The Bad Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  I had to do something — I felt responsible for the guy. I’d gotten him this stupid job, after all. Couldn’t let him die the first day.

  I dove under and kicked hard in the direction I guessed he’d been taken and pulled the KrakenTooth out of its sheath on my belt. I kept my eyes closed under the liquid filth, reached out with one hand, and kept my hand stretched out.

  My fingers hit smooth leather, and I grabbed at the armor as hard as I could. But that only got me my own spot on the express trip to the bottom.

  I pulled myself over Peregrine’s body, came to the other side, and felt a new creature. Immediately I started stabbing the thing over and over with the KrakenTooth. Whatever I hit wasn’t the courageous type. A few good strikes, and it was off.

  But we were down deep.

  And I had no idea where in the pit we’d been. At the start of things, we’d been close to the side, but I lost track of direction as we got dragged into the depths.

  But there was an untapped power of the KrakenTooth, the charge attack. Which never specified that it needed to be used as an attack, so I used it as a means of locomotion. I took my best guess at which way was up and thrust the dagger out. Suddenly, we were zooming along through the muck, and I had to do my utmost to keep a grip on Peregrine.

  Unsurprisingly, I hadn’t exactly thought things through. Which meant I crashed into the side of the pit. First my arm, and then my face crunched up against the stone wall. Pain blossomed through me, radiating out from my wrist.

  Peregrine wasn’t moving much, and my lungs were burning, so despite the pain and the fact that my hand wasn’t even working that well, I thrust the dagger straight up, using one more of the charges. Then I used a second one, not taking any chances.

  We flew up and out of the sewage, something I could only tell because I could feel the vague sense of the sun on my face and body. I didn’t dare open my eyes, not with the filth all over me. It could only lead to blindness. Or, at the least, a truly foul eye infection.

  Something grabbed me and slammed me onto the ground.

  Water splashed over me, and I immediately wiped my face so I could see.

  Peregrine was laying over my legs, but he looked in bad shape. Even while gasping for breath I could tell that there were wounds all over him, including a high-pressure jetstream of blood from his leg, a clear indication of an arterial wound. I’d seen enough medical dramas to know he was a goner.

  Matthew leaned over, his hands on his knees, pale.

  “Do something,” I said.

  “The man’s dead already,” he snapped back. “There’s nothing to be done.”

  “No he’s not! He’s still breathing,” I yelled.

  “Last gasps.” Matthew shook his head, and walked away from me.

  Peregrine’s breaths came in ragged, weak fits. In between the smears of the muck still on his face, I could tell that his robust color was gone, leaving a pallid nothing in its wake.

  I scrambled out from under the man, and knelt next to him, my mind racing. I knew a healing spell. There had to be some way I could twist that to heal someone else. My hand wasn’t really responding to my requests to move it, and it was hanging at an odd angle. As soon as I realized it was broken, the pain shot to my brain. I shut that away, closed my eyes, and pushed mana around my body, cycling it, priming it. I thought about how the spell worked, about how I used the mana to reshape things, to fix things and make them better.

  Putting my hands on Peregrine, I tried to force my mana out of my body and into his, directing it to fix whatever was broken. I was nervous — I’d mostly learned spells from books, so I didn’t exactly know much about magic beyond the basic steps it took to do it. When I wanted to cast shadow step, I just did it. It was almost a second nature to me, and there was no extraneous thought about it. My hands knew what to do, hell, my body knew what to do, and the mana made the magic happen. But this was different. This was me trying to figure out the way the universe worked based on a single spell.

  I could feel my mana, which is a weird thing to say, but an even weirder thing to try and explain. It was this, well, extension of myself going out into the world, almost like a sixth sense. And even as I tried to get my healing magic into Peregrine, I could feel pushback from the man. Not actual, the dude was passed out, but there was something working to keep me out of him. But since I didn’t know what else to do, and since he was on death’s door anyway, I just went whole hog. I pumped out all my mana through my hands and into Peregrine’s body as fast as I could.

  That’s when the screaming started.

  Chapter 82

  It took me a second to realize the screams were coming out of my mouth.

  Or maybe it was Peregrine’s mouth.

  I had my eyes closed, so I had no idea what was actually happening in the outside world. It was like I was compartmentalized in my own self, because I could feel the screaming coming from my throat, and I could hear it, but it was like I wasn’t the one doing it. I could also hear it coming from somewhere else. I was hearing my own screams coming from somewhere else.

  An immense pain radiated out across my entire body — it felt like someone hit me with a full sheet of plywood.

  I fell over backward. My back arched, pulling so tight I thought I was going to break myself.

  And just like that, everything went quiet.

  I felt…okay. Very slowly, I opened my eyes, squinting against the sun.

  “What the hells did you do?” Matthew roared.

  I sat up, starting to feel a bit weird. But I hadn’t magically come back to Earth or anything. I was still on the stone area around the pit, still sitting in the blast of water that had cleaned us off.

  Matthew stood over the now quite dead Peregrine, and stared down at the corpse.

  I looked over at the man, or rather what used to be a man. Instead of seeing a human body, I saw a husk. A withered thing that was once maybe a person, but was now unrecognizable.

  Matthew looked to me, horror painted all over his face.

  “What did you do?” he asked again, grabbing me by the tunic and pulling me to my feet.

  I shook my head slowly.

  “I was trying to heal him,” I said.

  “You were using magic?” Matthew asked. “What spell?”

  “I was trying to modify the, uh, heal self spell.”

  “Modify it?”

  “Like I did before with the—”

  “You were experimenting with magic?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “While he was dying?”

  “I was trying to save him.”

  “Look at what you did!”

  “What I did while trying to save him.”

  “It matters little why you did it — what was it?”

  “I don’t know,” I finally admitted. As I said that I realized I had been ignoring a rather persistent blinking notification.

  Amazing! You’ve discovered a spell. Currently named Lesser Drain, as the discoverer of this particular spell, when you teach it to someone for the first time, or create a spellbook, you may rename it as you wish.

  Lesser Drain

  Lesser Drain allows you to drain a creature’s life and essence. Upon killing the creature, you gain no XP, but, instead, gain elements of the creature including, but not limited to, Abilities, Skills, and Attributes.

  Whizz-bang! You’ve absorbed the following from Peregrine Gilkes +8 Strength. +9 Constitution. +6 Dexterity. +4 Agility +9 Intelligence. +4 Wisdom. +3 Charisma +2 Luck. +35 Swords. +35 Shields. +20 Heavy Armor. +13 Formation Fighting.

  GG! You’ve killed Peregrine Gilkes (Lvl 31 Human Guard)

  You’ve earned 0 xp (cost of drain spell)! What a mighty hero you are.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “What is it?” Matthew asked, eyes still focused on the corpse.

  “I discovered a new spell.”

  “And it did this?”

  “Yeah, but it did so much more. It, or I, I mean, I don’t know how
to express it, but I think I gained, or I sucked some of his, some of the stuff out of him.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Attributes. Skills.”

  “Gods, are you serious?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  He put his hand up, stopping me, and he looked around.

  “We have, maybe, a minute before Nadya returns with a healer,” he said. “What you are telling me isn’t possible. Not that I have ever heard. You gained points from the man?”

  I nodded.

  “And it killed him?”

  “Finished him off, yeah. But I didn’t get experience points for the kill.”

  “None?”

  “Zero.”

  “Odd.”

  He stared at me. Then he turned back to the body.

  “Help me with the body,” Matthew said.

  I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I stood up and walked over to the body. It was a horrible sight.

  “Grab his feet,” Matthew said.

  I did. Matthew had his shoulders.

  “Into the pit,” he said.

  We tossed the body over. There was a splash as it hit the water, and then the things in the water started fighting over the meal.

  I threw up, almost toppling into the pit. Matthew grabbed onto the tail of my shirt and pulled me back onto solid footing. I dropped to my knees, and just stared at the murky muck below.

  “What did we just do?” I asked.

  “I’m still trying to understand what you did,” Matthew replied. “But I also got rid of the evidence of whatever it was you just did.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I know. But you still did it. You killed that man.”

  “He was already dying.”

  “You finished him off, kid. Don’t sugarcoat that.”

  “I’m not trying to, but, I mean, I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  There was a moment of stillness before the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones echoed out, letting us know the healer had arrived.

  Before the wagon came into view, Matthew grabbed my arm.

  “You get to Careena as soon as you can, talk to her about this spell you’ve learned,” he said. “Got it?”

  I nodded just as a big black carriage pulled by big white horses screeched to a stop in front of the gates. Nadya jumped off the driver’s seat and escorted a man in long black robes into the pit area.

  She looked at Matthew.

  Matthew shook his head, then walked over to deal with the healer. Report the death and all that.

  Nadya walked over and sat next to me.

  “He didn’t make it?” she asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel about it all. I was certainly upset about Peregrine — he’d been a nice guy and I’d gotten him the job. I told him it was better than guarding Lord FancyPants. But that hadn’t exactly been true. His death was on my hands twice over. In a way.

  There was a burgeoning anger coming up, a rage at Matthew. He’d been the one to put us on a flimsy raft in the middle of the pit with some bloodthirsty monsters right under the surface. We were completely unprepared for what we were up against, and if it weren’t for the KrakenTooth, we’d both have been breakfast for those shit-eating creatures. How could it even be my fault? I’d done my utmost to save the dude, and sure, there was an arcane side-effect I hadn’t considered, but that wasn’t my fault, right?

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I nodded. Because I was. I was angry. And a bit sad. But I felt damn good. I felt stronger. More robust. Which was really messed up when I stopped to think about things because I was only feeling that way because of what I’d taken from Peregrine. A guy who’d been, I’d like to think at least, my friend. I’d drained him. I’d taken something from him that was so incredibly him that, I mean, I was having trouble processing things.

  “You don’t seem okay,” she said, “you seem, I don’t know. Different.”

  “I feel different, a bit,” I lied. Because I didn’t. I felt very much like me. But maybe there was a difference I wasn’t admitting. Or hadn’t noticed. “But how do you mean?”

  “Quieter.”

  “Just had a friend die.”

  “I thought you just met him.”

  “I did, but, you know—”

  “Just had that feeling about him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Matthew was paying the healer while walking the man back to the carriage, then he came back over to us.

  Nadya got up, but I didn’t. I just looked at him, squinting against the sun.

  “What the hells happened there, Matthew?”

  “At which point?” he replied.

  “What’s down there?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” he said, slowly, like it hurt to tell the truth of the matter. “I was told it was one thing, but pretty clearly, that was a lie.”

  “What did you think it was?” Nadya asked.

  “Honestly?” Matthew asked. “Red Claws. Maybe greater prawns. The signs were there. The lunkflies up here, the placid surface, the color of things. But, and I hate to say it, pretty damn sure it’s mud wolves.”

  “Mud wolves?” I asked.

  “For someone who didn’t live in a city,” Matthew said, “you have an incredible ignorance of the natural world.”

  “I led a sheltered life.”

  He looked at me, an eyebrow raised slightly, I think trying to figure out exactly what kind of deceit I was engaged in.

  “Do you know what mud wolves are?” I asked Nadya.

  She shook her head.

  “Her I understand,” Matthew said. “She’s a city girl through and through, likely never strolled down from her ivory tower to the pits until she decided she’d slum it with us.”

  “You knew?” Nadya asked.

  “Of course I knew. You think a Glaton girl coming into the Pits is going to stay a secret? I also know why you’re the lone survivor of your last pit — kind of wish your guardian had a wider mandate.”

  “I didn’t expect him to save me, honestly.”

  “That’s his entire reason for being, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t like to think like that.”

  “And yet—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I interrupted while getting to my feet, “but can we get back to the things that nearly killed me, and did kill Peregrine?”

  “Mud wolves,” Nadya offered up.

  Matthew nodded, then sighed. “I need a drink. Come on.”

  Chapter 83

  After I got out of my oilskin coveralls and was throughly and somewhat painfully scrubbed, we headed out of the pit, and went deeper into the district. There wasn’t much beyond the pits themselves in the neighborhood of The Pits, but a single square did hold a slice of commercial activity. There were even some apartments on top of the shops, but I couldn’t imagine living there. Most of the places were aimed directly at the items the pit industry required. But there was also a pub, and a large one at that — it went up two floors. Nothing out of doors, though. Just a heavy-looking building made out of massive hunks of stone and wood with small windows, very much something between a fortress and building. The sign hanging off the front read, “The Spitted Imp”, and there was a charming carving of a small spade-tailed creature roasting over an open bonfire.

  We followed Matthew through the thick wooden doors and walked into a dim, quiet scene. There were tables around the floor with a small bar all the way on the far side of the open space. A staircase led up on the right, and a quick glance made me think the upstairs was for meetings and meals while the downstairs was for drinking and commiseration. The place was surprisingly crowded, but there was only a rumbling of quiet conversation.

  Matthew pointed to a table near an unlit fire. Nadya and I headed over while Matthew went to the bar.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked.

  She nodded. “If you want a job in the pits, you come here.
Pitmasters and restorers and the like, they all come here to drink and talk. I came here and got my first job in the pits.”

  “Is the food any good?”

  “No, but it’s not that bad either.”

  Matthew came back with three tumblers of an amber liquid. He set them at the table, drinking a gulp of his before he even sat all the way down.

  “Shit day,” he said.

  “What are—”

  He held his finger up, cutting me off before I could finish my question.

  “The question you were about to ask will get us in trouble,” he said.

  I looked around and realized that Matthew had guided us to a fairly remote table. Where we could talk in relative privacy.

  “When I was given this job, I wasn’t told about the pit,” he said. He wasn’t meeting my eyes, choosing to look into the empty fireplace instead. Something was really bothering the man. “That’s not that unusual though. The owner, this one at least, he’s got 18 pits. So he doesn’t care about them individually — he just knows when one stops working. He wants it back up as soon as possible. I went in, looked around, made a judgement call about what was there. And I was wrong. Because I was wrong, a man lost his life. That’s on me. I was wrong to blame you in the slightest, Clyde.”

  “You don’t need to—” I started.

  “That I do,” Matthew said. “That I do. I was wrong. And you almost died. Those things in there, they are a menace. They are incredibly dangerous.”

  “Like trollspawn?” Nadya asked, face pale.

  “No. Those are bad, but different. Mud wolves,” he said the name almost in a whisper, leaning in close to the table, “kill pits. They hunt in packs, and do not fight amongst each other. Yet they will eat any other flesh they can find. And once they are in a pit, it is very hard to get them out. Likely, they killed the pitbeast that was already in there. They can get big enough to do that easily. Sharp teeth, powerful jaws. They can’t see the way we do, but they have some way of working in muck. They can find you. And they spread. Just, no one knows how. I’ll earn no extra money on this one. Everything that comes out of there will have to be destroyed. Not even one speck of mud can come out of there intact, just in case that’s how the bastards spread.”