The party was thankful they entered Odambro in better condition than they entered Daenan. It was another city surrounded by a wall of forest-grown timber. But inside, the city was a lovely mix of wood and stone buildings—likely from resting on the western foot of the Dhuvan Lōk Mountains. Conifers sprouted throughout the city, popping up between buildings and roads.
It was late evening when they reached town, so they found the first modestly-priced inn that offered baths for a small upcharge. DJ reveled in the feeling of scraping grime off with soap and warm water. He would miss trudging through the beautiful Aeldar Forest, but it was almost as nice to watch brown bathwater circle down the drain, leaving his body clean and refreshed.
Francis gave his recommended plan the next morning over breakfast.
“Broken Lovers Pass will take six to eight days to cross,” he said. “We were lucky not to encounter any ne’er-do-wells in the forest—sans Percival Buttons—but I can almost guarantee we’ll deal with some measure of trouble down the Pass. It’s an incredibly popular spot for bandits and thieves since it’s the only path between the two forests.”
“Yipee,” Riley mumbled with a spoonful of porridge.
“I’m just trying to be the voice of reality,” Francis said. “It’ll be best for us to pay for guarded passage or team up with another party until we reach Laradyl. Preferably someone big and strong.”
“Like you?” Steve yelped, porridge dripping down his chin.
Francis smirked. “Yes, Steven, like me.”
They agreed to spend the day visiting taverns and inns to investigate safe passage to Laradyl. Guarded passage was too expensive even with the cheapest guide—five hundred gold per person. Since that was out of the question, they asked about other parties traveling the same way. A local recommended an inn close to the eastern gate called the Burnt Apple. The inn had a public signup sheet for parties looking to travel through the Pass together. The four of them found the inn and scanned the list, looking for a group that stood out.
“What about these guys?” DJ pointed. “The Hammerstone Oathbreakers. They sound pretty tough.”
“Party of four, too,” Francis rubbed his chin. “That would make our group fairly sizable.”
“I bet they’re all dwarves with big hammers,” Riley’s eyes flashed.
They talked to the barkeep and told him they were interested in traveling with the Hammerstone Oathbreakers. The barkeep told them he’d pass on word, then he asked for the name of DJ’s group. Everyone looked at each other, puzzled.
Then Steve piped up. “The Pilgrims of the Goddess!”
Sure, why not? The Pilgrims of the Goddess. The barkeep wrote it down.
They wouldn’t depart until the next day, so the party enjoyed the city of Odambro while they could. They went to a performance of some popular local minstrels. They enjoyed some treats called Odambro Braids that were twisted bread sticks sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. The Braids reminded them that they had uneaten wizard waffles in Riley’s pack. Riley checked on them, and they were as fresh as ever—they hadn’t even gone cold.
Steve visited the Odambro monastery to offer prayers of safety. During that time, Francis and DJ ventured to a bookstore nearby and DJ happened upon a volume called Intermediate Magic Made Easy. DJ hid it under his arm and bought it for three gold pieces before Francis could notice. Riley went to buy a human-sized bow, but the cheapest one was out of their budget even if she pawned her gnome-sized one.
The following day, they went to the eastern gate to meet the Hammerstone Oathbreakers. But they didn’t see anyone that resembled weathered dwarves. It was just a handful of normal townspeople talking in tight knots.
“Anyone see the Hammerstone Oathbreakers?” DJ asked.
The party shook their heads. Then they heard a voice.
“Oho! Did someone call for the Hammerstone Oathbreakers?”
Four flamboyant men bounded toward the party with theatrical grace. Everyone in the party tried to hide their disappointment. The Hammerstone Oathbreakers weren’t anywhere close to intimidating adventurers. The group that stood before them wore brightly colored outfits, tights, dainty gloves, and swishy hats. And they had dancing shoes instead of traveling boots.
“You are the… Hammerstone Oathbreakers?” Francis said.
“That’s right!” one of them said.
“The one—”
“—the only—”
“—the Uh-famous—”
“Hammerstone Oathbreakers!”
Jazz hands from all of them. They all spoke as a synchronized entity, finishing each other’s sentences. The Pilgrims of the Goddess didn’t know what to say. Everyone looked to DJ for a response. Feeling the pressure to say something, DJ sighed and stepped forward.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m going to be really honest, you guys aren’t what we expected.”
One of them laughed. “Yes, we have a reputation for exceeding expectations.”
Another of them leaned forward. “That’s what the barmaid told me last night!”
All of them laughed. Riley slapped her hand over her face. Steve kept smiling, missing the joke by a mile.
“No, you don’t understand,” DJ continued. “No offense, but this is Broken Lovers Pass we’re going through. We were looking for hardened adventurers to join us, not… whatever you are.”
“Bards,” one of them said.
Riley pointed. “If you’re bards, where are your instruments?”
One of the Oathbreakers grinned, as if hoping for the question. “Instruments? Who needs instruments?”
It started one at a time. One of the Oathbreakers made drum beats with his mouth—little booms and pats. Then another one joined in with low dooms dooms. The third one jumped in with higher doom dooms. Finally, the fourth one stepped forward and crooned into verse:
My lovely Bonnie is a funny girl
With a bright blue dress that she loves to twirl
The village tells me that I’ve got the finest lass
With her big soft lips and her tight round—
Friar Steve bounced in place and clapped along while everyone cringed hard enough to turn inside-out. DJ’s stomach sank.
Goddess Almighty, he thought. They’re a capella bards.
After what felt like too long, the Oathbreakers finished their song with their customary jazz hands. Steve applauded while the Oathbreakers took a bow. With bated breath, they awaited DJ’s reaction.
“Yeah… I don’t know guys,” DJ scratched his chin. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
“Okay, okay,” one of the Oathbreakers stepped forward and held his hat in both hands. “You’re the third party to back out this week. We understand that we’re not the most intimidating bunch”—Francis snorted—“but we’re beginning to lose hope that we’ll ever make it to Laradyl. We’re desperate. If you can find it in your heart, we’ll do whatever we can to make the journey easier.”
DJ pursed his lips and thought. He retreated back to the group. “What do you think? I feel bad about leaving them here.”
“I don’t,” Riley said firmly. “I’d rather get stabbed than hear that again.”
“I like them!” Steve piped.
Francis folded his arms. “Small groups of bandits may ignore us depending on our size. But these four will need a change of wardrobe and weapons to look like seasoned travelers. Then we may be alright bringing them along.”
DJ met back with the Oathbreakers to tell them the conditions, and the Oathbreakers heartily accepted. Within an hour, the Oathbreakers returned in traveler’s clothes, each armed with something big and sharp—or at least, things that looked big and sharp. When Francis expected them, he found all of their swords and axes completely dull—stage weapons, meant for performances. Francis buried his face in his hand and swore quietly.
But like that, they were off to Laradyl.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
*
The Dhuvan Lōk Mountains proved to be a harrowing mess of rock, trees, and rubble. All around the travelers, the mountains rose toward the sky in jagged peaks covered in conifers and thin grass. The path was carved through mountainside just wide enough for two carriages to come and go, twisting and bending around each slope. As the joint parties marched eastward, DJ looked all around.
It was nothing like the peaceful rustling of the Aeldar Forest. Deep in the mountains, it was mostly silence. Trees clung to the slopes in defiance of their conditions. The air was noticeably chilly and thin. He brushed his arms as his skin sprouted in goosebumps.
As night fell the first day, the two parties struggled to find an adequate camping spot. They couldn’t camp on the road, but the mountains were so steep and the road was so wide that there was hardly anywhere else. So that night, they slept single file on the edge of the road with no fire.
DJ chose not to practice magic during his watch on the road, but he hadn’t forgotten that night in the forest. Just the memory of Flamefist lighting the darkness brought an embarrassing thrill to his chest. He had attempted the spell a few more times since, and each time, his head hurt a little less.
During his watch, he tried to read from his magic books in the dull moonlight. He found techniques for healing, manipulating water, and even turning his body hard as iron. When someone would stir in their bedroll, he would tuck the books away and only reveal them when they settled.
Day after day, the Hammerstone Oathbreakers treated the venture like a jolly vacation. DJ, Riley, and Francis tried to find elegant ways to ignore them while the Oathbreakers sang songs and Steve clapped along. No song was an improvement on the one they sang back in Odambro.
The mountains stretched on. Other groups of travelers came and went. Merchant caravans guarded by mercenaries gave them stern looks as they passed. DJ frowned. They could have afforded guarded passage with Sir Dashing’s money, but this was DJ first quest. The hardship had to be real, or the people back in Beregond would say that he was spoiled. He marched a little harder as he thought of them.
“Three days,” Francis finally said. “We’re nearly halfway there. And no sign of trouble, either.”
As if on cue, they appeared.
From out of the trees, the bandits bounded onto the road—over a dozen of them. All of them were girdled in wolf fur, with wolf heads fashioned on their heads like helms. Their bodies were mostly naked except for the pelts covering their privates and the war paint covering their extremities.
Their weapons were raised in the air—cruel, cragged things stripped from previous owners. Some of them were still covered with dried blood.
DJ froze. He know his hand should go for his sword, but his body and mind seized. This was his second battle. His first real one. This wasn’t a gnome and his cat. This was a group of crazed mountain dwellers with violence in their eyes.
Francis flipped around to face the team. “The Moonshadow Clan! Show them no mercy, friends, for they will give you none!”
To the Oathbreakers’ credit, they ripped their stage weapons from their bodies and roared. Riley nocked an arrow with shaking hands in her tiny bow, poised to shoot. DJ’s hands hovered somewhere between the air and his sword, unsure of whether to cast magic or draw his weapon. But there was no time to think. The clash had begun.
Francis set the tone by stealing forward and launching a giant fist through a Clansman’s chest. The man flew backward, slamming into a rock face. Whether he was dead or unconscious, no one knew. But Francis wasted no time. He drew his ax and fell it on another Clansman’s skull with a meaty crunch.
The blood began to fall. The sight of red made DJ’s eyes bulge. He fought the bile from creeping up his throat as his face turned white.
Riley launched two arrows with no success—the bow was simply too small to master. One Clansman spotted her and made a mad dash for her. Riley tried to nock another arrow to defend herself, but her hands were shaking too hard. She went for her hunting knife. But the Clansman was already on her, billowing like a banshee, blade raised and poised to strike.
“Fulgyr-fylum!”
Bang! A bolt of blue lightning shot from out of view, boring a black hole in the center of the Clansman. Their eyes rolled back and they toppled to the earth. Riley stood clutching her bow, trembling. Just a few yards away, Friar Steve stood with his feet planted, index finger smoking, pointed at the remains of the Clansman.
DJ’s jaw hung.
“Goddess give me strength!” The friar’s prayer reached the heavens.
Steve performed a fluid movement and cast his hand toward Riley and DJ. “Ferrum-kyro!” he cried. Both of them simultaneously felt their skin harden. An Ironflesh spell—the one DJ had read about earlier.
Seeing the threat, four Clansmen descended upon the friar—four on one. DJ’s heart sank. But in another motion like a graceful dance, Steve spun around and thrust his hands outward, his fingers fanned out. “Undatio-ignys!” he shouted. From his fingers shot plumes of fire a dozen feet long. It engulfed the four Clansmen. They howled with anguish as the flames devoured their skin.
Fire Fan, DJ noted the intermediate spell with wide eyes.
The burning Clansman bodies stumbled along the road as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Steve staggered, clutching his head.
Meanwhile, all of the Oathbreakers had climbed atop a large Clansman, swinging from his arms. The Oathbreakers punched and kicked with childlike strength. The Clansman threw one of them off and stabbed another’s thigh. The injured Oathbreaker howled and fell to the ground, clutching his leg. When the Oathbreakers saw Francis advancing, they all let go and scrambled away. The large Clansman and Francis traded blows, dodging each other’s ax and knife. Francis finally scored a mortal blow against the behemoth, lodging the ax deep in his shoulder.
Most of the Clansmen retreated, but one focused on DJ and sprinted. DJ stiffened. His hands were still hovering above his sword, unsure of whether to draw it. He knew magic—he had practiced the words and movements. But was it too soon? Was he ready? Was there even time to wonder?
There wasn’t. The Clansman lifted their weapon to strike.
DJ flicked his arm and punched. “Mynus-ignys!”
With a pop, fire shot from his fist. It engulfed the Clansman. Their garbs caught fire, mixed with the already-strong scent of burning bodies. They dropped their weapon, screeched with agony and rolled along the ground. But the flame had taken them, and the only escape was death.
The rest of the Moonshadow Clan fled. The Hammerstone Oathbreakers held their weapons in the air, cheering. Broken Lovers Pass seemed to sigh as the mountain’s quiet swallowed them once again.
DJ’s knees felt weak. His eyes stayed on the black, charred mass that used to be a person. The Clansman had attacked him, and DJ fought back. And DJ won. He actually won. But what was this feeling? DJ had heard the tales of knights besting others in battle—a feeling that DJ’s peers told him he’d never experience. It was so romanticized, branded as heroics, lauded like something available to a select few.
They never talked about the emptiness that followed. DJ felt like a part of himself was killed along with that Clansman. He knew he was only defending himself, but part of him played the scene over in his mind, wondering if he could have diffused the situation somehow. Did that Clansman have a family they would never return to? Are they desperate and starving? Do they—
“Sir DJ. Are you well?”
DJ had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Francis approach. He glanced at Francis out of the corner of his eye. He swallowed in a dry throat and muttered, “I don’t know.”
Francis looked away. “And you, Miss Riley?”
“Yeah,” Riley’s voice croaked as if awakened from sleep. “Yeah, I think so.”
“The way I was brought up,” Francis said as he cleaned his ax, “I was taught that your first kill was something to celebrate, like marrying your love or welcoming a child.” He shook his head and let out a tired breath. “I never saw the glory in it. Regardless, you both fought bravely today.” He gave DJ a particular look. “Your magic saved you. Remember that.”
DJ swallowed again and nodded stiffly. It was then that he noticed Francis’s battle scars. In the scuffle, he had been cut badly across the arm and he walked with a limp.
Regaining herself, Riley reached into her pack. “Francis, here.” She pulled out one of the wizard waffles.
Francis took it and thanked Riley. He ate it, and within seconds the bleeding stopped. But he still walked with a little limp.
“Oh my Goddess, oh my Goddess, oh my Goddess—”
The Oathbreakers hunched over their fallen comrade who had suffered a stabbed thigh. The downed Oathbreaker clutched his leg, but the blood was flowing heavily. His skin was pale.
“Remember me, fair brethren!” he spoke theatrically. “If this be the end of me, I shall live on through your song!”
“Please no!” one replied.
“Say it ain’t so!” another said.
Riley rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. Eat this.” She dropped a fully-loaded wizard waffle on the man’s chest and walked away.
He ate it. The bleeding stopped. And he joyfully hopped onto his feet. But he was still lightheaded from the blood loss, so he nearly fell to the ground again. His brothers in song helped him stay vertical as they cheered and celebrated his recovery, mingled with song, as you would imagine.
Francis looted the bodies, looking for anything valuable. For the most part, he just found a few gold pieces, dirty weapons, and ragged clothing. To Riley’s chagrin, none of them carried a full-sized bow.
But ahead of Francis, Steve went one-by-one saying prayers over the fallen bodies. He didn’t speak any words, but mouthed them while making circular gestures with his hand. Every time he approached a body, he knelt down and gave the same prayer. And when he was done, Francis would take any valuables and roll the them off the road.
The last one that got rolled off the road was DJ’s kill. DJ watched as Francis took a few gold pieces from the body, stood up, and pushed the body down the mountain with his foot. DJ shivered slightly. Then the orc turned to face him. “Shall we continue, young knight?”
DJ took a deep breath and cleared this throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
So they did. Several minutes went by in silence. DJ looked over his shoulder to see Friar Steve following him not far behind. The Friar didn’t give his jovial wave or goofy smile. He just kept his eyes on his boots and walked. DJ realized that Steve killed multiple Clansman to protect him and Riley just minutes ago. Maybe he was feeling similar things. He slowed his pace so he could walk side-by-side with the friar.
“Hey, Steve.”
The friar nodded his reply.
“What was that prayer that you were giving over every Clansman?”
Friar responded in a tone that, for him, was quiet and collected. For anyone else, it was speaking at normal volume. He said, “I gave them each two prayers. One for forgiveness, and one for a peaceful sojourn to the Seven Heavens or Hundred Hells. Whichever the Goddess sees fit.”
“Do you think they have any chance making it to the Seven Heavens? Being murderers and thieves?”
“That is not for us to judge.”
DJ thought about that for a moment, then said, “I’ve never had to kill anyone before today.”
“Nor have I.”
“I hate this feeling. Do you think the Goddess will forgive us? We were just defending ourselves, right?”
The friar paused. DJ was half-sure that he was silently praying. Finally, Steve shook his head. “The Goddess understands the intent of our hearts.”
“I never want to kill anyone ever again,” DJ muttered as he relived the moment in his head. “Thanks for saving Riley and me.”
“I swore an oath to protect you. It is my duty, and my honor.”
DJ took a long look at the Friar. With his hunched back, chinless face, and lazy eye, he wasn’t much to look at. But there was something that radiated deeper within this friar. DJ wondered why he never noticed it before.
“You’re a blessing, Steve,” DJ said. “People don’t appreciate you as much as they should.”
For the first time in a while, Steve smiled.