Chapter Ten: Out of the Fire and into the Pan
Clackhissis climbed from the dungeon two minutes later. She was tired but knew that they were not safe yet. There was still an unknown number of Icthyoids below who had survived the fireball and were on their way now.
Cushing had impressed her down there. He had provided the distraction she’d needed and lured the fighters into a tightly packed group that allowed her to use her Urticulation ability to its fullest potential; had they been spread out, she would not have been able to affect so many at once. Then, he’d been about to charge the conjurer of conflagration by himself before she’d had the sense to use her Acidic Venom. She had seen the flames and froze like prey, surprised to see a predator slip from the shadows. Fangs and webs do little against flames, and the sight of his fire caused her to pause. Finally, the manling had stopped on the stairs, drawing out the final two guards standing sentry. This had allowed her, as she brought up the rear, to take them silently from behind, one at a time. They never felt a thing and died far better deaths than they’d deserved. Cushing had never looked back. He had trusted her that much.
His faith in her was unwavering and far more than she deserved from him. She had doubted him at very nearly every turn since they’d met. She had to believe that Kaali had chosen him for a reason, and he was proving to be more capable than he’d first seemed. The only thing she didn’t understand was the odd dance he’d done when surrounded by the Icthyoid warriors. Whatever it was, it had worked, and he’d broken one of their weapons effortlessly before offering it back to them. Her sudden appearance had broken his concentration, and she’d been forced to tell him to bolt or battle. Like a true predator, he’d known he was outnumbered and escaped as her magic choked the warriors. He’d even killed one with its weapon before he fled in what was a perfect pairing of fight and flight. She had not expected him to be so capable. She had very clearly misjudged him.
She regretted ever feeling like she had been saddled with him. The man was braver than she had given him credit for, and it was apparent now that their first encounter had not allowed him to show his full measure. She could see how, even then, he had tried to draw away her foes’ attention so that she could strike at them from the darkness and that her arrogance had made things go awry. Had he downplayed his actual role so as not to hurt her feelings?
She had also done the same to Tes, who had their backs when they had not expected her to do more than run and hide. She had appeared at the perfect moment and slain the fire mage with her poisoned dagger. Again, she felt shame at her suspicion of the little cur and the doubts that she would be of any use. She, too, had proven more capable than Clackhissis would have thought. She would have to rethink her opinion of both of her companions.
Naturally, she could not tell them her thoughts, or they would think she was a weak and indecisive leader. All she could do was to promise herself that she would do her best to treat them as they deserved. The fact that she considered herself a sword still being forged by the heat and hammering of life flitted through her mind. One did not mold a sword with the blows of a feather, nor did you make it pliable with love. You shoved it into the fires of hell, drew it out, and beat on it without mercy before putting it back into the fire. They were not going to be warriors; they would become predators like her. She would mold them and make them more potent than they could hope to evolve on their own.
She spotted them waiting for her as she exited the dungeon. Her ectothermic blood reacted to the chill night air. It was warm enough that she would not be slowed down or suffer any ill effects, but it was enough for her to notice. Tes seemed unaffected, her fur keeping her warm, but Cushing looked cold. He would warm up soon enough. As much as it galled her, they still had to escape any possible surviving Icthyoids. Cushing spotted her and smiled.
“What’s the call, Charlotte?” He sounded tired, and his breathing was heavy as he spoke. He had just run hundreds of steps, taking them three and four at a time, yet his face wore a cheerful expression, and he was ready to do whatever she asked of him. Tes, too, looked fearful but awaited her answer. Her dagger was in hand and ready to go. She could quickly tell them they were going to stay and fight, and they would do so without hesitation, and as much as she longed for that option, she knew it was not the correct one. One or all of them would die if they stayed and fought so that they would run. There would be another time to kill Icthyoid, and when that time came, Clackhissis would drink deeply of their fluids and leave many husks in her wake.
“We go,” the words stung but were the right ones to say. Then she added, “But we will come back and reclaim this region later. For spite’s sake.”
She moved past them at a brisk pace so that they could follow her. Tes might do well in the dark, but Cushing could barely see, so that she would lead the way for now. Usually, she would rely on her vibrational sense to warn her of any incoming dangers, but that had failed her in the dungeon. She didn’t know why, but she had not felt them coming down the stairs, and for as many of them as there were, that was unthinkable. Even her count of them had even been off. That had never happened to her before. It was disturbing that something she had relied on her whole life had inexplicably failed her without any reason she could fathom. All she knew was it was getting worse as time passed.
“Follow me. Tes, keep an eye out for danger. We have a long night ahead of us, so stay alert.” She skittered into the surrounding forest, knowing they had her abdomen covered.
The trio continued on through the night. Whenever she allowed a rest stop, Clackhissis would double back and ensure they were not being followed. She hadn’t seen a sign of the Icthyoid, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t come upon them in a hundred different ways involving various types of magic and sneak skills, so she pushed her team until the break of day. When the sun’s rays finally crested the horizon, she called for them to make camp.
“We will rest here for five hours, so get some sleep. I will stand watch.” Clackhissis rotated her body to look back the way they had just come. She scrutinized every movement and shadow in the distance to see if they were being followed.
“You have to be as tired as we are. Why don’t you and Tes rest and let me watch over you for a while?” Cushing was unquestionably exhausted and running on fumes; he was in no shape to stand guard, but the spider opted not to berate him for so foolish a sentiment.
“Spiders do not sleep in the same manner as you bipeds. I will slow my metabolism down, but I will still be aware of what is happening around us to act if something happens. We can all rest at the same time.” With that said, she climbed into an oak tree and vanished among the branches.
Tes needed no encouragement and fell to the ground where she stood and was asleep before Cushing could move. She felt completely safe under the spider’s gaze or was so tired that she didn’t care to find a hole to hide away in, and Clackhissis doubted that it was the latter. Cushing reluctantly removed his sword and shield and placed them into his inventory before taking his cloak, rolling it into a ball, and using it as a cushion for his head. Like his canine counterpart, he, too, was asleep in moments. Clackhissis willed her body to rest; her heart obeyed, and its beat relaxed about five times a minute. She curled her legs up, which would hamper her ability to sense vibration, but she had no faith in that particular skill at the moment and opted to rely on eyes and ears instead.
She decided to break for only a few hours and then try to find some game for herself and the others. They would be hungry when they awoke, and while she couldn’t cook for them, she could at least provide some sustenance. Her body seemed to conserve its energy better than theirs, and she did not need food as badly as them, but she would eat if possible. Additionally, she did not need any of them suffering from a hunger status ailment.
^
Au Puch grimaced as he strolled through the battle's remnants in the dungeon's lower part. Every warrior that they’d sent had been killed, and his visual inspection told him that at no point was even one of their targets hurt, let alone killed. It was most upsetting. Lieutenant Orinnel had intimated that this squad knew how to handle things, but that wasn’t the case. To say that they had failed miserably would have been an understatement. Thankfully, this mess could not be laid at his feet. He hadn’t even known they existed until after Kludge, the Dungeon Killer, had “welcomed” him into his little band of brothers. Antonio Montagne had informed him that a team had been sent to dispatch the small band of heroes. Not that he would even intimate that the failure lay at the feet of Montagne.
What would happen was that upon learning of the failure, Montagne would expect Au Puch to handle things swiftly and efficiently. If he failed to do that, he would have no one to blame and bear the brunt of both fiascos. That meant that the assassin had two options. First and most preferable would be to find and kill the heroes as quickly as he could. Secondly, the least appealing possibility would be to fight Montagne himself rather than be executed for failure, and that did not seem remotely viable.
Au Puch knew what he would do without having to think about it. He would never join the “other side.” They were weak-willed and gutless. He could never live among them for any real amount of time before his bloodlust would drive him to snap. No, this had to be taken care of as soon as possible with as much efficiency and expediency as he could provide.
He inspected the bodies once again. There were three in the stairwell. Two had been killed by the spider, and a third one was burned. That one had to have been slain by the Gamer, Cushing, because neither the kobold nor the arachnid could produce fire. He was a touch disappointed, as the information held no real revelations for him. Au Puch wished there had been something to reveal a weakness or flaw in their fighting styles. The battle at the bottom of the dungeon gave him the shocking information he desired.
Six bodies were lying several feet inside the room. Each had a cauterized hole where their hearts should have been. Again, that was Cushing. His burning blade was impressive, as was his skill with it. Not one of the warriors at his feet showed signs of any other wounds. There had not been a prolonged battle here. It appeared as if he’d removed the six of them while standing still. Some distance away lay the bulk of the soldiers that had been sent. They had been burned alive. Again, fire magic. What kind of arcane skills did Cushing possess to take out so many soldiers at once? Only one body showed any signs of having been involved in some hand-to-hand combat, and it evidenced Cushing’s martial prowess as the soldier had been killed with part of his weapon.
The only sign that he could see that the spider had done anything was a headless body left hanging in a silk blanket thirty feet in the air. The caster looked to have been killed by the kobold in what could only have been a sneak attack, and Au Puch only thought that because of the numerous stab wounds in the humanoid’s throat. They had been made by a small blade, but one laced with poison. Au Puch could see traces of the green liquid around the many lacerations. She must have come up upon him when he prepared to strike Cushing. For all he knew, the man had been acting as a distraction for the mongrel, allowing her to position herself to kill the phlogiston thaumaturge. The angle of the corpse suggested that he had not even been facing the area in which the Game Warden had left his pile of bodies. It was all most disconcerting.
This evidence was strange. He had been given information that conflicted with the data he’d collected. Au Puch had been told of just how deadly the spider was and that he should not, under any circumstances, underestimate her. Similarly, everything he’d learned about Cushing said that he was a weak buffoon of low level, mediocre skill, and not very bright. He saw neither of those things supported here. From his perspective, the spider had been primarily ineffectual, and the Game Warden had practically gone on a murder spree that only he, as an assassin, could truly appreciate. There was far more to Cushing than he’d been led to believe, and Clackhissis did not seem to be more than a monster for him to squish.
He hadn’t even read the files on the kobold. What could a kobold do that he needed to worry about? During an encounter, one could practically kill twenty of them at a time and never even form a bead of sweat from the act of doing so. She was nothing for him to be concerned with; it would be like a lion worrying over a worm. Fluff with a fang was all she was, and now that he knew that she used poison, he would be better prepared to crush her when they met.
The real problem that Au Puch now faced was time. He hadn’t known it, but he had been on the clock the second he’d left for this damned dungeon. Now, every passing second put him closer to irritating Montagne. The man had limits to his patience. For him, results were something that happened at the snap of his fingers. One snap and half of his enemies fell dead. He was already expecting word of the heroes’ demise, and the longer it took him to get it, the more displeased he would become. That wasn't good because they were already hours behind the spider.
There had been some time involved in examining the scene in the dungeon below. At least another two hours were involved there. He had no idea when they had left the area, but he and his men were no less than five hours behind. He knew it was more, but he had to presume that the trio had left just before he got here, so if Montagne asked him, he could tell him that he was closer to the targets than he actually was. His priority now was to get moving. He could not let more precious seconds slip through his fingers.
“Pritt,” he called out in a demanding tone, “Tell the men to be ready to move out in one hour. We need to break camp, but I want scouts out immediately. Have them find their trail and mark a path for us. They are not to dawdle and must stay ahead of us.” He considered his orders and continued, “Tell them I don’t want to see them unless they are dead or have found our quarry.”
Au Puch pulled his knife from his sleeve and began twirling it around absently, “I want the men prepared to march in two columns. There will be no talking or sleep until I am satisfied we are close to our objectives. Food and water will be cold rations, so make certain that everyone is stocked and ready to move. Those who fail to leave with us will be summarily executed.”
Pritt, one of the least ugly Icthyoid Au Puch had seen, bowed his head swiftly and then trundled off to relay his orders. Pritt was not as tall as the other Icthyoids. He barely made six feet in height and had an almost human nose. His skin was a wan yellow tainted by streaks of blue and green veins. His eyes were a light grey accentuated by a blue cornea. His armor was leather, breeches, boots, bracers, and a vest. Pritt eschewed jewelry and tattoos. He had no piercings, scarifications, brands, or other alterations to his body.
Au Puch found the warrior reliable despite being a touch on the dim side of the intelligence lamp. It was a rare member of the Icthyoid race that stood out to him as being anything more than a trained monkey. They were fierce, deadly, and merciless but not renowned for their intellectual pursuits. For being fish people, it was hard to believe that any of them had ever seen a school. Pritt was somewhat more refined and more capable than most of his brethren. That just made him a chimp in the company of orangutans. Stupid he might be, but he was very trainable.
“Come back a moment,” he called to the messenger. He’d just realized he had no idea what Kludge was doing, but he didn’t need to exacerbate his situation.
“Yes?” Pritt came up before at full attention. He showed no signs of irritation at being called back, nor did he seem to anticipate his new orders. He was simply there, very nearly bored with his current lot in life.
“We cannot let these heroes dictate our timeline. Leave an eight-man squad here. The guards will work in eight-hour shifts, two men per shift. I want them to wait here for Lieutenant Orinnel. This dungeon is to be in Icthyoid's hands from now on. I don’t care if it's dead or not.” his voice was firm and commanding, and Pritt gave him a swift nod when he indicated that he was finished and resumed his former trek.
“Pritt,” Supay called again, and the Icthyoid returned without a hint of exasperation evident on his face. “Do as I said, but I want you to reserve five warriors. After you have given the proper individuals my orders, I want you to take those five and proceed with our scouts. You are to go without rest until you have evidence that you are but hours behind them. If you can take them by surprise, do so.” Au Puch knew that scouts would never be able to handle the spider if they were discovered, and he only wanted scouts so that he didn’t have to wait for his people to find their trail as he went along after them. By sending Pritt, he hoped the Icthyoid would find and engage the arachnid and her companion. The assassin doubted Pritt’s ability to kill the spider, but he would certainly soften her up for him. Pritt was acceptable, but in the end, he was a tool to be used like everyone else.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Pritt nodded and patiently waited for more of Au Puch’s commands. The assassin had never met a more dedicated and subordinate Icthyoid before for some bizarre reason that irritated him. The creature was practically obsequious to the point of nauseation. Supay expected obedience, but he also expected some resistance as well. Pritt never even rolled his eyes at Au Puch. It was very disconcerting. As much as he nearly liked the humanoid, it made him want to hit him.
“Once you are near them, rest and replenish yourselves. Then follow at a better pace and strike when they are unprepared.” He snaked out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the Icthyoid’s throat. Tall the creature might have been, but Au Puch’s arms had more than enough reach to catch Pritt there. “Do not fail me. We will be right behind you. You will be the tip of my spear.”
The killer in crimson released his subordinate, and Pritt gave him a slight nod and ran off to see to it that Au Puch’s orders were followed. Supay nearly felt a tinge of regret at his sacrifice of Pritt but quickly got over it. Pritt, like all of his kin, was fodder. That was why killing Icthyoids did nothing for him. They weren’t real. They were motes of light formed by eldritch energies that imagined they were alive. Were it not for their introduction of the PK weapons, he would have had no use for the Icthyoid or their campaign. He didn’t care that Antonio Montagne was leading them, either. Au Puch had only followed his hungers, and Montagne had continuously fed his well. He was still keeping Au Puch’s inner beast’s belly full in this world, but the assassin knew loyalty only went as far as the dagger in your hand.
Au Puch frowned. Between the scouts and the men he was leaving behind, his group of fifty had already lost one-fifth of his men, and not a one of them was by attrition caused by wounds or death. He was going to have to leave food and water for an indefinite period of time, which meant he was going to have to leave more supplies than he normally would since he had no idea when or even if they would be relieved. Cushing was cunning indeed. His admiration for the man grew at the same pace that his irritation for him did as well.
^
Cushing awoke, but he was not as refreshed as he’d hoped he would be. The day's prior events had worn him out. He had no idea of how Clackhissis could go at the pace that she did and not seem exhausted. At least Tes was still fast asleep, proving that not all monsters were created equally. She was curled up like a dog, her muzzle resting on her rump. He noted that she did not make a sound as she slept and appeared practically dead due to her complete and utter stillness. One of her eyes cracked open to look at him. It was as if she had been able to feel the weight of his eye land upon her sleeping form. It scanned him up and down; she gave him a good once over, and then her eye closed sleepily, and she resumed napping.
At least she looked comfortable. Cushing had slept in his gear, sword right beside him, and his body protested every little movement it made as a result. He’d hoped that his new “virtual” body wouldn’t translate things like pulled muscles, bruises, and loose teeth, but so far, he’d experienced all of those things since his arrival in DKO. While he was all for realism, suffering things like muscle cramps and charley horses were not what he had in mind when he thought of that particular word. That word evoked thoughts of things like alcohol, back rubs, and other more sensitive things that were better kept between consenting adults, like eating a sandwich.
His body protested loudly as he bent down to pick up the three dead conies that lay by his bedroll. Once again, the spider, wherever she was, had been looking out for him and Tes. Clackhissis acted like she didn’t care, but her actions in bringing them food showed him otherwise. He could have done worse than hitching his horse to her eight-wheeled wagon. Kaali had warned him that she could be difficult and that she didn’t like humans, but Cushing had wanted to join her crusade. He’d wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself, and he’d wanted to help monsters become more than just a means of grinding out experience points. He didn’t care if he was just a tiny cog or a big wheel with a means of making that happen so long as he helped.
Twenty minutes later, Tes sidled beside him just as the rabbits had finished cooking. The smell of the roasting rabbits had drawn her from her slumber and to his side without him even noticing until the rumble of her belly alerted him to her presence. He wordlessly handed her a rabbit, and she greedily ripped off both of its back legs in one bite and crunchily chewed them, finally swallowing them, bones and all. She repeated this process in three more mouthfuls before all she had left was a stick, which she licked clean. She then turned her eyes to the remaining conies that Cushing held. He didn’t hesitate and handed her a second helping of the barbequed bunnies. He did not watch her as she ate this time around but took a bite of his rabbit before she could finish bolting her food down, he liked her, but he'd be damned if he gave up every bite of his breakfast to her. A man had to eat too.
Surprisingly, she slowed midway through the second rabbit and looked at him quizzically. “You are a silly man,” she said with a mouthful of food. The fur around her mouth was matted with juice, and her tongue made a complete circuit from one corner to another, getting every last bit of sustenance it could find. She let her tongue loll out the side of her mouth as she panted in the warm morning air. She bore a smile of contentment.
Cushing’s eyebrows scrunched together as he considered what she’d just said. He supposed she was right. He’d done many stupid things down below in the depths of the dungeon, and he just hadn’t expected her to call him out on it.
“What do you mean?” He asked her the question around a mouthful of the rabbit so that his voice wouldn’t break as he made his inquiry. He had no idea that Tes would be bold enough to point out his shortcomings in the last battle.
She pointed a surprisingly sharply nailed finger at his face, “You have a chunk of rabbit on you.”
Cushing reached up to where she was pointing and found the piece of meat that was dangling from his chin. He pulled it away from his face and crammed it into his mouth while he made a scronch face at the kobold. She laughed. It was an odd but melodic sound, and he had never heard the like of it before. It had clear origins in the chortles of hyenas but also carried the tone of a talkative malamute or husky. He would have expected a Muttley laugh from her, with a wheezing snicker, but this was a soothing sound that comforted him.
“See,” she said, “Silly.” She continued to laugh, and he joined her. It was refreshing to forget the trouble they were in, if only for a minute or two. They finished their meal and he put out the fire. He had built a small one with the foreknowledge that they would not stay long. He did not want to leave much of a hint of their presence in case they were followed.
Then, Tes stopped laughing. Her face was grim, and she looked him in the eye. He had never seen her so serious. He had seen her panicked, afraid, puzzled, and lighthearted, but never with so solemn a face.
“Why so serious,” he asked her. He hadn’t even meant to pull that line out of the ether. If he had, he would have Jokered it up a touch; he did a mean Ledger impersonation.
“You not have magic.” She said it so matter-of-factly that it was disconcerting. “I saw magic in dungeon. Man casted fire. Burned up everything. You not have magic.”
“I do,” he said defensively, “I do have magic. I can’t shoot fire out of my butt or summon lightning..” His boot kicked at one of the stones he had used to contain the fire, and then he added a very firm “Yet.”
Tes looked at him quizzically. She had no idea of what he meant. She squinted one eye and peered at him with the other, looking him over. One of her lower fangs protruded over her upper muzzle, adding weight to her scrutiny.
“What Cushions mean?” she tilted her head as she asked so that she looked like the RCA dog listening to a phonograph going through a personal dilemma. “One-day Cushions will shoot fire out of his butt?”
“It’s Cushing. My name is Cush-ing, not Cushions, and I have one spell right now,” he cleared his throat before he spoke, “And I’ll get another the next time I level if I decide to take it. The problem is that my spells are all focused on helping monsters or on my sword. For example, I currently have a Heal Monster spell that I can use to help you or Clackhissis, but it doesn’t do a thing for humans like myself.” He paused and rubbed his chin, noting it was still covered with rabbit grease. “There are a few things I can do with my sword now that no one else can.”
“Once I get my new class, I think I’ll be able to get a spell that will either allow me to enhance a monster, take on some monster qualities, summon a monster, or tame a monster. None of that stuff is battlefield magic, so I doubt you’ll see me casting a spell very often unless you or our cuddly spider queen is hurt. And no, I’ll never actually shoot fire out of my butt.”
“Clack is a queen?” the kobold questioned as her eyes grew ever bigger with surprise.
“Her mother is the brood queen of all spiders, I do believe. Dunno. She might just be a regular queen, but either way, Clackhissis would, technically, qualify as royalty in some people’s eyes. But that doesn’t take into consideration that she has a ton of siblings, so I doubt there is any possibility of her claiming her mother’s throne.” Cushing pondered Tes’s question. “Besides, her mother is tiny compared to her. The Brood Queen is only as large as my palm.”
Where exactly was Clackhissis headed? From what he had seen of the God-forged spider, she would be something more than Lollth could ever aspire to be. Clackhissis had been touched by Kaali himself, molded into his very own living weapon. She was something never before seen on Ravenkist.
Tes gave him a quick nod when he finished, apparently satisfied with his answer. At least she wasn’t as hard to please as another monster he knew. The little kobold just shrugged off whatever life threw at her, and she didn’t seem to hold others accountable for their mistakes. She could have been mad that they hadn’t even looked for her as he and the arachnid made their way to the stairs. She was good people. Hell, she was better than most of the “people” he’d known in the real world.
“Cushions needs more magics,” was said with a finality that let him know she was worried about his dependency on his sword. All she had was a dagger, but that seemed to be enough for her. The Game Warden gave her a nod in agreeance with her statement.
Cushing surveyed the area. There were trees about, but it was no longer what he would consider to be a forest. There was tall, dry grass that rippled in the wind like waves on water. It was calm and quiet, but he did not feel a sense of dread like he had had the last few days; he no longer felt like a hunted fox chased by an endless army of hounds. It was a brief feeling, but if he hadn’t known better, it might have been a day to go fishing or head to the movies. It just had the vibe that everything bad was finally behind him.
He turned around and was facing Clackhissis. She had slipped from the tall grass like a whisper from a dying man’s lips. If he’d been holding anything, he would have dropped it. That also included his “water,” but he’d thankfully taken care of the morning business right after he’d awakened. Despite that fact, the sight of a giant spider appearing out of nowhere right in front of him did make him pee just a tad. He hoped she didn’t notice. No matter how many monster movies you watched, having a giant spider pop out of nowhere could still scare the hell out of you. He didn’t jump, though. Jumping was for wussies.
“Clackhissis,” he said with a nod and playing it as cool as he could, “Thank you for the conies. It was nice having something to eat this morning, oh,” he added, “Also, gratitude for letting us sleep. I don’t know about Tes, but I needed it.”
She just stared at him. He hadn’t realized how unnerving it could be when she laid all eight of her eyes on him. For some bizarre reason, Cushing felt like he was being weighed and measured in addition to being considered if he was worth becoming a meal. He saw himself reflected in her eyes, and he noted that while he felt hale and hearty, he genuinely looked beaten and bedraggled.
He observed that her eyes were steely and cold and only reflected; they did not hint at her inner thoughts. They were wholly emotionless and gave nothing away. He would have hated to play poker with her. She’d be one hell of a cheat, having eight sleeves to hide cards in and the best poker face he’d ever seen.
“You are a fool.” She was careful to speak only in her native tongue so that Tes did not understand her. Furthermore, she kept her voice hushed, and instead of clicks, chits, and chatters, she spoke in low hisses and scratched her fangs together. “You are still of such a pitiful level that confronting those warriors was more or less certain death.”
“I only did it because. . .” he started, but she cut him off.
“I know why you did it, manling. Do not feel the need to explain yourself to me.” She waved her pedipalps in the air dismissively and added, “I know what we need to do.”
Cushing gulped, afraid to ask what she had in mind. He hadn’t realized it until a small bead ran into his eyes, but he had begun sweating as soon as she appeared. He could now feel his heart thumping a hundred miles an hour and hear it beating in his ears. He had dreaded this moment. She was going to kick him out of the group and then eat him or just eat him. He knew how she felt about weakness and how much she liked eating.
“What’s that,” he asked with a trembling voice.
“We,” she said, “Are going to go out and grind some levels for you and Tes.”
“That sounds great,” the Game Warden replied, “But I think we need to talk about code words to use when we are in certain situations.”
“What are code words,” the spider inquired.
“I am so glad you asked,” Cushing said with a grin.
^
Pritt cursed his luck. He had been saddled with serving one of the foulest cultists he’d ever encountered. Au Puch had no compunction using his people and discarding their lives as if they were worthless. Why he could see that so clearly, and Klugde could not bothered him. His people were not trash. They were the true people. They were the rightful rulers of this world. All worlds belonged to them. They were the ancient ones. Timeless and unending, they were there before creation and would be there long after. If anything, all those that came after them were the inferior species. One day, he and those that followed in his steps would trod upon the bleached bones of those lesser beings until they were ground into a fine powder that rode the wind into oblivion. They would be forgotten while the Icthyoid people forged new lives on the bodies of the dead.
In the Icthyoid’s estimation, Au Puch’s viewpoint was a fair thing, as Pritt’s people saw the cultists as foolish turncoats who were little more than knives that the Icthyoids, and Lord Dagon by default, could place at other gamer’s throats. Cultists were tools, albeit highly specialized tools. When the war was over, and their Lord Dagon had won, Pritt would take great pleasure in watching Kludge or another influential Icthyoid leader grind the smug assassin into jelly beneath their boots.
As things stood, Pritt knew enough to keep his head down and do as he was told. He was aware of the man’s temper and his hunger for lives. It was a need that was never satiated. In that respect, Pritt felt pity for the puppet. It was a terrible thing to be ruled by one’s desires. You had no control over your life and rarely realized the truth of your situation.
Perhaps the assassin was worth more than a company of Icthyoid lives, and maybe his skills could even be considered impressive, but in the end, all of the cultists would share the same fate as their fellow gamers. Oblivion. They would not just die. They would cease to exist. And if that meant that Pritt and a few of his fellow soldiers had to die to achieve that goal, then so be it. In the end, Dagon would rule Ravenkist as he was meant to do. Pritt would happily give his life to see that dream achieved.
Pritt gathered weapons and called his cadre of men to his side. He had no intention of running them to death, despite what the red assassin had ordered him to do. They would rest less and eat on the run. In due course, they would find the interlopers and kill them, and then Pritt would have the glory of the kill. He just had to stay a few steps ahead of Au Puch. The true race was between the two of them. They both wanted glory, and the winner would be the one who took care of the misfits conclusively.
The assassin’s company would move slowly. They would rest and stop to eat and do other necessary things, falling further and further behind the “spear-point.” It was at that moment that Pritt decided that if he had an opportunity to end the crimson killer, he would. With a brisk wave of his hand, he ordered his men to follow and took off at a jog.
It was then that inspiration struck. They were carrying items on behalf of Kludge Orinnel. There was an entire wagonload of items that the killer insisted on having at his disposal when he claimed a new location. The things he wanted in the dungeon were diverse and powerful, items that a lowly subordinate like Pritt would never have access to, but everything was in disarray right now. The camp was as organized as an ant nest that had just been kicked over. The dungeon was useless, and most of his people were preparing to make repairs to it post haste. The rest were packing and preparing for Au Puch’s march.
The confusion gave Pritt the perfect opportunity to borrow an item or two. In his heart, as black as it was, he prayed to Lord Dagon that the flensing knife was secreted away. That blade scared him, and it would horrify his enemies. That was a favorite of Orinnel, though, and even if it were there, he would probably leave it alone. Its availability was no longer a real factor as Pritt opted to take some other item of power. He wasn’t sure what he would take. One was as good as another to him. Upon consideration, Pritt felt that he might take more than one token of power.
All he cared about was how much assistance something would be to help him kill the human and his spider. After that, maybe he would turn his weapons against his commander, the deadly Au Puch, who seemed more suited to telling people to kill rather than performing the act himself. Pritt was more than happy to teach him what it meant to be a killer. He would take the man’s soul in sacrifice to Dagon.
The Ichthyoid lifted a tarp from the Lieutenant’s cart and found a sizeable obsidian container etched with yellow runes. Pritt could not decipher the rune’s meanings and felt a tinge of fear trickle down his spine. He knew that they could be wards and the mere act of opening the receptacle could kill him for his impudence, but he had to try. No lock barred him from raising the lid, and he decided to take that as a sign from Lord Dagon that he was doing the right thing.
He lifted the top slowly, worried that it might creak as he did so, but it was as silent as the grave. He exhaled a long sigh of relief when the box did not explode or douse him in flames as his eyes ran over the weapon contained in the case, the closest thing to a genuine smile formed on Pritt’s fishy lips. Not only was a weapon held therein, but it was one he had seen used on multiple occasions. It was a Bastard sword; the metal burned black, and the hilt and pommel were tainted with a sanguine tone, as any blood the sword encountered was drained into the grip.
Pritt ran a finger across the flat of the blade, and an electric tingle raced up his arm. The sword was, in an odd way, just like Au Puch. It was always thirsting for blood, and no matter how much it drank in from its victims, it was never quenched. Even now, he could feel it begging him to take it and impale Au Puch’s heart. The mental push was not overwhelming, but it was nonetheless substantial. Pritt could not imagine what it would be like once he held it in his hand.
He quickly closed the case. Pritt gently wrapped the dark container in an animal hide and slipped it under his arm. He casually flipped the tarp back down and strolled away, his bundle as innocuous as a simple burlap sack. He garnered nary a second glance as he made his way back to the men who had assembled. His impassive face belied the sheer satisfaction pulsing through his body. He had just scored a major aid in his campaign against the spider.