In the end, sleeping on hard frozen ground in a thin bedroll with a screaming wind was only slightly more comfortable than Tarn had thought. Still, when he checked his stats upon waking, he was relieved to see the camping had produced a positive effect. Everyone who had slept had restored some of their AP, temperature, and condition.
To Jental’s credit and Isca’s surprise, the fire had survived the night. Jental had even started a second fire on her own when the shifting wind had threatened to blow out the first one. She was now sleeping close to the flickering remnants of the camp, under orders from Tarn to try and get a little rest in after taking the full six hour shift herself.
Lash and Aryo were rummaging at the edges of the camp, each holding a torch for warmth and protection. Tarn didn’t think there would be anything left of the refuse that had been thrown along the train’s path, but it was worth looking.
While Bog finished cooking up breakfast over the spit, the remainder of the group huddled together with warm mugs cupped in their cold hands.
Tarn took a drink of the coffee that Bog had conjured up as part of her ‘partial rations’. He expected to get a temporary temperature increase from the weak drink, but was surprised to see it reduced his ‘body reserves’ loss as well.
“Alright, Smiley. I think I’m ready for that scout report now. What did you find?”
Urthin took a sip of the coffee himself, making a subtle disgusted face before placing the beverage down. When they first met, Tarn had expected a Monk of the Shattered Stone to refuse such beverages altogether, as he did with alcohol. Over the years they all had learned Urthin was actually something of a coffee snob, and this creation was clearly not up to his standards.
“My coffee is not good enough for the Monk,” Bog muttered. True to form, Urthin made no notice of the remark.
“I scouted the wolves,” Urthin said. “These Dire Timber – they seem to be guarding the entrance to the bridge. I think you ran across one of their own scouting parties. I am disappointed to say they slipped past my detection.”
“Don’t feel bad, Smiley.” Tarn offered the Monk a smile. “You were focused, and maybe they used the shroud. In the end, it doesn’t matter – we did get them to run. They’ve got some sort of morale system, it’s not like anything we saw in the Sword.”
“I saw nothing like this in the Axe Dungeon either.” Narsol shook his head. “Though my journey within its walls was limited to a few days.”
That’s new, Tarn thought to himself. Narsol had revealed little of his actual time in their destination. A slip up, or an intentional morsel of information?
“Perhaps,” Urthin continued. “I saw five of the wolves you described, large and covered in an ashen cloud that hung amongst them. But there was another, larger wolf that they paid deference to. An all -white coat, and fangs I could see from even a distance. He moved with an intelligence the others did not, peering in my direction as though he could see through my deceptions.”
“The head wolf, huh?” Tarn scratched at his beard. “That could work in our favor. If they do work based on morale, taking him down could be the key to scattering the pack.”
“With fate, I will be the one to kill him!” Bog brandished the ladle she was serving coffee with as if it were a battle axe. “Smiley’s description makes him sounds glorious – I would give much to learn this creature’s pain.”
Narsol looked at Bog for a moment, confusion clear across his face. He then turned back to Tarn.
“The fight would need to be quick. Even with some conditions restored from our camping, we cannot sustain heavy damage and still cross this bridge. We do not even know how far across it is!”
“Perhaps not,” Urthin said. “But through the snow I saw signs of a large structure in the center of the bridge, some distance past the dire timbers. I suspect it would satisfy your gem’s requirement for a full camp.”
Tarn nodded, considering. A full camp meant healing, and the restoring of AP would go a long way towards helping them reach the other side of the bridge and gain access to the Axe. Another fight with the wolves could bring more loot like the cloaks as well.
“Only four can participate in this battle though.” Isca placed her cup down at her feet. She looked back at him, the concern clear on her face. “The limitations of Tarn’s gem continue. He would have to be one of the four, but no matter the team composition – you would be outnumbered.”
“A surprising, but intriguing tactical limitation.” Urthin peered at Tarn’s gem. “It begs the query - if one falls, does that make room for another in the squad?”
“Smiley!” Bog looked aghast at the monk. “None of us is going to die, not while I am here!”
“It’s a fair question,” Tarn said, holding up his hands in Urthin’s defense. “Hopefully we won’t ever find out. I think thanks to Smiley’s scouting we know enough to get moving. The plan’s pretty basic – get by the wolves, make it to the shelter. From there we have a fighting chance to get to the other side.”
“If we are to leave, then one more cup of this beverage if I may.” Narsol held up his mug, beaming. “This ‘coffee’ you call it? It is a wonder, a true credit to you humans! We have nothing like it on Ak-Thanon. When this is over, I will learn the secrets of the coffee, and bring it to my people! I will be … Lord of the Coffee!”
Despite himself, Tarn found himself laughing. Whatever Narsol’s hidden secrets might be, his enthusiasm for coffee seemed completely genuine and real.
“I would have thought you’d like Orc drinks.” There was an edge to Bog’s voice, but a curiosity there too. “I wouldn’t think an orc would like a human drink.”
“Well, this orc does!” Narsol dipped the metal ladle in the pot Bog had used for coffee, and poured himself a second cup. “There is much about each people the other does not know – and not all the old teachings are still true. I do not mistake sameness for safety. You must look, you must try.”
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“You said the wolves ran?” Aryo stood a bit behind them, looking hopeful. “Maybe that’s the goal? Don’t try to win, just try to get them to run?”
“Ah our new strategist!” Jental hooked a thumb in Aryo’s direction, earning a chuckle from Narsol. “Maybe they ran, junior, because they wanted Tarn to follow them into a trap. Back to their lair, or their leader.”
Tarn watched both their eyes turn to his, waiting for his reaction.
“Who can say?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I think Jental is right that the risk we were being led is high. If they truly consider the trestle bridge to be their home they might not leave it, no matter what their morale.”
Jental’s smile beamed with her approval.
“But,” Tarn continued, watching the woman’s grin fade. “There’s the system to think about. Remember, these aren’t real wolves. The dungeons are creating them, based on what we think wolves will do. Since the idea of ‘kill the alpha and the pack falls apart’ makes sense to us, it probably does to the dungeon too.”
He stood, brushing some snow from his pants. Just standing seemed to bring him into a colder temperature, as a fresh wind came blowing at them from the bridge.
“We won’t find out any more sitting here. We’re as ready as we’re going to be. Everyone take a moment to look at your slotted abilities. I bet they will close on us quickly, so ranged won’t be much of an option, except maybe for you Isca. And slot anything with fire or burning damage, and I mean anything.”
He watched as they all began to shift as his word, some draining their mugs while others immediately got to their feet. Tarn’s mind went to Ramad, and all his requests that he stay in the Realm, and help reinforce the running of the day-to-day.
Isn’t this what I should be doing? He looked at the team, ready to run out into the cold and face death on his word alone. Isn’t this the best place for me?
“Alright, let’s get moving. Jental, Aryo – you are our torch bearers. Try to keep them shielded from the wind. If the torch gets low, drop it before it goes out and light another one from the first one.”
“Boss smart,” Lash beamed. “Less fire sticks used.”
Aryo nodded, pulling a group of torches from the sack and handing a pair to Jental. Together they began to walk down the canyon path. With little words, the rest began to follow, clouds from their breath filling the air.
“Urthin, I have a question,” Isca said. She was lightly hovering in the lower wind, which Tarn noted used less of her body reserves than walking. “You said there were only five wolves you could see. Does that mean you suspect more?”
“One would think to always suspect more than they see.”
“I think, you old sourpuss, she meant do you think there were more shrouded?” Bog muttered, shaking her head. She turned to Isca. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Once you are on the team long enough, he eventually stops being rude.”
“Oh?” Isca’s antenna raised. “How long does that take?”
“Good question.” Bog nodded, then roared with laughter. “I guess I’ll let you know!”
“Perhaps silence would be better for our approach.”
“Silence?” Bog raised both her hands, her voice getting even louder. “They need to know I am coming for them! These beasts need to prepare for me!”
Tarn chuckled, while Urthin simply shook his head. He was right, of course. There was little need to announce their presence. But Tarn figured there wasn’t much value in disguising it either. The wolves knew they were coming, because the dungeon knew they were coming. Better to let Bog’s good morale wash over the team.
The wind’s resistance slowing increased as they continued down the narrow rock channel, the chilled air cutting into Tarn’s skin as if it were gale made of knives. Tarn was impressed with how Aryo kept his torch shielded, likely using skills he had gained growing up with this weather. Jental for her part modified her approach to match the young man’s, though Tarn was sure she’d never admit it.
They walked in silence for a time, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Tarn could hear Lash’s small feet padding around, as he scampered from one person to the next, picking several shoulders to ride on before finally settling on Bog.
Tarn slowly became aware of Narsol walking next to him, the Orc’s boots crunching into the snow at a cadence identical to his own. He gave the orc a nod, then turned back toward the view ahead. His eyes saw little but a wall of white, some of it moving with the wind while the ground snow stayed static.
“I suppose among humans, you are considered a hero?”
Narsol’s blunt question pulled Tarn from his thoughts. He had been focused on putting one boot in front of the next, as the opening to the trestle grew ever closer.
“I don’t know.” Tarn shook his head. “I sure don’t look for that. I’m just doing… what I know how to do.”
“The small gremlin,” Narsol nodded a few paced behind, where Lash now rode upon an irritated looking Urthin’s shoulder. “He said you not only saved your people from the Progenitors, but you disposed of the Arch Mage Lurim as well. If that is true, the people of both our cultures would thank you for that.”
Both cultures? He supposed it wasn’t that surprising. Little was known of what the source of the Orcs’ enmity with the Realm was. It had gone on so long, questioning it would be like questioning the sun’s reason for rising.
Did you piss off even the moon-damned orcs, Lurim?
“Maybe the orcs would thank me.” Tarn shook his head, thinking back on the craziness of it all. “But taking down Lurim wasn’t really the plan. I was just trying to keep my people alive and stop the invasion. In the end, with a lot of help from my team, I guess I made the right calls.”
“You exited you dungeon a changed man.” Narsol’s voice had a bitter edge to it. “More powerful, and to a world made better by your actions.”
“I suppose.” He began to feel an unease creeping up his spine. Where is Narsol going with this? “I didn’t go in there hoping to remove Lurim though, even if I hated him as much as anyone. Even with him finally dead they’re still problems, just new ones. And all we did was delay the Progenitors. If that wasn’t true, we wouldn’t be here.”
The wind picked up a new edge as they turned another corner in the canyon. Now Tarn could see the distant opening between the two rock walls, covered in mist and blowing snow as it sent the air shooting at them like knives.
Beyond it, gray and ominous in the chilled fog, he could see the first beams of the massive trestle bridge.
“I tried to do as you did.” Like a mirror, Narsol walked beside him, still matching him step for step. “I went into the dungeon as part of a team. Desperate not only to bring hope to my people, but to keep my comrades safe. My results… were different.”
Tarn’s mind brought him back the image of Rykin, dissolving into the still before his eyes. He heard Sinah’s scream of rage and pain as he turned her back on her, the monsters of the dungeon enveloping her.
“Our victory came at a price,” Tarn said, gritting his teeth. “It could have gone even worse for us, with a few different decisions, or worse luck. What happened to you, though – I don’t pretend to know what that feels like. If you lost your team…”
“They are lost,” Narsol’s voice was dark and bitter. “And when they fell, I did not want to continue. But for my people – I have.”
The edge to the orc’s tone felt like a blade at his throat. Narsol had insisted on going with them, yet he often acted as if Tarn had dragged him along. With each passing hour he trusted him less, no matter what the orc was saying. But it wasn’t the time to challenge Narsol further. They needed unity in this fight, and whatever Narsol’s intentions, he needed to get across this bridge too.
And a bridge isn’t always a bad thing. The thought felt like Rykin’s. He remembered there had been a time when he had been angry at everyone, and trusting no one. If the old man could turn him around, maybe he could do the same for Narsol.
“Look, we’re doing this for both our peoples,” Tarn said. “We don’t have any more chance of success than we did last time. But we’ll get more accomplished by working together. We might even see that we have more in common than we thought.”
“As I have indicated, I will follow your lead.”
There was a howl on the wind. Tarn looked up, worried to see the form of charging wolves. Yet all he saw was the form of the massive wooden bridge, growing ever closer.
“But make no mistake.” Narsol’s voice was as cold as the wind. “Though they tempt me, I cannot afford to believe your honeyed words of friendship. I am not here to save you, your team, or your people. I am only here to save mine.”