12

The Empty Road

Cricket opened the bag again. "More caltrops!" He tossed a few of the spiky metal objects on the trail behind them.

"It's had caltrops in it the last three times," Scorpion said tiredly. "I'm not surprised any more." The mimic wrapped its tentacles over his shoulders and hung on the ratling like a backpack. It bounced softly with each step Scorpion took over the rocky path.

"Well, we need caltrops... to cover our trail... in case we're followed."

Scorpion looked back at the trail, empty, but for dozens of caltrops. "I think you're more likely to harm some passing merchant... or maybe a stray goat. We're hours from the Warrens."

"And yet, the bag knows we need caltrops!"

"What do you mean?"

"Jeshu told me about this bag. We're supposed to keep it a secret from Oydd, but it's magical!"

"Cricket, shit! Obviously it's magical. I'm not a moron. What do you mean it knows what we need?"

"Jeshu said the bag knows what people need. And it keeps making caltrops, so we must need them, even if we don't know it."

"Maybe it just makes what you want. Because we don't need caltrops. We certainly don't need more caltrops."

Cricket thought this over.

"Cricket... do you want caltrops?"

"So bad," the insect admitted. "I've been wanting to ask Bird..." he trailed off, with a glance back toward their home. He vaguely recalled seeing a bearded werepanther beneath the pile of bodies back in the commons, and shook the thought away. "I wanted to ask Bird to make some, but... he was a little mad at me."

"Let someone else see it. If it doesn't make caltrops for me, then we don't need caltrops." Scorpion reached for the bag, but Cricket's shadow beat him to it, snatching it from beneath the ratling's nose. It stuck its tongue out at Scorpion, and the ratling's lip twitched, revealing his clenched teeth.

"That was rude," Cricket said.

"You're just making commentary? Can't you control him?"

"Mmmm... not really. He just does his own thing. Maybe I should try..." The insect absently cleaned his feelers.

"So he does whatever you would do?" Scorpion accused the insect.

"He does whatever I would do if I had no fear of consequences!" Cricket corrected.

"So you would shove me when I'm not looking?"

"Did he do that?"

"He's a sociopath!" the gnome suggested helpfully.

"Uh, what's that?" Cricket asked.

Bax considered how to explain the word. "Like you said, no regard for consequences. No, wait... maybe it was no ethical concern. Like, the only reason he doesn't chop us down is because he has nothing to gain from it."

Cricket interjected, "No, no, no! He's not that bad."

The shadow stuck his foot out and tripped the gnome. Bax landed on his knees, tearing a hole in his leggings. He rose with an anxious smile.

"Oh, no..." Cricket said. "Okay, to be fair, I might trip you if you were insulting me like that." Cricket thought it over. "No..."

"Are you sure he won't hurt us?" Scorpion asked.

"Sorry... I'm just a little out of practice. The first clones I made were pretty mean, but we learned to work together. Really, I didn't think I would have a problem with just one out. Give me a little time. If he," Cricket pointed a finger at the shadow, "doesn't get his act together... I'll get rid of him."

The shadow glared back at Cricket, and Cricket pretended not to notice.

After a moment, it reached into the velvet bag and produced a caltrop, holding it up for the ratling to see, then tossed it on the trail behind them.

Scorpion rolled his eyes and turned away. "Let me know if you're willing to let someone other than you, or a psycho clone of you, try their luck." Scorpion felt a second caltrop bounce from the back of his head and land on the trail. He seethed through his teeth, but kept his eyes forward as he walked. Another caltrop bounced off the back of his head.

"It can't do that forever," Bax said.

"I'm worried that he can."

"No, no! It will... um... that is, the bag will need to... recharge," he finished, waving his fingers in the air to add an element of mystery.

"Then we shouldn't waste it." Scorpion felt another caltrop bounce from his head, and whirled on the shadow. He made a pass at the bag with his one arm, but the insect jerked it away. The mimic reached out far too slowly with a tentacle, and the shadow lifted the bag above his head, out of their reach.

"Cricket, get your bug!"

Cricket sighed and raised a khopesh. He concentrated and the shadow, with a sudden look of alarm, vanished. The magic bag plopped onto the dusty trail and Scorpion opened it.

"Nothing!"

"Nice!" Cricket said. "You don't need anything."

"I don't want anything," the ratling hissed, tossing the bag back at Cricket. "I certainly don't want more caltrops."

Cricket stuck his chin in the air, offended, but stuffed the magic bag back in his pouch for later. He spoke with a slight pang in his voice. "We're falling behind Ty'lek. We better hurry up."

*****

The vampire scouted the tunnel to the surface and returned to the group. "It's still light. We'll need to wait another hour. It's about a day's distance on the surface uninterrupted, but since we must restrict our travel to the dark, it will take two nights. Which means we won't be able to rest for several hours after this."

"And then we'll be in Fomoria?" Oydd asked.

"And then we'll be near Fomoria," the vampire answered.

The dryad looked concerned. "Will we make it back in a week's time?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But we have nine days if Cricket arrives first and waits for us. Still, we will spend the time we need." He turned back to the rudra. "Have you been to the surface?"

"Once," Oydd answered, with no fondness.

"How is the mouseling?"

"Better," the dryad replied. "Actually, she seems more despondent than hurt."

"Oh?"

"She lost her pet."

"Her familiar," Licephus corrected. "A familiar is far more than a pet. She bonded with it by blood and magic. And so, a piece of her is missing."

"I don't know how to treat that," the druid confessed.

"You can't. Really, I'm not sure if it will get better with time. She will move on, of course, but I wonder if it will simply be that she learns to feel empty until empty is normal."

"Surely you're being dramatic?" Oydd snapped.

Licephus smiled. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is a tale among the elves of a maiden who bonded with a silver dragon. When the dragon died, she became inconsolable. She refused to eat or drink... or even sleep. And in time she too passed. Such was their bond that one could not live without the other. I, however, do not believe the mouseling to be so pathetic."

"That's harsh," Oydd whispered.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"That is praise. She is not weak."

Licephus sat and leaned against the wall. The dethkirok, Oydd's new ghoul, nuzzled its snout against the vampire affectionately.

"What witchcraft is this," Oydd mused, "that the dead are fond of you?"

Licephus forced a smile, but patted the brute on the head without responding to the question.

Oydd separated from the group to where Skunk lounged, circling the mouseling protectively. He dismissed the mutant, and hovered over her still body. Patches' eyes were open, but she stared off at nothing.

"I'm sorry. I truly am, little one."

Patches winced.

The rudra cleared his throat. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"I didn't get to say goodbye..."

Oydd patted the mouseling awkwardly then withdrew his hand.

Patches stirred very slightly and looked up at the rudra. "I set a fire in my hole."

"Why?"

"I had to."

Oydd waited patiently and the mouseling continued.

"I had to, but there was too much smoke and I couldn't put it out and I couldn't see my hands... but that was earlier." She thought a moment and swapped the order. "I couldn't see my hands, and I knew you'd be mad, and I had to start a fire, but there wasn't room for it in my hole and it filled with smoke."

"I'm not mad..." the rudra said softly, trying to reassure her.

"I couldn't see and I couldn't breathe, and then... and then those things came and I tried to hide, but my hole was full of black smoke. And I remembered Pip was inside, so I went back for him, and the fire didn't even get him but he was still dead and I didn't even get to say goodbye."

"And then one of the demon's hurt you? Cricket said Gad was there."

"I don't remember." She stared off and began to cry again, sniffling. "He was so little..."

Oydd tried to pet the mouseling again, somewhat less awkwardly than the first time.

"And I want... to say goodbye."

"Oh!" the rudra said suddenly.

Patches looked up weakly.

"I forgot. That worthless bug... I'm sorry—Cricket, not Pip. He took something from your pouch. A small velvet bag. He seemed to think it had some value."

"I can't tell you about it." Patches tried to shake her head against the floor. "You'll get mad."

Oydd furrowed his brow at her reaction. "And he slipped something into your satchel."

"Something new?" Patches asked hopefully.

"I can't say."

Patches looked over at her satchel a short distance away and the rudra rose to retrieve it. He placed it within her reach, and the mouseling stared at it for a long moment before attempting to sit up.

She opened the flap and immediately noticed the flask Cricket had placed near the top. She opened the container and Pip's still body slid out onto her hands, right-side-up. The once red shell now appeared more of a burnt orange, discolored from the smoke.

The mouseling's tiny jaw began to quiver and she leaned against the rudra's leg and sobbed uncontrollably, clutching Pip tight in her paw.

The rudra stiffened at her touch, but the mouseling didn't notice.

After a good weep, she began to catch her breath, shuddering slightly, and the rudra spoke hesitantly. "Little one..."

Patches wiped her eye with the back of her paw and curled her face away from the rudra, laying her cheek against his boot.

"What... what if I brought it back?"

The mouseling perked up suddenly.

"I won't!" he said worriedly, "If you don't want me to. Cricket doesn't appreciate my... that is, I could. I could bring it back if... that would make you feel better."

"You can?"

"I can. I... don't think it will be the same. Not really. Think of Skunk. And he's not even animated by dark magic. Dark magic has a way of corrupting things."

"It will corrupt him?" The mouseling sniffed.

Oydd shrugged. "I couldn't say. I doubt we would notice, really."

"Will he still be kind?"

The rudra hesitated, unsure of how to answer honestly without hurting the mouseling's feelings. Finally, he said simply, "I think it should be fine. I'm not worried."

Patches hid her face again as she thought. "I want him back. I don't care if he's not the same. He's too little to die. And I killed him..."

"You're sure that's what you want?"

Patches nodded stiffly. "Please?" she pleaded and extended her paws in a small cup, with the lady bug in the middle.

Oydd sat and placed his metal staff upon his lap. His tentacles began to curl and he reached out a single finger, delicately, touching the tiny beetle's shell.

A green spark appeared, like static electricity, knocking the bug onto its back. Oydd withdrew his hand suddenly, worried he had overdone the spell. But then a soft green light began to glow from the bug's eyes. A leg twitched and then another.

Pip righted himself in the mouseling's outstretched hands and began to crawl around in circles. It lifted the shell covering its wings, paused as if saving up energy, and then slowly began to rise into the air.

Patches squealed. She rushed to the rudra and hugged his leg.

Oydd stiffened again as he reached down to pat her head.

"Thank you! Thank you! I love you! I love him!"

Pip buzzed off on his wings, like a drifting speck of dust, and the mouseling chased after him humming, leaving the rudra to himself, quite stunned, with his beak hanging wide open.

*****

Ten... Eleven... Twelve... the shadow counted as it surveyed the room for the next smallest dethkirok. And... thirteen. He positioned his dagger beneath the snout, but paused and took a step back to scratch his feelers. He lined the dagger up along the exterior of the demon's head and slumped his shoulders. This one was too big. He wasn't super confident that he could ram the dagger all the way to the brain.

He studied the twelve corpses of the demons he had already slain. One stab each. That was the key. Anything less efficient and it would be a bloodbath.

A stream of dethkirok blood flowed from his previous kill and pooled around his foot. The shadow almost laughed at his word choice. This was already a bloodbath.

Still, he didn't want any of his blood spilled. A thought that caused the shadow to lift a hand before his face and ponder whether he had blood at all.

Cricket wiped his foot dry on the stone, careful not to slip, and left the sleeping quarters, traveling back up the hall the way he had come.

When he reached the intersection, he took the last remaining path, using all his will to avoid kicking a rock down the tunnel... or whistling. Which wouldn't normally be an issue. He never really whistled. But the temptation seemed oddly strong now that he couldn't.

The tunnel led to a spacious cavern. Much larger than the cavern with the axebeak. Perhaps large enough to contain the whole of the Warrens. From his vantage point, he saw multiple side tunnels, and tried his luck with the nearest.

By the change in the air, and humidity, he quickly surmised the tunnel to be an exit, and his assumption proved accurate as he stumbled upon a lone imp guard in adamantine armor, facing out from the tunnel into the open wilds of Agoth. Fortunately, the spear-wielding imp expected no threat from behind. So Cricket crept up as softly and silently as a shadow can.

When he drew near enough to smell the imp's breath—a stench of rotten eggs and overripe parsnips—he lunged, wrapping one upper arm around the imp's wiry throat, as the other cupped a hand over its mouth. Simultaneously, he wrapped his legs around the imp's and pulled, rolling onto his back. He positioned his dagger near the scrawny devil's kidney, but the choke hold proved effective enough, and he managed to crush its throat with the carapace of his bicep.

Cricket rose, letting the body slump to the floor, and inspected the spear, which he believed to also be made of adamantite. He tested the weight and made a few practice stabs in the air, then began to remove the imp's armor, testing various pieces for fit.

The helmet had two holes for the creature's horns about where Cricket's antennae protruded from his head, but it was slightly too small, and really not quite the right shape. With a frown, the insect tossed the helm aside. He did take two vambraces for his upper forearms, leaving the misshapen gauntlets behind, and grabbed a pair of greaves for his shins. While he might have finagled the breastplate to fit, he chose not to bother.

Lastly, he armed himself with the creature's buckler—a rather tiny shield that he took on a whim, feeling the urge to experiment. After some experimentation, the combination didn't feel right, so Cricket switched the spear to his left hand and the shield to his right. He took a couple more stabs and nodded in approval.

He left the body in the middle of the tunnel, feeling no need to be particularly careful, and returned to the room with the sleeping dethkiri.

The five remaining demon's still slumbered, oblivious to the fate of their comrades. As surprising as that was, to the shadow, he accepted his good fortune and stalked up to the largest of the demons.

Grabbing the spear with three hands, he lunged it deep into the dethkirok's throat, making contact with the back of the skull on the far side. The strike was, however, much louder than the kills with his dagger, and the shadow cringed, surveying the room for any sign of motion from the other demons.

One stirred, but nothing more. Likely, the beasts were used to some amount of noise from their sleeping companions—yawns and grunts... claws scraping against the floor.

The shadow smirked, quite pleased with his streak of luck, just moments before he noticed a sneeze coming on. The insect tried to cover the larger holes—or nostrils—running down his sides, and managed—with his four arms—to plug five of the six. Still, the urge to sneeze grew. His eyes darted around the room in a panic, looking for a place to hide, or some marvelous, serendipitous contraption to save him. But of course he found none.

Cricket tried to sprint from the room, bustling and jangling as he ran, and woke two of the demons even before letting out a thunderous, unmitigated sneeze through his one uncovered nostril.

Without a backward glance, Cricket darted back toward the main room. By the time he passed the latrine, he heard the beasts in pursuit. They roared and hissed, and one let out a long wail he knew must be some sort of alarm.

Cricket made it halfway across the grate above the axebeak's den before he sensed the nearest gaining on him. He skidded to a stop on his shins—thankful for the protection of the greaves—and pulled up the trap door, letting the hatch serve as a makeshift barrier between him and the dethkirok.

By the time he saw the beast, it was already mid-pounce, and landed on the upright grate sooner than the insect expected. Jarringly fast. It latched onto the rusted bars with its claws, as its tail lashed over the top, swinging powerfully just out of reach of the insect's head.

Its six-inch claws posed little threat through the grate, and the insect managed to keep his buckler between his face and the razor-sharp nails, though the weight of the demon started to crush him against the floor.

Slowly, between its violent thrashes, he maneuvered his spear to thrust through one of the gaps. But before he could make his move, a giant, axe-shaped beak emerged from the pit and yanked the struggling dethkirok back down with it.

Cricket froze, stunned, before simply closing the trap door to the pit, sealing the demon inside. Thick vapors rising from the piles and piles of dung at the bottom of the pit obscured his vision, and though he couldn't see the demon, he heard the axebeak feasting—chewing, sloshing, snapping. He even heard the distinct sound of its claws scraping against the demon's natural armor plates.

Fourteen. Three left... and all three loomed before him.