The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  Chapter Six

  Mercer squatted over a trapdoor set in the floor of the cave. A stout padlock secured the hatch. It was the banded steel edge glinting in the firelight that they had been seeing. The chamber had been covered in cobwebs and egg sacs before the spiders, trying to escape the flames, had burned up the webbing in their death throes, exposing the square hatch in the floor. The remains of charred beasts lay curled and smoking, giving off the stench of singed hair. Mercer frowned at the trapdoor and made a sound like groaning timbers at the back of his throat.

  “Never seen that before,” he said to no one in particular.

  Drake, leaning heavily on his staff, said, “Thought you’d been here before.”

  “I have,” Mercer told him. “Been in this very chamber before, but never knew this was here. Must have been covered over by the spider webs.”

  Trix squatted next to him, pinching her nose closed. “Or maybe you didn’t see it because it’s new.”

  “Think the game designers added it?” Mercer asked.

  She shrugged. “Why not?”

  Drake, who normally avoided any sort of door or chest on the supposition that it was likely booby trapped, shuffled closer. “Maybe it’s the ten million,” he said. “Maybe the developers added this and hid the ten million where they figured no one would ever find it.”

  “The metal is old and rusting,” Mercer pointed out.

  “Hell, they could have programmed that,” Drake said.

  “Could have,” Mercer agreed. He studied the trapdoor another moment and then said, “There’s only one way to find out. Trix, can you open it?”

  She bent over the trapdoor and did a thorough inspection of the corners, the edges, the hinges and, finally, the lock itself. She made a science out of detecting booby traps and an art of setting them. Her slow and careful method had saved all their lives on more than one occasion. Mercer backed up and let her work.

  “I don’t see any traps,” she said at last. Of course, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get a face full of acid when they opened the hatch. The best traps were nearly undetectable and more than once, they had been gassed, shocked, and stuck with darts. Still, Trix was one of the best in the Savage Realms when it came to defeating locks. She took out a set of picks and set to work, her tongue clamped firmly in the corner of her mouth while she manipulated the tumblers.

  Mercer and Drake backed all the way up to the wall. Drake put his shoulders to the clammy rock and crossed his arms over his boney chest, with his staff in the crook of his elbow. “I’ve been meaning to ask; can you do that in real life?”

  “Never tried,” Trix admitted. “Don’t distract me while I’m working.”

  Mercer inspected the scratch on his forearm.

  “How bad is it?” Drake wanted to know.

  “Not bad,” Mercer said. “Yet.”

  The shallow cut throbbed, but it didn’t feel infected, at least, he didn’t feel sick. Maybe the little blighter hadn’t gotten any venom into him, but he wasn’t going to bet on it. Blood crusted around the wound. While Trix worked on the lock, Mercer wrapped his forearm in gauze. He struggled to tie off the bandage and finally Drake came to his aid.

  Trix glanced up while she worked and said, “Look at you two. Like an old married couple.”

  Mercer said, “Thanks, honey.”

  Drake nodded. “You’re welcome, dear.”

  The lock clicked and the hasp released. Trix carefully slid the padlock free and set it aside, then stood up and held out a fist. Mercer put his out and on the count of three, he threw scissors, and she threw rock. Mercer sniffed. Trix gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then backed away.

  Leaning as far away as he could from the trapdoor, Mercer grasped the handle and threw the hatch wide. It swung open and slammed against the floor with a flat smack. A hairy black shape the size of a horse came wriggling through the opening.

  Mercer gave a shout of surprise and rolled across the floor to avoid a set of snapping mandibles the size of kitchen shears. The pinchers came together with a terrifying clap that sounded like a gunshot in the echoing vault. Eight long legs scrabbled over the floor.

  Trix and Drake both leapt, but in different directions. Trix sprang forward, throwing knives flashing through the air, while Drake backed off, his staff out in front of him and the words of an incantation on his lips. In his haste, he bungled the words and the spell fizzled. Trix’s daggers stuck in the giant spider’s hide with the sound of darts sticking into a board, but the monstrosity didn’t even turn. It scuttled across the floor, bearing down on Mercer with those clapping mandibles.

  He dragged his axe from the loop on his belt and managed to jab at the spider’s open maw, forcing it back a step. But it was a brief respite. Malevolent black eyes stared hatred at Mercer. The lumbering spider surged forward, and Mercer’s heart squeezed painfully hard inside his chest. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself being torn to shreds, entrails spilled across the dusty cave floor as the monster ripped him limb from limb. The pain would be enough to put him out of the game for weeks, maybe months. Hell, maybe forever. Some people tasted death and lost their nerve. He lunged to his left and narrowly missed having his arm clipped off by those powerful pincers. That awful snapping noise filled him with dread. He rammed the blunt end of his axe handle against the creature’s face without effect. Two long arms, bristling with hair and tipped with savage claws, pinned him to the stone floor. Twin daggers dug into his shoulders, ripping through his chain mail shirt and piercing flesh. Mercer let out a scream of agony. Exquisite waves of pain crashed into him. The monster reared back and lunged forward.

  At the same time, Trix was yelling, “Burn it, Drake! Burn it!”

  “I can’t,” he shouted. “I’ll burn up Mercer.”

  Mercer had just enough time to get his axe up to block. The pincers closed around the haft and snapped the head right off. The heavy axe head thumped Mercer on the forehead as it fell and then clattered over stone. He used what remained of the axe handle to force the beast’s head back. The muscles in his arms and chest shook with the effort, but it was a losing battle. Those terrifying mandibles inched closer and closer to his face, dripping venomous saliva onto his chest.

  It was all over for Mercer, and he knew it. The monstrous spider had him dead to rights. Beads of sweat sprang out on his forehead as the last of his strength slipped away. He was saved by Trix driving one of her short swords into the beast’s back. She buried the curved scimitar halfway to the hilt with a grunt of effort, ripped it free, and stabbed down again. This time she succeeded in skewering the spider. Mercer saw the tip of her blade poke through its furry belly.

  The spider gave a high-pitched screech and rounded on Trix so fast she lost her grip on the scimitar and was thrown aside. She landed flat on her back and her head bounced off the stone floor with a solid thock. The spider, a sword still stuck through its middle, sprang at her, only to be intercepted by Drake.

  The wizard leapt forward with a shout and jabbed the end of his staff at the monster’s head. He threw all of his weight into the attack and barely slowed the beast down, buying Trix enough time to scramble out of reach of those snapping pincers.

  Mercer lunged, grabbed the hind legs in both hands, and yanked. Bristling hairs dug into his palms. Sweat made his hands slip, but he held on with all the strength he had as the spider shrieked in protest and tried desperately to wheel around. Mercer planted his feet and strained. Veins stood out on his neck. He shouted, “Get it, Trix!”

  Still sitting, she yanked knives from her belt and threw them one after another. The first two bounced off the thrashing hide. The third found its mark, driving into the spider’s cluster of alien eyeballs. There was a scream that sounded close to human as the spider scrambled backwards and then, instead of fighting to keep the monster from surging forward, Mercer was trying to stop it from backing right over him. He planted a boot against the monster’s ass, yanked his broad sword free with his right hand, and sever
ed one of the back legs with a slash.

  The monster hissed in protest. Trix planted another dagger into its cluster of eyes and Mercer hacked off another leg. The furry butt dropped to the ground, trailing green sluice along in its wake. The four remaining legs struggled to hold the weight of its body. Mercer used the respite to gain his feet and hack at the spider’s backside with his blade. Drake cudgeled the monster with his gnarled staff and Trix unsheathed her second scimitar, using the curved blade to slash and tear. They surrounded the thrashing monster and beat it savagely until it lay in a bloody heap.

  When they were certain it wasn’t getting up, they backed away and Drake muttered an incantation. The bloodied corpse erupted into blue flame which turned orange and then green, filling the chamber with the offensive odor of burning hair and boiling guts.

  Mercer leaned on the hilt of his sword, sucking wind and palming sweat from his forehead. Trix questioned him with a look. He gave her a thumb’s up.

  Drake edged toward the open hatch. “Let’s see what this mother was guarding.”

  Chapter Seven

  Half an hour later, the group found themselves in front of a squat chest, banded with iron and secured with a complicated lock. The hatch had opened onto another series of tunnels, twisting arteries in the cold darkness far under the earth, rank with the odor of decay. They were forced to cut their way through two more packs of spiders. None were as big as the guardian of the hatch, but neither were they house spiders. Drake had taken a pretty serious bite and was forced to quaff his own antidote. He spent the next twenty minutes complaining that Mercer and Trix had failed to do their part in protecting him. They were, according to Drake, human shields meant to stall the enemy while he conjured. If they couldn’t hold the line, then he couldn’t cast his magic which, again according to Drake, was the sole determining factor in their success.

  Mercer, for his part, picked his way through this new cave in silence. He let Drake’s rant wash over him. Trix was not so kind. She took all she could and then told Drake to kindly shut the hell up. He marched along in sullen silence after that. The discovery of the chest brightened his mood. The wooden box sat in a cobwebbed corner, silky strands clinging to its sides and tiny arachnids creeping over the lid.

  Trix did another of her long, careful inspections and finished by saying, “I think it’s booby trapped.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Drake said. The deep bite on his thigh and the stomach-turning poison was forgotten. Hungry eyes roamed over the chest. “If it’s trapped then there is likely something good inside. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the ten million.”

  They looked long on the old crate, like it might give up its secrets, but it sat there mute and dumb, waiting for them to make the first move.

  Mercer said, “Can you disarm the trap?”

  “I’m not even sure what kind it is,” Trix admitted. “But I can try.”

  She sat down cross-legged in front of the chest and went to work on the lock with her picks. It took longer this time. Sweat gathered on her forehead. She chewed her tongue and frowned in concentration. At last the lock released with an audible click and Trix let out a breath.

  “Now for the hard part,” she said. With one hand, she carefully lifted the lid a fraction until she could peer inside. Mercer held his torch close for light. She peered through the narrow gap, nodded, and brought a small pair of clippers from her bag of tricks. Mercer heard the soft snip of the blades slice through string. Trix stood up and dusted her hands. “That ought to do it.”

  They went through the same ritual as before, only this time Mercer threw rock and Trix threw scissors. She snapped her fingers and crouched to the side of the box while Mercer and Drake backed all the way around a corner. It might seem overly cautious to at first timer, but they had learned the hard way how deadly a simple trap inside a treasure chest could be. They had heard about whole groups taken out because someone got careless and flipped open a box while everyone was clustered around it. Mercer was determined not to make the same mistake, which is why he had a set way of doing things and anyone who wanted to adventure with him followed the rules or they could take their chances on their own.

  Trix held her breath, threw the lid open, and jumped back. She didn’t move fast enough to avoid a spray of clear liquid released when a second string, one that Trix had missed, pulled taut. She got a face full of the odorless fluid and at first, Mercer feared it was acid. He had watched an acid trap eat through the face of a man once. It wasn’t pretty, and the pain had been enough to scare the fellow right out of the Savage Realms.

  Trix reared back with a muffled grunt of fear mingled with surprise, tripped over her own two feet, and sat down hard. Her face turned red and her eyes tried to bug right out of her skull. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, foamy white spittle bubbled up from the corners of her mouth and ran down over her cheeks. She thrashed about. Her body arched and convulsed.

  Mercer and Drake rushed forward. Mercer already had a vial of elixir out, trying to press it into Trix’s hands, but she was thrashing, too panicked to see the bottle in front of her. She clutched at her swollen throat and spewed up yellow bile, splashing Mercer’s chain mail tunic.

  “Try to relax,” Mercer told her. “Drink this, it will counteract the poison.”

  She made a gagging noise and brought up another gout of bubbling yellow spew.

  “You gotta drink it, Trix,” he told her.

  “Get it into her,” Drake urged. “She’s dying.”

  “I’m trying,” Mercer barked.

  She was in too much pain to hold the bottle, never mind take a drink. Mercer tried to tip some into her open mouth, but it came right back up, spilling down her chin and splashing Mercer’s trousers.

  “She’s going to die if she doesn’t drink,” Drake said, captioning the obvious. He had a habit of doing that, and it pissed Mercer off.

  Trix’s eyes rolled in their sockets. She clutched at Mercer’s sleeve like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. The pain on her face was excruciating. She silently pleaded for help.

  “Hold her down,” Mercer shouted.

  Drake pinned her shoulders to the stone floor and Mercer clasped her mouth in one hand, holding her head steady while he poured the sluggish green concoction in with the other hand. He turned the bottle up, emptying the whole thing into her mouth, and then clamped her jaw shut with both hands.

  “Swallow, Trix,” he urged. “You gotta swallow, baby!”

  Her green eyes bulged from their sockets. She struggled to work her throat. Some of the elixir burst from her lips and welled up between Mercer’s fingers, but some of it went down her throat. She went on thrashing for another minute, her hands batting against Mercer like dying butterflies, but the swelling started to go down. At last she stopped struggling and her eyes started to roll back in her head.

  “Let up,” Drake said. “You’re choking her.”

  Mercer realized he was still holding her mouth shut and let go.

  Trix drew a gasping breath, rolled over on her hands and knees, and went into a coughing fit. Mercer patted her on the back, asking if she was alright. She vomited, wiped spittle from her lips, and leaned back against him. Her whole body quivered.

  “Thank you,” she managed when she had finally got hold of herself. “I thought . . .” She trailed off, shook her head, and palmed more spittle from her mouth.

  Mercer smoothed a hand over her hair and made shushing noises.

  “Check it out,” Drake said. He was bent over the open chest and lifted a handful of slim gold coins, letting them fall back into the container with a musical jingle. “There’s got to be ten thousand ByteCoin in here.”

  Chapter Eight

  Drake’s estimate had come close. There were in fact nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty-two pieces of gold in the chest, along with a pair of leather bracers, a stainless steel dagger and three scrolls covered in arcane symbols. It wasn’t the ten million they w
ere hoping for, but a princely sum all the same. The bracers were too small for Mercer and too big for either Drake or Trix, but they would fetch a nice price, and the scrolls were mostly minor spells that Drake already knew. He thought the third might be some kind of levitation spell, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he translated the erudite symbols. There were rumors that such things existed, or were at least plausible, but no one had ever found one. Then again, no one had ever found this chest before, at least not that Mercer could tell. Treasure chests in the Savage Realms regenerated, but not very often and rarely in the same exact location. So it was possible that Drake had found a levitation spell, though Mercer doubted it.

  “Hell of a lot better than spending our days in the mines,” Drake said, weighing coins in the palm of his hand.

  “Definitely better than guarding caravans,” said Trix, who had mostly recovered from the shock and pain of the poison. She was still pale with dark circles under her eyes, and her voice was raw, but she was no longer shaking.

  “Pays the rent,” Mercer agreed.

  They divvied out the earnings. The dagger went to Trix and Drake kept the scrolls. They would fetch a decent price from anyone learning to cast, or trying to anyway. Mercer had met a score of would-be sorcerers, but most of them couldn’t manage simple fire spells. Few ever got to Drake’s level. It took incredible amounts of concentration and the ability to sift through the complicated symbols. Rumor had it the game developers had hired former CIA crypto analysts to design the language, and the code was all but unbreakable. Even Drake admitted he only understood every third word. The rest was guesswork and plenty of experience.

  When they had separated up the haul, they made their way back to the surface. Mercer insisted on the same caution going out as they had used going in. No one complained. After filling their pockets with gold, none of them were eager to take any chances. They emerged into the last of the fading day and breathed in the slightly fetid air of the gloomy hardwood forest. Shadows stretched and twisted in macabre shapes that played tricks on the imagination.