Of all the weapons he had tried so far, he wielded this one with the most ease. Or the least clumsiness, anyway.

Cricket stopped his own practice to watch the druid. While Cricket was somewhat stronger, the insect admired how long his companion could handle the weight of a hammer without tiring. Swinging over and over and over.

The tough tar gave a substantial rebound to any hit it took, which tired Cricket's muscles more quickly. Especially his lower arms, which weren't as bulky. His shoulders ached and the insect wished he could massage himself beneath the exoskeleton. Actually though, it didn't look any easier to massage Jeshu's knotted, barklike skin. Oydd had it easy.

Jeshu noticed Cricket watching him and took a break. "I'm surprised how strong this wood is. It looks so brittle."

"Is the wood on the surface more brittle?"

"No," Jeshu thought, "but the mushrooms are. Do you actually plan on using that huge thing in battle?"

"This?" Cricket let the mace fall and the massive head sank slowly in the mud. "No. But it gives a great workout. I can lift about triple my weight, and I'm hoping to get up to qua... er, four times."

"That would be impressive if you weighed more," Jeshu grinned then sighed. "I've had something on my mind."

"Oh?"

"That tentacled... horror I've seen around. What did you call it?"

"Oydd Zephyrendum."

The dryad smiled slowly. "No, the... other tentacled thing."

Cricket laughed. "The Left Hand."

"That's a weird name. Why do they call him that?"

"Um... I hadn't thought about it. He works directly for the king dhampir. I think we aren't supposed to know his real name."

"The king? Like the ruler of all of these cities?"

"Well, no," Cricket answered. "There are a lot of kings. There are seven sects of dhampiri that all claim to be heirs to the throne."

"Sects?"

"That's not what they call them. But, yeah."

"What do they call themselves?" Jeshu asked.

"All sorts of things. Things like the purebloods or the truebloods. Some of them have formed churches with outrageous names, like the Holy order of Truth or the True Path of the Purebloods. I'm mostly pulling those out of thin air, but that's the gist. I bet Oydd would remember more."

"That's fine. It's more than I knew. And all these factions are vying for the throne?"

"More or less..." Cricket picked up the mace again and gave it one more swing against the post with a grunt. "Most of us just call them by numbers. The Warrens are in the third sect. Just don't call them sects around the dhampiri. Hhmph!" he swung again. "But we don't see the dhampiri often anyway."

"You speak of the dhampiri like they're a race."

"They are," Cricket said, then grunted again.

"On the surface," Jeshu struck his dummy, and unlike the insect, it had no effect on his speech, "dhampir means something different."

"What does it..." Cricket trailed off, adjusting his stance.

"Half vampire."

"What? No. That doesn't make sense."

"How do you figure?"

"We have vampires down here, and they come from the dhampiri. Anyone that isn't killed by their venom really."

"There are... vampire insectoids?" Jeshu asked, curious.

"Nope. We die. But elves don't. If an elf gets bitten by a dhampir, they just... change."

"I know what a vampire is."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"I'm sorry, it seems like a misunderstanding. I know a lot about vampires, but almost nothing about what you call dhampiri."

"Doesn't seem like you know too much about vampires..." Cricket said critically.

Jeshu dropped the subject and returned to his practice, but Cricket interrupted with one last thought. "You handle that hammer well enough with one hand, we should get you a shield."

The two practiced for another hour. When Cricket grew too tired to lift the mace, he switched to bare hands and daggers, punching and slashing the tar. He no longer tried for force, but fluidity, drawing a blade or two quickly across the practice dummy between punches or testing combos with his free hands. The dryad still struck at full force with his hammer.

Just as Cricket was about to break for lunch, Oydd approached with Patches, the mouseling, riding on his shoulder. He waved curtly and sat on the stone floor near the edge of the training grounds.

Patches hopped from his shoulder and ran to Cricket's dummy. He paused his routine as she flitted past and scurried to perch atop the post. Then Cricket resumed, with a little less force to avoid jostling the mouseling.

He looked up at her while he practiced. "What were you two up to?"

Patches froze when he looked at her and Cricket redirected his question to the rudra. "Oydd?"

He answered absent-mindedly, more interested in the book sitting in his lap. "She was assisting me in the lab."

"With what?"

"Her hands are much smaller than mine, and she is able to do more intricate and delicate work on the cadavers."

"Nice," Cricket nodded at Patches. The mouseling blushed and withdrew her head from his line of sight.

"Oh, Oydd, I had a thought for you."

"Yes?"

"A combat suggestion."

Oydd looked up from his book and raised one hairless brow. "Do tell."

"Well, I was thinking. I use four weapons, and I think I could beat Scorpion..."

"Should we run that theory by him?"

"Hold on," Cricket appealed. "Hear me out. I can take Scorpion, and Scorpion could have easily taken Skunk, who used two knives."

"So how many Agenas could you take?"

“The lizardman?” Cricket scratched his head. "I guess four..."

Oydd laughed.

"Why, how many do you think I could take?"

"None," Oydd said condescendingly. "I think he would win. But I see where you're going. The more weapons the better. So you mean to imply I am not fully utilizing my hands?" Oydd closed his book.

"Well, yeah..."

"And you suggest what? Should I use two staves?"

"No, I mean..."

"Because that would be an absurd suggestion."

Cricket bit his tongue, evidently about to suggest exactly that.

"And," the rudra pressed, "what of the dryad? He uses one weapon. Does that mean Skunk could easily best him. Jeshu is nearly twice his height."

Cricket paused to consider this point.

After a moment, Oydd continued. "One problem with your logic is that I require a free hand to perform some of my spells. And even when I do not, I cannot spare the extra toll a knife would take on my concentration. Your mind is finely tuned to control four appendages at once. Mine is not."

"Got it," Cricket grumbled.

Oydd stood to leave. "Besides, I am learning to control death with my words. Soon my tongue alone will cause a tumult on the battlefield."

"I can already do that."

Oydd paused and half-turned back toward the insect. "Pardon?"

"I can already do that," Cricket repeated.

"Hmph... well, I should love to see it."

"Okay," Cricket sheathed his knives and took a deep breath.

"Wait—" Oydd began, but it was already too late. The insectoid let out a shrill otherworldly screech.

Patches and Jeshu covered their ears, but Oydd froze with his mouth locked open. His tentacles convulsed and his legs gave out from under him. The rudra crumpled into a pile in the mud. His arm twitched and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to close his jaw.

Patches was the first to his side but simply watched helplessly. Cricket stared dumbly, a bit embarrassed, unsure what had taken place as the druid went to Oydd's assistance.

Jeshu placed a gnarled hand on the rudra's forehead and released a controlled breath, as if meditating.

Slowly, Oydd's eyes closed and his convulsing arm dropped to rest in the mud. The fingers still twitched slightly.

Cricket walked over to his side, eyes wide, and stammered an incoherent apology, but the rudra had already fainted.

*****

"Cricket! Get your roach ass in here!"

Cricket stepped nervously into Damien's office.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Damien charged the insect, his six eyes glaring down. Occasionally the arachane’s eyes would twitch away at some motion at his periphery only to refocus on the fidgeting insectoid.

"I didn't—"

"Do you have any idea how valuable that rudra is to our operation?" Damien's voice only grew louder as he yelled. The spider withdrew suddenly from the insect, his five good legs clacking against the floor as he positioned himself behind his desk and ruffled through a drawer.

Cricket knew better than to answer.

"More valuable than you!" Damien threw an inkwell across the chamber. The glass shattered against the wall, spraying a sickly greenish black ink over the stone. Hundreds of tiny shards of glass scattered on the floor. A few slid slowly down the wall.

"And now we're not only a man short for missions, but I will be short two sets of hands in the lab. That little rat you're so fond of is just in the way without Oydd's constant supervision." Damien spread a parchment on the desk with an arm and one of his more capable legs, then brought the document over to the inkspill. He stuck a quill into the blackish goo then scribbled something on the page.

Cricket swallowed audibly in the silence, and stammered, "The dryad says he'll be fine. He just needs to rest."

In an instant, Damien was in his face again. "But I need him now. And that walking plant can't stay in the infirmary because I need him with you. Remember?" Damien stuck a pointy leg in Cricket's chest, like a bony finger accentuating his point. "A man down..." he repeated, daring Cricket to contradict him again.

He glared into the insect's eyes for too long then scurried back behind his desk. "This means you'll be heading the mission with a skeleton crew. I just sent nearly twenty ratlings on a weeklong assignment. That means it's just you, the dryad, and an azaeri archer. Have you worked with Ty'lek?"

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Cricket shook his head. Still, he was familiar with the race of black, feathered lizardmen.

"Well figure it out. Can your roach brain handle that?"

Cricket tightened his fist at the slur, but nodded.

"Do you have something to say?" The spider sneered.

"No..."

Damien waited until the insectoid loosened his fist before continuing. "Report to the stable. I've already made accommodations for your travel. You'll be headed to the tin refinery... officially. Unofficially, you may get dropped off along the way." Damien glanced up from his writing. "Get out of my sight. And take that runt of a ratling with you! It's a pest."

Cricket left the office, where he found Jeshu waiting in earshot. He motioned wordlessly for the dryad to follow and didn't speak until they were halfway down the hall.

Cricket violently kicked a small stone at his feet, sending it out of sight.

"What sort of punishment is it to be put in charge of a mission?" The question was more to himself, and when the druid failed to answer he asked, "Have you met the blacksmith?"

"The were-panther? I've only seen him."

"His name’s Bird. We're making a quick stop there before we head out."

“The panther’s name is Bird? That’s confusing.”

Cricket ignored the comment and Jeshu respectfully left him to his own thoughts as they made their way to the smithy.

The sound of a hammer striking against an anvil filled the halls long before they reached the dim lit room, where it grew to an uncomfortable cacophony.

"I should have remembered Oydd can't stand loud noises. He always sends me here on his behalf." Cricket felt Patches tug at his leg—the first he had noticed her—and patted the mouseling on the head.

The were-panther, Bird, stopped his work when he saw the three in the entryway, and wiped his brow on the back of a furry black forearm. His arms bulged as he folded them and regarded the insect. His thick tail unconsciously swept the ash at his feet.

"How are ye?" Bird snarled as he spoke, revealing one crooked fang.

"Well enough," Cricket answered. "I won't take much of your time." He began to fish around in his pouch and produced one of the enchanted shurikens.

The were-panther grabbed the piece, studied both sides then handed it back to Cricket.

"Can you make more of these?"

"Throwing stars? Aye..."

"It doesn't have to be as fancy. Just four points and sharp edges. Doesn't have to be the same metal."

"Well, it's not going to be the same metal," the panther laughed to himself with a bestial grunt. "Don't even know what that stuff is. How many do ye need?"

"Maybe a dozen?"

Bird nodded then turned to work the bellows. The reflection of the embers gleamed from his glass eye.

"And I'd like to commission a shield for my friend here." Cricket gestured at the druid.

Bird turned to get a look with his good eye. Sweat dripped into his black mane and then down onto his leather apron.

"He's a big one."

"And he can handle a thick shield. I want swords and spears to break against it."

Bird nodded again. "Yeah, noth'n like that in the armory. Most just rat-sized bucklers. And some flimsy things."

"Thank you," Jeshu interjected.

"S'no problem." The panther returned to his work. "But e'm backed up. Give ma a week."

"It's not urgent." Cricket placed the shuriken carefully back in his pack, then he, the druid and the mouseling made their way to the stables.

Five dhampir soldiers met the group there, mounted on horned raptors. The first wore his long black hair in a top knot, which contrasted oddly with his milk-white skin. He wore dark plate armor with ridges like a clam shell, and held a blood-red lance at the ready.

Cricket stiffened at the sight of them, but compensated a step later and approached the group leader, bowing his head.

The lead warrior rode his mount up to the insect and pulled its snout away by the reins. The bipedal lizard grunted in protest, sniffing out a potential meal. The air cooled visibly from its nostrils.

With his mouth closed, the warrior's four upper fangs still protruded and pinched his lower lip uncomfortably, drawing a thin line of his own blood. Cricket noticed the dhampir's pinkies extended nearly a foot longer than his other fingers, a trait unusual in the warrior class that hinted at noble blood.

"You are not to speak unless spoken to. Do you understand, slave?"

"Yes." Cricket answered.

"Is this your whole team?" The dhampir sneered at the mouseling, revealing a full set of teeth filed to a point. Patches hid behind the insectoid.

"We were to meet an azaeri," Cricket answered, then risked adding, "And we have no briefing."

The velociraptor snapped tentatively at cricket, testing its rider, only to be met by a loose reign. Cricket tensed as the cold snout pressed against his neck. A low rumble started in the beast's throat and finally, thankfully, the dhampir yanked reproachfully on the reins.

"The azaeri has already boarded." The soldier sneered. "Damien can't properly manage a piss. What did he tell you?"

"That we would make our way to the tin refinery and might not make it there."

One of the soldiers in back laughed.

The lead dhampir silenced him with a hand and continued, "He's messing with you at my expense. I won't hold that against you. We are on detail at Azandes' cathedral. We will travel openly to the refinery and then covertly backtrack to the diocese through the catacombs beneath Al Tsirith. That's where you will patrol. Your orders once you disembark are to kill anything that moves, other than your own team and mine. Nod if you understand, slave."

Cricket nodded. The riders fell in line and passed the stables where insectoid attendants—brown-shelled and a head smaller than cricket—had prepared a giant cave lizard for travel. A large mat of woven reeds covered its back, supported in several spots by metal pickets that gouged into the beast's large flat scales. Thick cords ran between the pickets serving as a short rail to prevent passengers from falling off. Sure enough, an azaeri sat atop the mat accompanied by an exceptionally old goblin matron, and an even older lizardman, greyed and beginning to fray at the scales.

Seeing as the dhampiri had left the group to themselves, Cricket approached the cave lizard and climbed atop to join the others. Jeshu had the most trouble mounting, having feet too large for the rope ladder, and the insectoid attendants were forced to wrestle the ropes while the giant lizard bellowed in protest.

Once everyone was uncomfortably seated atop, the lead dhampir spurred on his mount. The other raptors followed eagerly, but the cave lizard hardly budged. The attendants goaded him with sharp sticks, which only irritated the beast, and it moped about in circles until one of the insects tossed a full goat in its mouth. At last, the lizard happily stomped along after the dhampiri riders.

Jeshu had, by far, the most trouble staying on the mat. The cords were not designed to hold his weight. He crawled to the center on all fours, where he attempted to keep his balance without holding onto the ropes—a task made more difficult by the hammer banging at his side. Eventually he settled into a cross-legged position—with the hammer on his lap—that only required slight adjustments every time the lizard took a step.

Cricket hid a smile as the dryad became visibly flustered. Eventually, the dryad broached a conversation to distract himself.

"You're an azaeri?"

The azaeri nodded quickly, mechanically. He was slighter than the other lizardmen, barely resembling his cousins, with black scales, blacker feathers, a fanned tail and a long grey beak. He had a yew bow, a prize from the surface, slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows fletched with his own feathers.

Cricket introduced himself and the mouseling. "And this is Jesh."

"I prefer Jeshu," the dryad corrected.

"I told you. That's too long." Cricket shook his head.

"Dyesh" the azaeri hissed, flicking a yellow tongue against its top beak.

"Jeshu," the dryad repeated.

The azaeri attempted the word again. "Dyes... yu."

"They understand the common tongue," Cricket explained. "They just can't speak it well. But don't let that fool you. They're wicked smart!"

The azaeri's eyes narrowed at the compliment. "Ty'lek."

Jeshu looked over at Cricket.

"Don't ask me." Cricket turned to the ancient lizardman. "Do you understand, old one?"

"Ty'lek." The old lizardman repeated, pointing at the archer.

"Oh, it's his name." Cricket concluded. "Damien mentioned it earlier."

The archer nodded thoughtfully. "Ty'lek."

"Have you been briefed?" Cricket asked.

"Es," the azaeri nodded again.

Cricket started to absently fiddle with a dagger, but caught himself, not wanting to drop it from the mount and anger the dhampiri.

"I've noticed the other insects around here are different from you," Jeshu interrupted his thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"They're smaller." Jeshu paused. "And their shells are lighter. Tan with brown bands. I haven't seen any other black insects."

Cricket hung his head and sighed. "I haven't either." He avoided the druid's gaze and instead studied the goblin woman across from him. She sat with both legs straight out in front of her, chewing on a dried newt on a stick with her toothless gums. She stared Cricket in the eyes as she did so, oblivious to civility.

After a couple hours of riding, she had barely finished half of the newt and made a bit more progress on the stick itself. But still she never looked away.

The group passed nearby the ecclesiastical district of Al Tsirith, then worked their way uphill to the refinery. Once there, everyone but the goblin matriarch and her lizardman companion disembarked. Two ubo attendants at the refinery stabled the cave lizard with the last two passengers atop, having a considerably easier time than the insectoids, and only investing half a goat.

Once inside the refinery, the dhampiri waited long enough only to indicate an underground tunnel leading back toward the diocese, then disappeared inside with their raptor mounts.

Cricket shrugged and followed. "Last call for questions. We'll have to maintain silence as we get closer to our destination."

"Hmm..." Jeshu spoke. "I am curious who we're guarding."

"Azandes is a bishop or a baron or something. Anyway, it sounds like he's likely to be targeted tonight."

"And this show of heading to a separate destination is to avoid discouraging the assassins?"

Cricket stopped in his tracks and moaned. "Yeah, that makes sense. That's how the dhampiri work. That's just like them. Why deter an attacker when you can draw them out and kill them."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"If the dhampiri kill each other, that's no chip off my shell." Still his eye twitched and the insectoid mumbled something under his breath.

Patches ran past him, without leaving so much as a paw print in the soft mud, and Cricket quickened his pace. When he caught up with her, he spoke loud enough for the dryad to hear as well. "Mouseling, I want you to stay in the back with Jesh. We're not likely to be attacked from behind and Jesh can't run very fast. Ty'lek and I will scout ahead," he gestured to the beaked lizard, "so we don't irritate the dhampiri. They may be way ahead of us, but they'll assign us a station when we get there. We don't want to keep them waiting."

With that, Cricket sprinted ahead. Surprisingly, the azaeri outpaced him. Less surprising, the mouseling kept on Cricket's heels, ignoring his orders, and the three left the dryad far behind.

After some time the path forked. Cricket studied the tracks of the raptors in the black mud. The entire contingent had started out on the left path and then circled back to the right at a much faster pace.

The azaeri looked to Cricket for orders, clearly eager to head right, after the dhampiri.

Stone shelves full of decaying scrolls and dhampiri bones lined the left passage. The bleached dhampir skulls hardly looked different without their milky white skin.

"Left leads to the diocese," Cricket assumed. "But I don't know these tunnels. Let's follow the dhampiri for now."

The azaeri smiled, evident only by the slight curl of skin at the back of his beak. He notched an arrow and ran off at a more conservative pace.

Cricket studied the tracks. He saw signs of the mounts swerving, with no clear explanation, and then some disarray in the ranks, followed by drops of dark red blood. Still, no evident skirmish or bodies, and the insect didn't know what to make of it.

He rounded a bend and found the archer kneeling next to a downed mount.

The azaeri indicated a thin metal bolt protruding from the dead raptor's chest, presumably through the heart. The dhampir rider lay motionless several yards ahead, where his head crumpled against a stalagmite.

"Crossbows?" Cricket asked.

""Es...." the archer nodded.

"I'm surprised we didn't see any bolts on the ground earlier. They must have slid under the mud. I lost a throwing knife that way once. Looked for hours and couldn't find it." As he spoke he drew his swords and passed the azaeri, watching the far end of the tunnel.

Distantly he heard the sounds of metal against metal and the distinctive shrieking warcry of the dhampiri warriors.

"Cover me," Cricket ordered and ran close to the curve of the wall.

The archer matched his pace but kept a respectable distance back, his bow at the ready.

As they neared the skirmish, the sounds of battle actually quieted. Cricket relaxed the grip on his weapon and peered into the dim tunnel for some sign of the riders' return. However, the next body he came across was that of the lead dhampir. He lay on his side with his face in the mud, his breath slow and raspy. His eyes focused on the insectoid but other than that he showed no acknowledgment of their presence.

Cricket crouched at the warrior's side, still eyeing the end of the tunnel, but the bend hid the battle from his view. "What happened?"

In response the dhampir unfurled his long, slender pinky, like a bat flexing its wing. Then his eyes lost focus.

The long drawn roar of a hunting raptor snapped Cricket to attention and almost immediately the beast rounded the corner, covered head to toe in gaping wounds. The roar ended in a dry rattle, followed by some pained clicks of its tongue. The lizard stumbled awkwardly in the mud. Its eyes glowed an eerie green.

"Necromancer!" Cricket shouted. "It's raising the dead!" He felt a chill down his back and the warmth drained from his arms.

In an instant, the velociraptor's jaws closed around the dhampir's head, lifting him easily from the ground. The beast gave two quick jerks of its powerful neck muscles, snapping the dhampir's spine, then dropped the corpse in the mud.

It clawed lazily at its master's belly staring off in a daze as Cricket backed away. He nearly stumbled over the mouseling.

"Run, little one." Cricket nudged her away with one of his lower arms then held both swords out in front hoping to impale the raptor if it charged. If Patches left, she made no sound, and the insect didn't look back to check.

The beast took one half-hearted bite of the dhampir, and Cricket took the opportunity to ready his daggers and position his feet.

Move! Cricket told himself, and forced himself to lunge, rather than wait for the raptor to lose interest in its kill. Just before he leapt, an arrow shot past his head, hitting the rock wall behind the lizard and the raptor turned toward the sound, exposing its throat to the insectoid's first strike.

Cricket plunged his sword through its neck and also made two quick swipes toward the beast's belly with his daggers, which fell a little short. He leapt back, expecting a counter, but instead the raptor reared its head and attempted to roar. A muffled cackling sound escaped from the hole in its throat, rather than its maw, along with a burble of blood.

Then the beast charged. Cricket had planned in his head how to fight a raptor. He had plans for almost every creature he had encountered. But he hadn't factored in the beast's imposing presence, and most of his plans vanished like wisps of smoke in the air.

When the beast leapt, reaching with its hind legs, he circled to the side to take advantage of its forward momentum but its head swerved midair and snapped at his face. Cricket stumbled backward and lost one of his swords in the beast's lashing teeth.

The insect darted behind a stalagmite but the raptor circled faster. An arrow stuck in its shin, and then a second narrowly missed its thigh.

"Aim for its head!" Cricket shouted as he slashed wildly with all three weapons in a futile attempt to keep it at bay. Whatever instincts the creature had in life, it now showed no signs of self preservation. No efforts to dodge, no hesitancy to attack.

In a last ditch effort to take advantage of this fact, Cricket threw himself straight at the beast, skewering its lower jaw with his longer blade from beneath as his two daggers pricked harmlessly at the raptor's scaly hide.

The raptor reared and lifted the insect from the ground, tossing him across the tunnel as easily as a goblin flings its own dung.

Cricket crashed into the wall, rolling and kicking off of the stone in a desperate attempt to redirect some of the blow. But it still knocked the wind from him. He dropped his daggers and tucked his head as he crashed to the floor and narrowly avoided splitting his head open on a jagged crop of rock.

An arrow struck the raptor's temple and the greenish light in its eyes dimmed slightly.

Cricket tried to rise but his head stung so much from where it had hit against the wall that he stumbled sideways and fell back into the mud. He winced, then screamed at the pain in his leg. With just a quick glance he noticed a sizable gash in his thigh from the raptor's claws, revealing a pale white substance beneath the black carapace. He couldn't remember when it happened. Thick yellow blood dripped from the opening.

Just before he passed out, Cricket watched in horror as the mouseling jumped onto the back of the raptor's head waving her tiny knife.