Battleborne

by Dave Willmarth

  Redmane chuckled. “I do no’ know what a chicken is, but I get yer meanin’. We shall see to it.”

  “Small flightless birds, about this big, famously stupid. Lay eggs, and quite tasty when fried?” Max held his hands apart at roughly the dimensions of a chicken, then made a circle with his thumb and forefinger to indicate egg size.

  “Our domestic fowl be called grawks, and ye’ve seen the eggs. Each female lays two or three eggs per week. So if ye wish to supply an entire city, ye’ll need more than a few hundred. We also fry their meat, but again, eating them instead o’ harvesting their eggs will require a larger flock. There be a larger bird called the ostrim that is quite tasty. A single bird can feed a family o’ four fer a week, but their eggs, while nutritious, are not very palatable.”

  Max smiled, happy to be getting some background information on his new world. Still, there was much to do. “I’ll leave the details to you and the merchants, then. We have the funds, let’s do all we can to set this city up to succeed!”

  Max left the chamberlain and exited the inner gate into the main city. Taking in his first view of the larger area, he smiled to himself. His wasn’t a big kingdom, nowhere near the size of Darkholm. But then, he only had a few hundred citizens and some paid guards on loan from the dwarven clans. Looking around the streets and mostly empty buildings, he saw dwarves, kobolds, and orcs mixing peacefully. The city could hold thousands, maybe as many as ten thousand occupants without being crowded.

  He began just sort of strolling along, randomly turning here and there, taking an alley or side street just to see what was around the corner. None of the signs hung above the doorways of scattered shops made sense to him, unless they included some art. Just ahead of him was a picture of an ink pot and quill. A look through the broken window showed rows of books and scrolls!

  Stepping inside, he opened book after book, only to find that he couldn’t read the script written in the grey dwarf language. Still, if the books here were spell books, and their value was anywhere near those in Josephine’s shop, this shop was a treasure. Especially if he could learn to read their words. He made a mental note to have Redmane store these items along with the books from the king’s study. A careless match or short-tempered new tenant might see them all destroyed.

  On a whim, Max exited the shop and turned to look upward. The buildings in the city were all constructed of stone, with flat roofs. Underground, there was no need for slopes, as there was no rain or snow. Bending his knees, Max leapt up and grabbed the lip of the roof, easily pulling himself up. Standing atop the shop, he spun in a full circle, taking in the view. He was watching a guard patrol the outer wall near the gate when he felt an impact in his back. The blow was strong enough to make him step forward even as he turned around.

  Behind him was a grey dwarf dressed head to toe in black leather. Max roared at him, surprising all the guards within hearing. The guard Max had been watching atop the wall started shouting and pointing at Max.

  Max only peripherally registered any of that as the grey dwarf stabbed at him. The tiny rogue’s head was barely more than waist high to Max, and its natural stabbing motion put the blade deep into Max’s thigh. He immediately felt slightly woosy, but gritted his teeth and kicked the grey in the crotch. The force of the kick raised it up off the roof, groaning in pain as it fell into the main street. Several guards had already arrived in time to see the falling enemy, and within seconds of hitting the ground it was very, very dead.

  Max walked forward unsteadily to the edge of the roof to look down. Whatever substance had been on the blade caused him to misstep and plunge off the roof after the grey, nearly landing on its body and the surrounding guards. One of them spotted Max and shouted, and they wisely cleared a space for him to fall.

  “Get the healers! The king’s been wounded!” One voice ordered, and Max heard rapidly retreating footsteps as he was rolled onto his back and someone put pressure on his leg.

  “He’s fading! Must be poison! Who’s got a cure potion?” a voice that sounded orcish came next. Max fought to open his eyes, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. He was starting to have difficulty breathing, so he tried to cast a heal on himself. His focus was fuzzy, but he had almost managed to push through and cast the spell when someone began slapping his face.

  Hard.

  “Boss! Wake up, boss!” Max now realized the orc voice he heard before had belonged to Smitty. Max felt a heal wash through him, but it didn’t seem to do much. All he really wanted was to sleep.”

  A dwarf nearby called out. “Here! The blasted grey’s blades. Ye can smell it. The grey death. Who’s got a potion?” Several voices rang out as Smitty continued his assault on Max’s face. Max felt his mouth being pulled open, and a foul-tasting liquid being poured in. He swallowed reflexively, and managed to grunt out a few words.

  “Smitty… stop… hitting.”

  “Sorry, boss.” Max’s head stopped rocking back and forth from the orc corporal’s blows. He could feel the potion moving through him, and was finally able to focus enough to cast Nature’s Boon on himself. The spell still didn’t seem to do anything, but the potion was definitely working.

  Max kept his eyes closed and just listened to the worried murmurs of the guards around him. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Could be… more… rogues. Hunt them down.”

  “You heard the king! Spread out! Groups of three or more! Scour this city!” Smitty shouted orders like a drill sergeant, and no one argued.

  A moment later he heard Dalia arrive, and felt her take his hand. Someone whispered to her, “It were the grey death on the rogue’s blade. We give’d him a potion, and he seems to be getting’ better.”

  “What’s… grey death?” Max left his eyes closed, still feeling a great lethargy.

  “It be an insidious mixture the greys sometimes put on their blades. Expensive to make, but effective. Mixture o’ venom from a spider that lives in the deep dark, and some rare herbs. Makes yer muscles relax, yer heart slows, yer brain starts to shut down. Then yer entire body, every muscle, seizes up. If yer lucky, yer heart stops before that. Most healin’ spells don’t work against it, and neither do standard cure potions, cuz it ain’t technically a poison, just a muscle relaxer. Took us many years and a lot o’ lives to figure out a cure potion.”

  Max finally opened his eyes to find a dozen concerned faces looking down at him. He was feeling better, though still sluggish. “Might need another dose?” he suggested. Dalia shook her head. “Might kill ye. Better to let it work a while.”

  A minute or so later, there was a commotion off to Max’s left, a few streets down as far as he could tell. There were shouts, a short scream, and then nothing. As Max was being helped to his feet, Lo’tang and several orcs appeared around a corner carrying the headless corpse of another grey rogue. He dropped the corpse at Max’s feet. “We’ve got six scouts with some stealth abilities. I’ve sent them out to hunt these little monsters.”

  Max was leaning his back against a wall, still trying to get his balance. His legs felt weak and sluggish. “Are they sneaking into the city? Or still here after the battle?”

  “Unknown.” A rough voice answered from up the street. Max turned his head to see one of his councilors, the old general, approaching in full armor with a bloodied one-handed axe in hand. He quickly took in the sight of the two corpses, and Max’s unsteady demeanor. “We caught two more so far, and a fifth were spotted. Me boys be in pursuit. Others be setting traps.” He held up a torn piece of cloth with an emblem on it. A very small grey skull with a dagger jammed into it, and coins on its eyes. “They be from the greys’ thieves’ guild. Could be they been hidin’ in some secret den, waitin’ fer a chance to kill n loot.”

  Max perked up, thinking to himself. Thieves’ guild? Maybe they were the ones who cleaned out the treasury? “Try and capture one of them. And find someone who can speak their language, or communicate with them somehow. I’d like to ask them a few questions.”

  The council
or nodded before barking more orders, and the last of the dwarven guards nearby took off at a run. Smitty stood near Max, ready to support him if necessary. Dalia was looking up at his face, worried.

  “What’s wrong, Dalia?” Max asked, his words seeming more clear by the minute.

  “The grey death be a serious thing. Even with the potion, if ye don’t get it in the first couple minutes, yer odds o’ survival drop.”

  Max smiled at her, the attempt coming out crooked as his face muscles lagged a bit. “I’m a chimera, remember? High constitution and endurance, troll digestion that makes me resistant to most poisons, and rapid regeneration.” Just as he finished speaking, he received another notification.

  You have learned the skill: Taste Tester!

  By allowing a harmful substance to be injected directly into your bloodstream, and not dying, you have developed the ability to better resist the components of that substance. Resistance to grey death concoction and its individual ingredients increased by 20%.

  Continued use of this skill may increase its level and functionality.

  If you live.

  Max looked around for Red, expecting to see her giggling over the notification. He really needed to have a talk with her about those.

  He refocused on Dalia, and added, “And now I’m twenty percent more resistant to it.”

  She nodded as if expecting that. “Many o’ those who’ve survived are the same.”

  A long scream and a series of unintelligible curses drifted toward them from a good distance away. Smitty turned that direction. “It seems like they caught one.”

  Max, the councilor, Smitty, and Dalia all began to walk in the direction of the noise. When they arrived at the location of the scuffle, they found three dwarves holding down a single grey dwarf in the same black leather armor. It was spitting at them and doing its best to bite one of them. A fourth dwarf was on the ground, eyes open and breathing slowly.

  “Got him with the grey death, too.” One of the others explained. “We give’d him a potion right away. Looks like he’ll pull through.”

  Max growled at the grey dwarf, who froze as the chimera’s bared fangs approached its face. It stayed silent and still, occasionally darting eyes left and right as if searching for an escape route.

  Or help.

  The moment that idea occurred to Max, he shouted, “It’s a trap! There are more! He’s looking for his friends! On your toes!” He slammed a foot down on the captured grey, pinning it to the stone street, cracking some ribs, and freeing up the three dwarves from having to control it. They each drew weapons and surrounded their comrade and the king, as did Smitty and the old councilor.

  Realizing by the actions of the group that their trap was discovered, the other greys struck. Even as more dwarves and several orcs came running in response to the shouting, six of the rogues in black stabbed at members of the group. Two exposed themselves behind Max as they stabbed at him. One put another deep wound in the back of his leg, the other barely managing to penetrate his chain mail, less than an inch of the tip of the blade puncturing Max’s tough hide. Max drew his sword and spun around, roaring in anger as he cut the first rogue cleanly in half. The second lost an arm below the elbow when the heavy sword passed through the first grey and kept going.

  Dalia cried out as one of the rogues grabbed her from behind and reached around to try and slit her throat. She grappled with the grey dwarf, who was also female, using both her hands to try and keep the blade from her throat. Max was stepping closer to try and stab the grey when a hand axe flew past his head and embedded itself in the rogue’s skull.

  A thump on his back had him turning around to find the one-armed rogue still gamely trying to stab through his chain mail. He kicked the rogue in the chest, knocking it backward to slam into a stone wall. The impact knocked the grey unconscious, and likely smashed the back of its skull. Max left it there to bleed out.

  Turning back to the battle, he found that the dwarves and orcs had quickly put down the rest, including the one they’d originally captured. Max had let it loose in the heat of battle, but others had quickly killed it before it even gained its feet.

  “Dalia, please heal the one against the wall over there. If he lives, we can question him.”

  Shaking off the trauma of nearly losing her head, Dalia nodded and cast a heal on the limp body. It groaned, indicating it still lived. She cast a second heal, and the blood ceased flowing from the severed arm. She handed Max another grey death antidote potion, and he choked it down.

  The old dwarf general began giving orders again, and a squad of dwarves lifted the grey, marching toward the palace.

  *****

  As it turned out, no one in the palace, or the city, spoke the grey dwarves’ language. And no one knew anyone who did. It seemed that though they had once traded occasionally long ago, the dwarves had absolutely no interest in communicating with their mortal enemy over the last several centuries. The kobolds were hunted by the greys, and while some of their recently freed slaves might have learned the language, their whereabouts were unknown. The orcs had almost no contact with the grey dwarves, beyond a few skirmishes over the ages.

  The grey was put into a dungeon cell on a lower level, with half a dozen guards to ensure that no more rogues appeared to try and free him. The guards were instructed to feed him well, and not to mistreat him. Abuse of prisoners, other than during interrogation, was something Max would not allow.

  Putting aside the issue of the prisoner for a while, Max asked Dalia to request that her father make as many of the grey death antidote potions as he could, as quickly as he could. Ideally, they’d have one for every person walking around in the city. He told her they’d pay whatever was necessary, or trade some of the extra potent herbs he was carrying, or both.

  The general, whose name was Lightfoot, had assigned patrols to begin sweeping the city, above and below, searching for more rogues and their den. Two mages were sent for to reinforce the protections along the walls and gates, and to set some anti-stealth wards in random spots around the city. Max left it in his capable hands, as it was time to take care of some unfinished business.

  Since they both had the quest, Max brought Dalia and Smitty along with him. He left the control crystal for the portal with Redmane, and had the chamberlain open the portal back to Darkholm for them. Dalia rushed off to see her father and make Max’s request, while Smitty accompanied Max to see Steelbender. When they reached his smithy, the old master smith looked Max up and down.

  “Aye, ye been usin yer sword a good bit! I think ye be ready fer a real weapon!” he nodded approvingly.

  “I owe that to Battleaxe. He insisted we train, both of us.” Max indicated Smitty. “We owe him our lives.”

  Steelbender looked Max in the eye. “He did what he were ordered to do, and that were to keep ye safe. And I hear’d what ye did fer his family. That were right generous o’ you, lad.” The dwarf cleared his throat. “Right! I’ll begin work on yer sword today. Let me get a good look at ye first.” He focused on Max, doing that thing that higher level beings seemed to be able to do, reading Max’s stats. “Ye have the strength to wield any weapon ya wish, and you’ll only get stronger as ye grow. But I see ye’ve been building yer magical skills as well. I’ll take that into account as I craft yer sword.”

  Smitty couldn’t help himself. “Dude, you’re totally getting like, an epic magical sword!”

  Max chuckled at the corporal’s gamer enthusiasm. Making a decision on the spot, Max said, “Master Steelbender, this is corporal Smithfield, Smitty. He’s a Battleborne like myself, and was with me in our last battle on my world.” Smitty held out a hand, and the dwarf shook it.

  “Good to meet ye, Battleborne. Even if ye did choose to be born a damned orc.” The smith grinned, taking the sting out of the insult.

  “I was wondering if you could craft him a weapon as well? He’s an archer, mostly, but has been training alongside me with the sword.” Max held up a hand when the dwarf o
pened his mouth to object. “I know, your time is valuable. But I believe I can make it worth your while.” He pulled another dragon scale from his inventory. “There’s about to be another auction for ten more of these.” He handed the scale to Steelbender. “I know your clan invested a great deal in the ten you purchased. If you will create a weapon for Smitty here, as well as dragon scale chest pieces for myself, Dalia, and Smitty, I will give you the scales you need to create them, plus ten more for yourself.”

  Steelbender snorted. “Shoulda know’d ye would have more. The price’ll be goin down a good bit now.” He shook his head. “Dalia likely won’t agree to wear the dragon scale. It be a druid thing. But if she be willin’ then I’ll agree. On one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “Ye don’t hold no more auctions o’ the scales fer a year. Keeps the value high, gives me time to recoup the resources we spent on the first lot.”

  “Fair enough.” Max smiled. “How many scales do you need for the three sets?”

  Steelbender stroked his beard, thinking. “Been pokin’ around with the scales I already have. They be difficult to cut and shape, and that creates some waste. I will try to use the smaller bits near joints and flexible areas. Chest pieces fer two lads yer size will take eight scales each. Five fer Dalia, and that only be because o’ her curvy bits.” The smith winked at them.

  Max pulled out the thirty scales, twenty one for the three sets, minus the one he’d already handed to Steelbender, and the extra ten for him. Then he pulled out five more. “In case any issues arise.” He passed the thirty five scales to the wide-eyed dwarf, who quickly made them disappear into his own inventory before any curious observers could spot them.

  “By the gods, lad. How many o’ them are ye holdin?”

  Max just grinned at him. “More. And I now own the land the dragon died upon, so I plan to spend some time harvesting all that are left. Later.” He pulled out a dragon bone shard about a foot long. “One of these will be going up for auction as well.” He handed the shard to Steelbender. “My gift to you.”