1
Return to Normalcy
Thick white ash filled the air, stirred only by the heat, and covered the ground in a thin layer, like snow. Eyrgan pulled his mount to a stop near the edge of an expansive yellow lake. His raptor sniffed the fumes then screeched and backpedaled away from the shore. "What is this?" the dhampir asked, waving a white, taloned hand across the expanse.
The commander's men pulled up behind him, all silent, their dull black armor covered with the large white flakes and grimy soot.
The commander repeated himself. "Slave, what is this?"
Cricket brought his raptor to the edge of the lake, covered his eyes with one of his upper hands, and peered out across the troubled surface.
"It's acid, Master. I've been here before. It wasn't... bubbling then."
Dairdin, the second in command, a rather burly dhampir with a flat nose and short fangs, swerved his mount to face the insect, bringing its scaled snout uncomfortably close to Cricket's feelers. He waited wordlessly, his halberd held vertical, and stared at the insectoid as if demanding more information, but Eyrgan continued on, and the larger dhampir relented, following his commander.
Once the other raptor had moved away, Cricket's mount hissed at its tail then shifted uncomfortably, adjusting its loose saddle. Cricket found his form ill-suited for the dhampir saddle, and kept both legs stiff in the stirrups, his knees locked, pinching the beast's sides with his thighs. By now, watching how relaxed the dhampiri rode, he realized there were multiple errors with his technique, but he couldn't quite get his legs to unflex. So his muscles grew sore, and his mount complained in every manner it could think of—whimpering, growling, and jerking him left and right in the saddle.
Cricket was certain both he and his mount would appreciate if he tightened the leather straps, but he didn't dare do so with his masters watching. After all, he had claimed some proficiency in riding.
Cricket followed Dairdin, and when the ash picked up and whipped about obscuring his vision, his mount followed the larger raptor's footprints in the ash until the flurry calmed.
Cricket watched the tracks pensively. Although he liked patrols in principle, since Eyrgan's men had occupied the Warrens, he hadn't really seen any combat worth mentioning. He missed missions with Jeshu and Oydd, but both were now considered too valuable to risk their necks on the front lines.
To make matters worse, Eyrgan wore Jade's breastplate and khopeshes, though he had no capacity to activate them. It seemed he merely liked the color of the deep green stone, and the status that came with possessing a magical item. "The prestige," as Oydd had described it. Perhaps it helped distinguish him from his men, or perhaps he merely liked taking things from slaves, Cricket thought bitterly.
Either way, it gave Cricket an excuse to use the ordinary iron khopeshes that Bird had crafted.
Eyrgan circled half the lake before turning his mount and passing the others at a trot. "There's nothing here. If there were any recent activity, we would see marks in the ash."
Dairdin waved for the others to follow, and the group made their way from the fiery underworld back to the Trench, where the tired mounts grudgingly climbed back to the quiet streets of Al Tsiroth.
The enormous cavern stretched as far as the eye could see in most directions. A cold water dripped from the stalactites nearly a mile above, which turned to mist by the time it reached the soiled patrol, gathering with the ash on their breastplates and dripping in muddy streams.
Eyrgan removed his helmet, revealing his batlike ears. Streaks of black water dripped down his impassive, milk-white face.
The commander watched the mist pool in the cracks of the cobblestone streets for a moment, clearly relieved to return home from Agoth, then led the riders back to the Warrens at a lazy gait.
Long after the mounted dhampiri left the lake of acid, the boiling calmed and for a moment large flakes of ash drifted peacefully on the still surface. From a deep tunnel beneath the acid, a murky form stirred and darted to a hollow near the shore. The liquid swirled from the motion, pulling the white flakes below the surface where they turned instantly black.
Slowly, an eyeless black head rose from the sulfurous liquid, and a clawed hand reached from the acid to rest on the shore, sinking in the crusted orange mud.
The demon rose from the lake, dripping acid from its vestigial wings and its jagged, armored tail. Its scaly plates glistened a deep blue. The creature took a step from the shore into the newly fallen ash and turned to wait, it's sweeping tail billowing white flakes into the air.
After a short pause, another murky form darted from the tunnel, swimming gracefully to the surface, and then a third and a fourth.
Soon a throng of demons crouched along the shore, drying quickly in the hot air. Finally, a demon about twice the size of the next largest emerged, and the others gathered around, clicking and chirping in their throats.
The larger demon grunted then opened its maw and steam rose from his teeth as acid dropped onto its purple tongue. The demon let out a surprisingly shrill call, followed by a series of clicks and rasps. Then the horde turned to follow the raptor tracks of the dhampiri.
*****
Cricket passed several ranks of ubo guards, then left his mount at the stables, returned his weapons and breastplate to the armory, and reported to the training grounds.
He passed several lizardmen awkwardly fiddling with pikes, and resisted the urge to correct them, joining, instead, a group of the smaller, brown insectoids for basic training.
Though Zarias, the new dhampir combat instructor, allowed him a bit of leeway, Cricket wasted several hours a day practicing basic blocks and strikes, as well as rudimentary grabs and their counters. He did, however, learn one or two tricks of value. Zarias possessed a basic level of competence and stressed the importance of predicting an opponent's likely responses to an attack, and then taking advantage of those responses. For example, anyone will lift up a foot to avoid having it stepped on, which puts them off balance for a takedown. Any combatant will prioritize protecting their eyes when threatened, even seasoned warriors, which can be exploited. At some level, Cricket had already been using these principles when he attacked with combinations. Most opponents only had two arms to block with. So if you attack at their head, they need to raise their guard, which leaves the stomach open. Usually, Cricket tried to plan three attacks before rushing an opponent, since even veterans could only block twice before having to recalibrate. Except Jade.
Once the inexperienced recruits had spent long enough with the basics, Zarias always moved on to areas where Cricket struggled. And once they'd finished drills, the group paired off and sparred until Zarias tired, and then he'd force the slaves to continue while he walked about and gave pointers. While Cricket resented the dhampir, he couldn't help but respond to the dhampir's love for a fight. The instructor only deigned to spar with Cricket. And only while fighting Cricket did the cranky instructor break a smile. Still, the dhampir never allowed an even fight.
"Only kicks today," he stated, staring at the insectoid as the two squared off.
Cricket grumbled, but quickly tried to hide it.
Zarias placed his hands behind his back and attacked, his long, black braid bouncing in the air as he lunged and dodged and spun about confronting Cricket from different angles.
Kicking was the only area where Zarias could press the insect. The dhampir had mastered an array of kicks, while the insect struggled with two or three. Zarias spun with his back leg, swinging at rib height with his shin, but when Cricket dodged, he quickly retracted and hit him in the head with the same leg. He moved past the insect's side, smashing the blade of his foot into Crickets belly then stomped at his toes. When Cricket lifted his foot from the ground, Zarias stomped on his hip instead, sending him flailing backward.
Cricket used his four arms to block at first, but hated feeling like he had an advantage. He took a deep breath and placed his hands behind his back as well.
Cricket leapt forward with a straight kick, but Zarias skipped away to dodge then skipped back in with a combination of three quick kicks.
The dhampir came at Cricket's head with a round kick, which the insect ducked, but Zarias stopped his foot in midair and caught Cricket on the way back with his heel as the insect rose.
Zarias tried the combo again and Cricket ducked, this time preparing for the heel as it came back, but the dhampir shifted, lifting the foot above his head and instead brought his heel crashing down on the insect's head.
Eventually Cricket managed a somewhat petty offensive of repeatedly ramming his shins into his opponents thighs. When Zarias moved back, Cricket moved in with the same attack. The dhampir resorted to lifting his own shin to block, but could only take a couple hits from the sharp ridge of Cricket's exoskeleton.
Still, the assault took too much energy, and the insect tired first, leaving an open gash on the dhampir's lower leg.
Cricket gasped and fell to the ground, laying on his back with all four arms spread out wide.
"Get up," Zarias commanded.
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"Can't," Cricket panted in response, then began a fit of coughing where he lay on the ground.
Zarias groaned. Previously, he had yelled at the insect, forced extra pushups out of him, which proved too easy with four arms, and even threatened a lashing. Ultimately, the dhampir learned that when Cricket was done, he was done, and no force on earth could make him move until he'd caught his breath.
The dhampir sneered and called for the other recruits to switch partners.
After training, Cricket returned to the commons. He saw Jeshu on the way, but slaves were not permitted to talk while out on the grounds.
Honestly, they would be forbidden from socializing in the barracks too if the dhampiri were willing to go there. Fortunately, they saw the sleeping quarters of the slaves as beneath them and refused to enter as a matter of status.
Cricket jumped up onto his bunk—a cubby carved into the rock—and sighed, looking around for familiar faces. He preferred to sleep on the ground, but lately too many ratlings joined him there when he did. Oydd insisted he learn to sleep out of the way, and Cricket reluctantly complied. He plopped onto his back and groaned in pain. His throat burned from pushing himself to fight so long without air. He tasted iron in the back of his throat, almost like it bled. His legs burned from riding and from kicking.
The room turned quiet and Cricket realized that Scorpion's tail had stopped scraping his dagger against the rock wall. The ratling's voice came from across the room.
"New recruits coming tomorrow."
Cricket rolled his head to the side. "Already. They haven't even finished training the last ones."
"I know. But they're happy with a piss-poor job. Quantity over quality and all..."
Cricket sighed again.
Scorpion dangled his legs over the edge of his bunk. "I'm going stir crazy."
"You're not doing enough?" Cricket complained. "They've got me running around all day.
"I'm lucky they didn't put me down. Dhampiri don't really take to cripples."
"I actually put in a word for you," Cricket said. "Even with one arm, you fight better than any of the other ratlings here."
A voice came from beneath the insect from a second ratling. "Thanks a lot, Bug."
Scorpion absently placed his one hand over the stump of his missing arm.
"Plus," the insect continued, "they want every hand they can get right now."
"What's going on?" Scorpion asked. "I don't hear a lot."
"Not much," Cricket answered. "Eyrgan expects another attack on the temples. But they're all heavily guarded now. Oydd expects an attack from Agoth, and managed to convince the commander to patrol down there, but it's a hot waste of time."
"The dhampiri have actually mobilized?" Scorpion asked skeptically. "I thought they were too lazy."
"Not that it will make any difference. It's too late."
"What do you mean?"
The ratling under Cricket answered, "You haven't heard? Something's wrong with their clerics."
"Like what?" Scorpion asked. "What do you mean?"
"Something's up with their goddess. She's not answering them."
Cricket nodded. "It's true, but you could get executed for spreading the word," he warned.
Scorpion's tail started to drag a dagger again across the rocks. This time more anxiously. Cricket had learned to tell the difference.
"It's not just the clerics," Cricket added. "Sorcerers too. Serinyes isn't giving her magic to her followers. She's gone silent."
"Like she's mad at them?" Scorpion asked.
"No... I think more like she's too weak. I think something happened." Cricket lay silently for a moment. "I think Shisu... or the other cultists did... something."
"Like what?"
"Well, Patches said she saw them summon Bale. Oydd shut her up, but she just keeps saying it. I don't know if she knows. But I think she can sense it. Like she had a dream or something."
"I don't buy it. Something's not right with that one." Scorpion shuddered. "Besides, if they had really succeeded in summoning a god, we would know."
"How? Some weird omen like Serinyes completely withdrawing her favor?"
Scorpion snapped his mouth closed and considered the insect's words.
Cricket continued, "Oydd said they weren't really summoning him, but just an avatar for him. Some divine body capable of holding his power... like a cup. Nothing earth-shattering. No seven days of darkness. No withering cattle."
"What are you talking about?" Scorpion asked.
"Dhampir scripture," Cricket said defensively.
The ratling laughed. "Why do you know dhampir scripture?"
"I wish I didn't. Say what you want about being bored stuck down here. At least you don't have to listen to them preach." Cricket sat up. "Is Eyrgan in his office?"
"No, I think he retired for the night. Why?"
"I'm going to slip down to the morgue and see Oydd." Cricket dropped from his bunk and yawned before stalking off toward the laboratory.
"I'm coming too." Scorpion dropped noiselessly to the ground and followed.
Despite the ratling's assurances, Cricket peeked around the corner to confirm the office wasn't in use before sneaking across the commons to the laboratory. The insect found the door locked and lifted a fist to knock, then thought better of it and focused on the rudra's mind with his antennae.
Oydd?
Only a few seconds passed before the lock clicked and the door opened, seemingly of its own accord.
Cricket entered the narrow tunnel and descended to the library with the ratling at his heels. Piles of opened books lay on the tables, along with beakers and flasks full of colorful, bubbling liquids, as well as dry ingredients such as bone powder, deathcaps and what the insect knew to be flakes of dried blood.
I vial full of some greasy, black serum had spilled on the table and was left unattended long enough that it had congealed to a sticky paste that soaked into the wood and the cover of a leather-bound tome.
"Come in," Oydd called, somewhat distracted. Cricket found the rudra bent over a lizardman cadaver, scalpel in hand, removing a plump, purple organ. White blood stained his apron. The rudra waved his free hand and the lizard's dried skin peeled away, along with a layer of fat. The rudra peered into the cavity then carefully made an incision with his knife.
He spoke without looking up. "Don't touch anything."
Cricket looked around the morgue at the various bodies. An eyeless demon lay on a back table, mid-dissection, its dark skin peeling away to reveal glistening, black bones. A plate of the demon's natural armor lay on display on an adjoining table, along with several sketches and tissue samples.
Skunk's remains floated in the tank of amber liquid once reserved for the ogre. However, he looked different. The grafted lizardman and goblin limbs had fused, creating what looked like a single entity. At least on a surface level. All the skin had unified to a pale grey, and most of the non-fleshy tissue had begun to peel and float to the surface of the tank, making a slick layer of scales and rat fur and even fingernails.
"I injected him with a mix of troll's blood and changeling blood. Most of the necrotic tissue has regenerated, and the changeling blood prevents the limbs from the various hosts from rejecting each other... for the most part. It also prevents the tissue from rejecting the troll blood. However..." Oydd made another incision and fully removed the bloody organ at his fingertips. "The goblin liver is having trouble filtering the mixture. I believe this liver will be more up to the task."
Cricket stared at the body of his old friend suspended in the tank.
"He is showing some brain activity," Oydd continued. "Not magic! Purely chemistry."
Cricket frowned. "Did you ever bring the ettin down here?"
"No," Oydd lamented. "He wouldn't even fit. But my only purpose with that corpse would have been to create a ghoul, and I couldn't do that with only one head." Oydd placed the lizardman liver on a clean metal tray. "I believe that's how you defeated him. One head was simply not enough to control such a massive body alone. And because of that he suffered a stroke, in spite of Bale's favor."
"I did that," Patches whispered from nearby, "with witch magic."
"I'm tired of the dhampiri," Cricket stated, ignoring the mouseling.
"In general?" Oydd asked.
"Here... in the Warrens," Cricket replied.
Scorpion nodded in agreement then bumped into a table, and knocked an empty tray from the top. He deftly caught it with his tail before it crashed to the floor."
"I told you not to touch anything," Oydd breathed.
Scorpion scowled at himself. "I'm... still a little off-balance."
"I think the eye may be the culprit. It will affect your depth perception."
Scorpion placed the tray back on the table with his tail.
"Do you want to ditch?" Cricket asked suddenly.
"Do you mean to leave our posts?" Oydd said.
"Yeah... and just take off. Not forever. Just... for the night. A mission for old times' sake."
"Old times' sake? It's been a month. And now you want to... ditch slavery?" Oydd clarified.
"Well... I haven't really thought it out. But you must be going insane stuffed away down here."
"If I had someone to bring me food and supplies..." Oydd pondered. "I think I could spend a year in this room."
Cricket frowned, disappointed at the rudra's response.
"Don't do anything foolish." Oydd set his scalpel down. "We have a guest coming in the morning, and I could arrange a mission without the dhampiri if you like. For... old times' sake."
"Who?" Cricket asked, picking up an empty flask and then hurriedly putting it back before Oydd noticed.
"Licephus," the rudra answered. "He and I are heading into the city proper. We intend to investigate Abris Ahmni."
"You can go there?"
"With Lord Licephus, I can travel where I wish undeterred. And he needs me along for my expertise. If you like, I could arrange for you to come along."
Cricket frowned. "I have patrol duty."
"Again, if Lord Licephus orders it, the dhampiri will obey."
Cricket thought for a moment. "Could we bring Jesh too? I hardly see him, except at night."
"I don't know if I could convince him. Healers are very rare now, and they are guarding him as an asset."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Cricket replied, dejected.
"Go get some sleep. I'll send for you both in the morning."