Peanut neighed in ferocious joy at the sight of her master. The beautiful stallion turned agent of war kicked blazing hooves through the fence. Peanut ripped the rope free from her neck with a single jerk, turning it into shards of yarn. For a heart stopping second, Peanut glared at Tim as though he might be the next object of her scorn and horsepower.
His wraith swept past in a chilling breeze to defend their Lead.
“Halt!” Tim raised a tall hand to signal the same. The earlier joke about being a priest necromancer came back to remind him. If the shoe fits….
Oria broke ahead, running to her horse freely. Peanut noticed this, or else simply didn’t want to stampede her master.
His wraith, Jo hovered from the stables to meet him. “Chris has the Pads refugees. He wants to offer you refuge for the night, then plans to raid the tombs in the morning. He says he knows where they’re going, but only you know how to get there. He wants a truce for another conjoined mission, if you’ll have him.”
“Does it seem safe to you?” Tim asked. He had his mind almost made up but wanted to give the rising in ranks wraith a chance to make a leadership call. Tim offered a hand to the kids and their horse, and the other haggard survivors.
“Wachamia Guard is not far. I don’t trust them to see this our way. Not with the death of a Kosteen.”
The name unlocked the spirit memory from the dead artisan, Surion Kosteen, cousin to Jerim Kosteen, the second head of the Cartel-Kosteen alliance. No wonder he was so powerful. Very interesting that a Kosteen, who hated aura mages, would use aura spells like those dragon heads. Surion’s cousin, Jerim used his war against aura mages to fund his mission to take the peninsula at Kiber and unlock his goals to monopolize the reef industry. Blood for blood, no doubt Jerim would send a high-priced retort to avenge his cousin.
These thoughts and an alertness to be ready carried him through head pounding mana fatigue to the portal behind the barn.
Upon passing through the portal to the enclave, 20 worship points docked into his total. He now had 30 after the deposit from his blueprints. XP filtered into his Priest class as well, fueling him with encouragement for pursuing the mission for his brother and the Pads refugees. Twenty more to pay for the WP portion of the worship banner and court.
Tim stowed that info away for a safer time, and when his head could give him a break.
Chris had his cartel primo pad stuffed with refugees and soldiers being treated for wounds or left with their families to get nourishment however they needed. Trolls in local attire served their guests lovingly and without counting the cost, as though all they cared for were the needs of their visitors.
Not that the shopkeeper Tim and Chris met was a terrible creature, but this type of service felt out of character.
Tim’s entrance to the enclave with his entourage of wraiths and small band of survivors stopped all but the most urgent servants and hospitality crew. One troll, a kid by his height and lighter green skin, stole a glance and retreated to the outskirts, then down the stairs to an exit.
Frahnk showed Oria and Paiz where to tie their horse, even though they’d all just seen how much of a show her rope was to restraining her if and when she wanted free. Maybe the shadestriker did it to let Peanut feel like a normal domesticated horse, or to help the refugee guests feel that way.
Tim found Chris a little deeper into the jungle hanging bug nets while vine grew from a new Takekuma skin belt. The entwined green threads tied the nets under hammocks made from the same material.
He stopped at the sight of his brother. The betrayal and near destruction of the leveler jewel cut him anew. He took a breath to let the ice thaw, reminding himself that his Ward cast on the Jewel kept it intact, where it was safe in his possession.
“I did what I thought we had to do to level the playing field. It wasn’t personal. If you or someone else found the Jewel, we had a pact to—”
“Throw a hand grenade at the problem and pray for the best,” Tim finished. “Is this what you call an apology?”
Chris sighed. His head hung and lips fell where they’d been carefree in his horticultural meandering. “I agreed to this pact well before I convinced them to let me bring you.”
“Convinced who?”
“The COIL. They recruited me. I found their door piece gate and demanded you come with. I suspected the chance of you getting the jewel, and having to betray you, in a sense—it wasn’t like you wouldn’t have kept a piece, probably. You did one better and cast Ward before it shattered. Now the COIL has to respect your power and ownership.”
“I couldn’t give a rip what they have to respect. Though they will. You’re my brother. And you’re on thin ice, especially with a job on the brink and I’m supposed to go with you, trusting against the likelihood they’ll enact another clause to your betrayal and we’ll be right back where we were.”
“I had to do what I had to do,” Chris said, sheepishly. “Would you forgive me?”
Tim hated the power his brother had over him, resenting a little more the pulling on his heart to obey the command to forgive, no matter how many times one asked, for he too had been there.
Surely war leaders had greater differences swept under the rug for the greater good. He would rather be stabbed in the heart and perish than not open wide and bring him in like the little bro he used to be. “I’d go to the end of the world for you.”
They hugged and Tim prayed for his mission. A trickle of fear escaped his brother’s spirit. Quickly covered by a squeeze Chris meant to use as a cover. Give me your fears, Tim prayed and tried mixing Draw into his Danger Sense permeation. The dread of the shopkeeper’s warning remained. He tried covering the spell with a squeeze hard enough to remind Chris who the older brother was, then a pinching in his arms from vines forced his grip loose.
“We can wrestle later,” Chris said, half-heartedly and sliced through the vine.
Tim caught a glimpse of resistance in his brother’s swirling brown pupils. He was holding on to that fear and backed off to tie off the last hammock.
“This one’s for you,” Chris said. A glint of healing enchantment and aura regen blessed the dip into its cushion. “First, we have business to discuss with Frahnk and the order of which unit goes with him.”
Chris started for a walking path through a row of saplings lush with healing fruit.
Tim questioned letting this opportunity to challenge Chris’s fear pass. It could be another betrayal. Tim would bet his city on it. Chris didn’t a hundred percent know that, but the push off made it clear he suspected. Tim didn’t want to lose that advantage of knowing, so he backed off too. Let it play out and he’d have to outsmart them while he knew they were coming. The dungeon was a trap of some kind, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going in.
“Let’s talk about the dungeon,” Tim said. “I haven’t even finished the leveling inn. The magi-guns are back at Open Arms. I haven’t crafted bags we can transport through the rings.”
“I heard a few things you have accomplished since we spoke last, not to mention surviving the Murphy and turning it into your pet.” Chris laughed over his shoulder to the trailing Tim.
Frahnk waited by torchlight outside the doors to the stilt elevated luxury flat overlooking the jungle and ocean lit by distant moonlight. Dosek Montryl was an outpost concealed by miles of nature and mountainous defenses, but everyone inside was well within danger’s reach.
Tim permeated Danger Sense as he entered with Chris, letting Frahnk clear the way through the crowd of visitors and wounded holed up wherever they could stretch out and set up medical treatment. Waiting at the meeting table was the octopus thing jellyfish creature from the COIL leaders, Ghareven, whom he hadn’t seen in person before. It surprised him to see the sac glowing in person, as well as the pantherphant leader, Nezrutiere, who’d helped in the artisan battle. The explosive gash blacking his flesh in an outward tree root system of burn marks proved his worth in that battle. And strength to stand among the victors.
Tim approached with a hand over his stomach, a sign of respect among the pantherphant, Alpha of the Bellegnino Resistance. “Sir, your courage and skill was quite admirable.” He stopped and bowed.
The warrior’s legs straightened while his snout curled backward in what could be seen as a return bow. His gray furred legs had an overwhelming number of fissures partially scabbed and rebroken open with yellow puss.
The musky stench mixed with bowel churning burnt char carried the creature’s essence and memories.
Tim inhaled and drew in the gift. Visions of firsthand snout smashing flashed like automatic weapon fire, pummeling artisans into different stages of Get the F Out. Nezrutiere was a bad mamma jamma. Shut yo mouth. “Nez Alpha, if I may,” Tim said, nodding to the gruesome sight. He extended a hand to Murphy at his side.
The crowd hushed. Tim cast a glance across the mixture of human, troll, and others. What looked like the troll chieftain, and next to him a woman with an eye nearly as dangerous. Behind them were trolls with bone clad armor and pierced faces with dark painted hollows around their eyes, seemingly concocting witch doctor spells in the inaudible words emitting through active lips. Another warrior watching Tim in waiting was a human villager with a double axe on his back and grenades on the bandolier across his chest. No doubt they’d been the percussion to their band earlier.
Despite the mixed reception of friends and less than impartial, many carried wounds and he wasn’t here to bring anyone down. “Open Arms blesses you.”
A glow beamed out from Tim’s outstretched hands. Healing Bridges cascaded up the stretch of bloody roots, sealing them in new flesh and carrying on with the aura he pushed out. He’d cycled his c-mana in preparation for this, focusing on his guttural breath to send healing through the pain he drew back. His arms shook, fingers burning. Tears blurred his vision and heat pressed across his cheeks.
Tim held out as long as he could.
His legs gave out, buckling at numbed knees. Nez caught him and held him up until Murphy’s nudge restored enough strength to stand on his own.
On his way to the table, the grenadier greeted Tim. “Thank you for that.” He rubbed at a forearm newly healed, his face lit with thrilled wonder. “And for fighting for my home and people. I have family among the rescued. Chris said he knew you’d come. Thank you.”
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“You’re just as big a reason for why I’m here,” Tim said, greeting him with a solid handshake.
“I’m Jipas,” he said, sounding it like a jeep among us. His artillery and brawn could carry them into battle any day. Too bad his face and short fingers had taken the brunt of his experience. Analyze showed him as a Grenadier, Level 21.
“Well met,” Tim said and bumped elbows to the metal-padded exterior of another villager emerging to say hello.
Lastly, a Fivel he thought could be Oke, but the darker whiskers and gray left eye convinced him otherwise. The matching thicker build could have made them cousins.
“White Fuego,” the fivel said, his voice carrying authority with ease. In his hunched over posture, he leaned on his staff with his remaining arm. His race of Fivel were more rat than mouse, when compared to the Fivel he’d met. This one had more length in his snout and arching torso. Teeth shimmering with enchanted piercing strength, and he wore a full set of decorated leather armor, worn over the rocky insides. Eyes of wisdom presented a window into his greatest asset. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”
His spirit put Tim at ease, and Tim smiled in return.
“I have a gift for you.”
“No,” Tim started.
The fivel shifted the short stump at his right shoulder, covered in a leather pad, then shifted to his left and raised his staff to halt Tim’s protest. The wood was carved to sharp fingers at the top where he could stab or collect items in their clutched tips. An enchantment giving off understanding from experience whispered of how that tool might have been used in battle, and discourse.
“You have saved my people twice now. I couldn’t repay you with a thousand lives.” He took out a pickaxe with a golden blue sheen to the newly polished blade and presented it ceremonially. “This is a gift from my personal spoils, with a fresh sharp.”
The fivel’s joviality hardened into military respect reserved for God, Country, and the lives of the brotherhood.
Tim bowed and accepted the pickaxe. "Thank you."
Gained Ruthmere’s Axe – Pickaxe with Enchanted with +12 Efficiency, +12 Durability, and +4 Loot Luck.
“It’s an honor to give it.” He pounded his chest and struck a salute that whipped his uniform taught. “I’m Commander Wilqo of the Northern Trap.”
Tim repeated the sign his first fivel friends had showed him. “Well met, Commander.”
In Tim’s respectable bow, he noticed Chris leave the table to speak to a new guest, the troll with a chieftain’s decoration of adornment.
Tim straightened and returned his attention to Wilqo with a smile. “Open Arms lives to serve.”
“And you’re their priest with white fire and a nasty aura blade. Now you have a pickaxe won from our enemies in Zev. Use it well in service, brother.” Wilqo squeezed Tim’s bracer as he held the axe. “Now, where’s Tonda? She’s one of our favorites. The jexin are honorable, loyal and if you train her right, could be a lethal ally in the hills and treetops.”
“I only brought Murphy. The rings only allowed us and Papa P.”
The donkey brayed as though insulted and simultaneously passing gas to show the opposite of concern.
“Oh good, he’s making cookies,” Tim said sarcastically. The aura wafted over in a gross yet exhilarating gust. Tim’s spirit clung to its strength and wrapped it in his arms until it was no more.
“A Murphy turned familiar with a defensive oasis is no ally to sneeze at,” Wilqo said. “I don’t want to keep us. Well met and thank you. Anything you ask is yours glad heartedly, to my fifth generation.”
The fivel flattened his whiskers and squinted in a sign, Tim guessed, of solemnity.
Tim mimicked it in a slow bow. “It is my honor. I only wish I could have come sooner.”
Chris and the troll chieftain finished a heated exchange, hushed by the female troll who’d glared at him earlier. She snapped her fingers between them and stabbed a finger at the floor.
Tim couldn’t make anything out of what she said. Clearly something needed resolved between them, but this wasn't the time. Or maybe it was already supposed to be resolved. Tim caught fear and excitement in his brother. The chieftain with the rustling of expensive looking necklaces of sea stones and silk glimmering in increasing light and finely crafted gold scepter was no slouch to be dismissed; Chris no doubt saw the same.
The part that frightened Tim was the right amount of fear on his brother’s essence, mixed with excitement to use that obstacle for his growth.
What was he up to? Now he’s at odds with their chieftain? Is that the trouble he’s in over his head for?
Chris spotted Tim and rolled his eyes on his way to the table. As though to tell him, nothing to worry about.
The chieftain smashed a fist through a stone table on his way out.
His wife didn’t let the rubble or outburst deter her graceful exit shortly after.
Chris poured two goblets and brought one to Tim. A coy look crossed his eyes, mingled in behind the dust of sorcery clouding his pupils. “Don’t let a little aged rivalry with the Childockia,” Chris whispered the last part so only Tim could hear, “ruin the party this fine white priest, I’m sorry, White Fuego, has blessed us with.”
With a magician’s flick of the wrist, Chris produced three spliffs rolled in white paper. “We’re not done yet. I’m gonna need you tip top by mornin’. Go ahead, just suck and the opposite end ignites.”
Tim sniffed the essence and detected nothing out of the ordinary from previous spliffs. The auction popped an ember and oxygen hole through the other end. He sucked in a beautiful breath of outdoors and wonder. Pop rocks burst in plentiful, infectiously delicious bubbles inside his spirit. The pain and weakness evaporated into distant memory. Life got another notch better.
Chris smiled back. “My brother. Have a seat before you hurt yourself. That’s strong medicine.”
Tim did, and noted the aura pocket on the seat, cushioning him with a soothing relief against the tension of aura fatigue.
“As you can see, the chief is not pleased with us staying the night. Or the refugees. Or working with Fivel and Childockian,” he whispered with a shrug to Tim and the Fivel. “I say balderdash. I want my brother and these people and fivel are just as welcome here as I am. If that’s not at all, then so be it. I hear Open Arms is nice. If you’d have me,” Chris asked.
Tim gave him a cockeyed look, pressing him for truth.
“We’ll see. First, we have to plan our raid and make it out the other side. If you still like me, we can talk long term.”
A small troll standing on the shoulders of a wider troll stared at Tim from behind his cannon. Chris noticed the shift in attention and extended a hand like a platform. “Here’s Zin, our highest ranked Stacker, and his highest-level carrier, Bindy.”
Zin hopped off the bigger troll’s shoulder and slid down a slide unfolding in smooth plates down his arm. He launched off the end and waved his arms and legs mid-flight before landing with a puff of dust and debris off the table.
He offered a greasy hand to Tim to shake. His wide, three finger and thumb’d hand had new blue skin freshly smoothed over where a swath of wounds had been. Healing Bridge was no replacement for a good scrub.
His yellow orange eyes bore intelligence and spirit to match the honest smile, impressing Tim more than the accolades on his lapel and headband.
Tim shook the stacker’s hand and introduced himself.
“Please,” Zin said, scoffing. “The brother of Chris need not introduce himself among the trolls. We hope to work with you and join you on the other side.”
“See?” Chris asked his brother. “I’m not so bad.”
“Left me and our friends when we needed you.”
Chris laid his hands out on the table. “You have my life if it weren’t for the best. I had work apart from the Murphy and needed you to seize the opportunity.”
“That’s why, for our best?” Tim could barely fathom the logic.
“The same artisans and cartel who’ve been trying to kill us since we got here are halfway to the tomb we can’t let them open. Do you want to bury the hatchet now or later, after they’ve secured weapons to destroy all of our allies?”
Tim knew from his vision that Chris was over his head and that he would do almost anything to save him, so the reluctance was more a show to provoke more information. “Better to have you near for now, and I agree with our common enemy. What do you need to tell me tonight before I can rest? That fight has me sick—”
“The herb will calm that fatigue,” Chris said. “Mainly I wanted to introduce you to our squad and enjoy a little peace pipe before bed. I don’t need any brother tussles while we’re down there. Best to get them out of the way.”
“Where’s Frahnk?” Tim couldn’t decipher the shadows at the back of the room, and his Danger Sense hadn’t found him yet.
“I’m here,” The Shadestriker said in a deep, raspy voice. He stepped from between the Carrier, Bindy, and Chris at the head of the table. The void armor hid him in an odd mirage that extended the shadows where they should not be, yet without alarming the mind. Had he been sitting on Chris’s lap, he would have noticed, but the hidden-in-plain-sight trick made it work. Golden circle tattoos glowed in an inhale across his muscled throat and the hand’s width of open space in his wet stone black armor.
“I wanted to thank you,” Tim said and unsheathed his gotr dagger. Its gem had absorbed a black aura from the Darkness Rising prisoner. “I got this under Chiltonton,” he said tapping the gem. “As thanks for risking your life for mine, my next Dose cast will turn this into healing for your dark aura.”
Frahnk stiffened in what Tim hoped was appreciation.
“Not that I assume you’ll need help. This is to encourage you to spend what you need not keep because I’ll be right beside you ready to reDose your aura.”
Frahnk exhaled and a sliver of a grin exposed white fangs normally hidden in his void.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Chris said. “I told you all my brother’s cool. A bit sanctimonious, and not very handsome, but cool. Sometimes.”
Tim rolled his eyes from his brother to Frahnk, who’d tucked his grin back where it belonged. “I’ll leave with your division as early as you can. If you don’t mind my shadow. I can keep up.”
Frahnk twisted his fist into a hip side salute. Three golden rings blazed atop his hand. “Sleep well, White Fire. Your honor is the true gift. We will rise early and fight together on the morrow.”
Frank faded into the shadows and disappeared.
Tim jealously wished for the same party exit skills.
“I love that guy,” Chris slapped the table with a laugh. “Terrible bathroom etiquette. Don’t get me started.” He smiled at Tim, eyes brimming with joy.
Tim felt it too. It was good to see his brother. They’d find a way.
“So, I guess that settles one question,” Chris said and twisted below the table. He came back with a three-foot tall hooka with enough hoses to reach the table occupants. “Early to bed means primo smoke. We’ll get a cloud big enough to bless the wings in this room. Anyone who chooses to pass, you might need to give this building some distance.”
No one did.
“Alright. Ladies and gentlemen, of age, these are some healing herbs I planted while you were out risking your lives to save another. Cheers to your bravery.” Chris packed the bowl head with crystalline crusted yellow and green sponge leaves. They broke apart like packed cinnamon and burnt paper yet smelled of sweet riches.
“Especially for you, Tim,” Chris said. “We’re going to war tomorrow you and me. Your Spirit Memories and Danger Sense, not to mention our aura generator on magic pistons in Murphy… I knew you’d be okay. You’ll have to trust me about the next step for us Gatekeepers. The Dutchy and Wachamia are onto something down there. If we don’t stop them, your jewel won’t matter. We might not live to see the end of the week.”
“And my inn.”
“Exactly, which is why we have to work together. Blue Ty, here is going to help that aura and magic and physical inflammation, whatever your fancy.” He turned a gold ring on his finger and an eye opened to torch the buds with blue fire. The embers ripped a strip of smoke lazily rising. From the blue glass carved into a typhoon wave with the hoses escaping from the sandy platform glowing with enchanted seashells.
Chris waved those with hoses to toke the smoke filling the chambers.
Tim had ingested items more suspect and went with his gut that it would be okay. His Danger Sense gave no other indication of treachery. He couldn’t see Chris poisoning the whole room, even after poisoning Tim once already.
Chris nodded, gagging, smiling and exhaled a towering pillar. Tim’s lungs burned with the heat and bristling energy filling him with strength where there was none.
Once Tim coughed his way back to breathing normally, he raised his hose to the next in line. “Tim, you have to stay, brother,” Chris said, handing his hose to the next. “Every exhale carries Spirit Memories of Surion Kosteen. That’s how we’re getting in the back door. It’ll still be tough. The smoke is free; joining us in the morrow voluntary,” he told the room.
Tim’s next exhale carried him off on a journey into the dungeon through a secret entrance in the Fivel tunnels.
They had a mole. But it wasn’t Wilqo. The fivel in the memory had a golden hue to his brown coat of fur, and a burn scar on his left ear. Wilqo stared through the smokey room to catch Tim’s gaze. He knew who it was. Why was he keeping it secret? It was his brother.
Of course.
Dryfu nodded from his upside-down perch on a window cracked open. Keep going.
Spirit memories of those who’d ventured into the dungeons helped create a map of trial and error and passageways he named by the spirit that provided them. Truly the group collected into Chris’s party palace had put footwork time into the dungeon and its secondary enterprises.
Padstoligan sold visas into these tunnels rife with arcane creatures and those who lust for murder in the dark. Sheriff Lank played both sides until it stuck him deep enough to lose his job. He fled to Dutchy to train a sniper division equipped with simpler forms of his Princess Pearl. Tim didn’t know how Frahnk thought he could get her for him if Lank was in Zevehe.
Memories took him deeper into the dungeon, training him how the cousin, Jerim Kosteen formed Dragon Heads from concentrated aura. The metamorphosis required high AF, Strength, Wisdom and Dexterity. A rumble large enough to destroy a stadium warned of the guardian in waiting. Once they crossed into the amphitheater it called home, and where it went for its ceremonial meals, then their guise would fall. And the monster below would return to defend its treasure.