He’d gone silent hours ago, though, and Madeline sat, stroking his brow. Had the little bear succeeded? She’d sent him out there because she thought he had good odds, but the glory of it was that it wouldn’t hurt her position either way. She’d risked no loss to herself or to her angst by putting the toy golems in danger, so she’d done it.
She did know that this was the calmest she’d seen Garon in ages. “Ding dong the witch is dead,” she hummed, smiling down as Garon’s red, red eyes squinted up at her.
“I can’t feel her. What did you do?” he rasped.
“I didn’t do nathing. Some teddy bear mighta killed her, though. Well, de-animahted her, I mean.”
“No!” He surged against the bindings, and Madeline jumped back, hand upraised. “She was my mother!” Garon howled.
“She was holding ya back!” Madeline yelled, her patience at an end. “I saved ya, not her! And we need ya strength if ya want to keep on existing!”
“I never asked for this!” bloody spittle flew from his mouth. His tusks had grown since his undeath, they cut into his lips when he talked. Madeline winced, and shook her head. If he wasn’t so gods damned cute, I swear, I’d leave him out to bake.
“Look. Ya spent five years fighting me. Fine, whatevs. Vampy puberty, most a yas go through it. But what’s it gaht ya?” She spread her hands. “Can’t beat me. I’m ya mastah. Got hooks in ya brain, Garon. Fight as ya want, at the end of the naht, it’s my will be done.”
“Mother told me...” Garon rasped, his throat raw, “Being an orc... means never stop fighting...”
“Yah, but yer only half an orc, huh? Five years ya defied me, so now maybe you give me five yeahs of peace for a change?”
He roared, and Madeline rolled her eyes, and turned to go—
—and ran straight into Grimble. He held up a grubby peace of paper. “We’ve got mail.”
“What?”
“This just got slipped under the door.”
“I told yas not to go upstairs after dawn!”
“Somebody knocked. Ghouls don’t knock.”
“Fahkin... what’s it say.” She grabbed it from the Grifter, and peeled it open.
I destroyed the ghost witch like you asked. She hurt me pretty badly, so I can’t leave her clearing right now. The ghost witch was guarding a dungeon core, and I want to give it to you. But I think the Cat Queen knows. Please send help as soon as you can!
I’m sending this message to you with Missus Fluffbear. Please come as soon as night falls.
Cordially, Threadbare
Madeline’s eyes went wide. “Winnah winnah chicken dinnah!”
“What?”
“We tried ta draw three of a kind and gaht a full house. Get Darla and Barret ready. We march at night.”
“What about...” He nodded past her, at Garon, still howling and frothing.
“I gaht him.” She said. “Maybe he’ll want ta pay his respects.”
Silence. “My respects?” Garon croaked.
“Yeah, the one that croaked yer mah? No shit, it was this talkin’ teddy bear guy!”
“Wait. What?”
“Came into town with a troop of toys, wearin’ a top hat and showin’ off a bunch of adventurah jobs. One of’em was necromancer, and so I sent him ghost witch huntin’. And he succeeded! Now we’re ganna go and get the booty from him.” She sighed. “Innocent little guy. I almost feel bad fah playin’ him.”
“Innocent, yes,” Garon’s face fell into a blank expression. “So he went out there and beat up my mother, huh? Did he know the details beforehand?”
“Pssh, why bothah with that?” Madeline shrugged. “Not like he had a stake in her survival anyway. Come on, are you with us or naht?”
“I’ll go with you,” Garon said. He’d learned to be very careful with his words over the years. But Madeline heard what she wanted, and unbound the heavy chains holding him to the bedframe.
Outside, they ran into the rest of the spawn. Grimble held the letter up to her, frowning. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick?”
“What? Please. From that little beah?” Madeline laughed. “You saw how gullible he was!”
Grimble’s Grifterly instincts fought with him one last time, but lost. “Yeah, that is a pretty ridiculous notion. He’s just a foolish little toy, after all.”
“Wouldn’t last five minutes in a propah dungeon,” Madeline agreed, as the vampires suited up. Darla handed Garon his axe, for the first time in years, watching him to make sure he wouldn’t get stupid. But he just slid it into his belt, sneering.
“What’ve you got to be happy about?” Darla whispered. She’d never liked the half-breed much.
“Oh, I’ll tell you later,” Garon lied.
He never did tell her, but by the time it came up telling wasn’t necessary.
*****
In the green light of her cave, the old lady squinted at the letter.
I went looking for a dungeon core like you asked, and I found one. The ghost who had it is dead, but I need help. I’m really hurt and I need Pulsivar to take me to safety. He knows the way.
But I think the vampires know where I am. Please hurry! I just hope this letter reaches you in time.
Cordially,
Threadbare
“Hm... hm... well isn’t this interesting, my dearies?” the old lady said, stroking a small tabby cat as it tried to flee. It clawed at her futilely, feeling its flesh writhe under her spectral touch. Where her fingers stroked, fur turned white, white as snow.
The cat screamed. The old lady smiled benevolently. “Oh, you’re hungry my dear? Of course, of course. You there, Command Undead, lay down for feeding time.” she snapped at one of the just-returned ghouls. Snarling, eyes rolling in hatred, the ghoul did as it was told. Instantly, from the rear of the cavern, dozens of cats descended, ribs thin against their hides, mouths open and hungry. The ghoul vanished under a furry carpet, screaming as it became prey, instead of predator.
It was a good system, as far as the Spectromancer was concerned. The ghouls went out and ate the dead, regenerating their gruesome flesh, then they came back and the cats ate from them. Sure, some of the cats fell ill and died, but she just woke them up again and they were right as rain. She looked forward to putting the method into widespread use once she had a little more territory to her name.
Miss Tocksy put the tabby down and it ran from her, on trembling legs. She paid it no notice, turning to one of her Wight Tigers. “What do you think, dearies? Do you think we should bring Spookums to him? Hm... He does so like it here.” She rose and walked back into the mineshaft. The dead cats came out to meet her, purring. The living ones fled for their lives. She walked past green glowstones set into the ceiling, past the old cart with two cougar skeletons harnessed to it, past all of that until she got to the back rooms. There, the black bobcat lay exhausted, grooming a cougar a third again his size. The cougar flinched back from the Spectromancer as she entered, and Pulsivar studied her with unimpressed eyes. Then the bobcat’s yellow gaze shifted to the Wight Tiger, and his tail lashed, furiously.
“Come now Spookums, Mopsy, everyone’s friends here,” Tocksy said. “How would you like to go walkies?”
Mopsy retreated. Her heat was about over, and the all-consuming fire that had filled her was quenched. Now self-preservation was kicking in.
“Come,” Tocksy insisted. “Walk.”
Mopsy, white scars showing stark against her tan fur, followed meekly. The Spectromancer’s touch could and had drained her moxie to dangerously low levels.
Concerned, Pulsivar followed, freezing as the Wight Tiger rumbled. Yellow eyes met blue ones, and narrowed. The bobcat did not like the smell of these weird predators. He thought they might need a lesson.
Then Mopsy looked back to him, and that beautiful, earthshaking odor filled his nose again. Completing that mating season quest had got him a level, and been pretty enjoyable overall. So he followed her, ignoring the Wight Tiger with the utmost dignity as they pa
ssed.
“Yes,” The old lady mused, as her ghostly form floated through the mine. “Let’s bring everyone for walkies...”
*****
The vampires were the first on the scene. “Grimble, up in tha tree, watch for theah ahss.”
“On it.” He had a pretty good stealth, even before he’d been vamped. Up he went, peering into the night. The worst of the Cat Queen’s servants had glowing blue eyes, and they were visible from a long way off. But the woods were thick and they were cats, so he stayed sharp.
“Shit, what happened here?” Darla said, walking into the clearing, with her spear and shield out.
“Was it always like this?” Barret asked, pestle at the ready.
The graves, already disturbed, had been full-on wrecked. Most looked empty, and soil and bones were strewn all over the place. The burned-out hut was a tangle, and what looked like poofy cloth was all over the place, hanging from the charred timbers and broken skulls.
“Stuffing. That’s stuffing,” Madeline said. She gnawed her lip at the implications, and felt sorry for the poor little bastard. “Mistah beah? You okay?” She risked calling.
Something in the hut stirred. “Missus Fluffbeah? You theah?” She approached.
It scrabbled more, and she leaped onto the ruins, threw planks aside for all she was worth...
...and yelped, as the floor collapsed under her, where someone had dug with tiny paws, and weakened the supports. For a second there was way, way too much sharp wood crunching in all around her—
—but fortunately, a vampire’s heart is a very, very small target and she hadn’t played all those years of grindluck for nothing. A trio of red ‘37’s burst up around her, and she swore as Barret helped her out.
“Fahck! Fahck!” She hissed, pulling jagged planks out of herself. Vampires got their wood allergies at level five, and she was ten levels past that. The splinters in her burned, and distracted her.
Grimble wasn’t as distracted. “There!” He yelled, pointing at a small skeletal form high in a tree. To the vampires it stood out as clearly as if it was in bright daylight.
And it didn’t hurt that green light shown from its skull, green light dancing against red glowing crystal. The bonikitty had a dungeon core in its head!
The little bear’s plight was completely forgotten, “Fast as Death,” Madeline hissed, and dashed toward the tree, moving at a speed no living thing could match—
—but then the (unliving) cat was bounding from tree to tree, heading deeper into the woods.
“Aftah it!” The vampire girl bellowed, and her angst fell in behind her, moving slowly, much more slowly.
Garon lagged behind a bit, slowing to look at the ruins of the hut more closely. For a second, sorrow passed over his face...
...sorrow that turned to joy, as a top-hatted teddy bear faded out of the shadows, and tossed a clinking bag at his feet.
Garon stared down at him, and bloody tears wept from his eyes, as he stretched out a hand.
“Garon, please listen closely,” whispered Threadbare. “I have a quest for you...”
A few hundred feet into the woods ahead, Darla glanced back when she heard the mad half-breed whoop. What was he on about now?
“Do the Job! Forced March! Fight The Battles! Follow The Dotted Line!” She heard him yell.
Ah, good, he was taking matters seriously now, Darla thought, and turned back to the chase.
*****
The Spectromancer heard the shouting from half a mile out, those hated bloodsuckers calling back to each other through the woods, shouting “Catch it! Run it down!”
That poor bear! Picking up the pace, she waved and her army of squalling dead felines followed behind her, along with two very puzzled living cats. Unseen, from his position behind the Cat Queen, Pulsivar nudged Mopsy as he ran, and swerved off towards the woods. The cougar eyed him, but did not follow, and eventually the bobcat swerved back, looking annoyed.
A coughing roar came from behind him, and the bobcat jumped, shot an angry glance back at the Wight Tiger. Yellow eyes met blue again, and death shone in both gazes. This would only end one way, they both knew. And it was only a matter of when.
“Oh my dear what did they do to you!” The Spectromancer’s voice rose up in a wail, and the tiger broke the staredown, lumbered after its mistress.
The Cat Queen stood in the clearing, looking up at the fluff scattered around the wrecked hut. Then her eyes narrowed. “Puffweed fluff?” She said, peering at it more closely. And it was. Here in the mountains it bloomed far earlier than it did elsewhere, and someone had wadded great masses of it together, wetted it down to look like stuffing.
For all her obsession, the Queen was no fool. “This is a trap! Retreat, dearies, retreat—”
She broke off, as a lone bonikitty jumped into the clearing, and a small figure leaped after it, flying with no visible means of support. Madeline the vampire landed on the skeletal cat with both feet—
—and the dungeon core flew out of the destroyed skull, flashing green numbers on red crystal in the darkness, as it lay there for all to see.
“You killed her!” The Cat Queen screeched, as her minions piled into the clearing behind her, and the vampire spawn formed up around Madeline. Then the furious Spectromancer’s eyes fell to the dungeon core. “Mine!” She spat.
Madeline grinned, as she scooped it up. “Come and take it, then.” Oh, this was perfect! The she-bitch had always hidden behind her minions before. But now? Now they had a shot at taking her out directly.
Then the horde of growling, hissing bonikitties and cat wights slid out of the trees, and Madeline’s grin faltered a bit. My, there were a lot of them.
And then it was too late for regrets, too late for anything but violence.
*****
One of the oldest orcish games, often played in variations among other species and known by other names, is called “let’s you and him fight.”
It’s typically used when a weaker tribe is caught between two bigger tribes, and when done correctly, can ensure that the weaker tribe is the strongest one around. For a while, anyway, because orcs aren’t good at lasting dynasties or the whole “not-picking-fights-against-bad-odds” thing.
When done incorrectly, the poor game-playing tribe’s bones are made into toys for clever children to play with, to remind them not to be too clever unless they can pull it off.
Under the moonlight, bones flew as undead cats died, but not before tearing into wounded vampires. The vampires were stronger, true, but their defenses weren’t that great. They relied upon blood to heal their wounds normally, and well, the undead they fought had none.
But the undead were weaker, much weaker, and as they fell the Cat Queen burned sanity to raise new skeletons from the bones around the hut. Sanity she wouldn’t replace, unless she somehow gained a level. And at the level she was, that seemed unlikely.
Both sides were weakening themselves, and increasing the odds that the little group of friends would come out on top, and reunite with their lost loved ones.
“We pulled it off,” Zuula whispered to Threadbare from her crystal shell. The soulstone almost seemed to glow with a smug green light. Not too far from her, Missus Fluffbear peered through the weeds, with the quiet form of Beanarella sitting placidly next to her.
The final member of their party was overhead, unnoticed in the night, gliding on skeletal wings. It had a part to play later.
Threadbare nodded at Zuula’s words, rubbing his head. He’d animated a piece of cloth and made an eye for it, sticking it into the bonikitty they’d also animated. Dollseye had let him personally guide his undead through the forest, but it had been a really rough chase. Even with Missus Fluffbear’s newly-learned clerical blessing of agility on the lesser undead, it had only been a matter of time until the vampires caught it.
Fortunately, he had kept ahead of Madeline just long enough.
The hard part was done. Well, mostly. “Why did we have to put you in the
Soulstone, anyway?” He wondered.
“Dey not come around here if Zuula still here,” Zuula explained. “Dey know better. Fear her too much. So Zuula hide in stupid crystal shell dat sticks her at level fucking t’ree. You is welcome.”
“All right. Well I guess it’s going... okay...” Threabare said, as one of the Wight Tigers flew past him, with Madeline desperately pummeling it as it ripped into her. He winced to see it. She’d been nice. But on the other hand she’d lied, and he really needed Garon back. And his mother seemed to think it was right decision.
“Never fear, little Dreadbear,” Zuula chortled, mistaking his apprehension. “Zuula’s time come. You wait and see.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t worried about that. I just think it’s a pity—”
An armored form flew through the air, bounced off a tree, and got up. Darla stared down at Threadbare, Fluffbear, and Beanarella. “You’re fine? And you’re just sitting here watching? What the—” Comprehension dawned on the dead knight’s face. “You bastards!”
“Command Undead, please sit down and be still,” Threadbare tried.
Spell failed! Target is in the party of a more powerful intelligent undead.
“Oh bother,” he muttered, as the vampire came for him, jabbing with her spear.
“Dolorous Strike! Dolorous Strike!” She chanted, gashing along his side with jabs that knocked him backward and tore his hide. For all his armor, she was good at what she did, and the little bear widened as twin red ‘64’s escaped into the sky.
“Godspell mend!” Missus Fluffbear yelled, and some of it healed, but the vampire lunged forward and kicked her out into the clearing.
“No quarter, traitor!” Darla hissed.
“Let’s hug it out,” Threadbare decided, arms spreading wide.
“Ha! Not going to fall to that one!”
“Oh. I wasn’t talking to you, sorry.”
Cloth arms closed around one of Darla’s greaves, and she looked down—
—to see Beanarella looking back up at her.
Light flared, and Darla screamed, as a red ‘100’ floated up and the pulse of golden light illuminated the trees. The battle halted, and both sides turned to see the vampire fall, flesh turning to ash as the doll healed her. She was undead, after all, and the power behind Beanarella’s innocent embrace was divine. Power that would have mended living flesh scorched her unholy dead flesh to nothing.
Threadbare Volume 2 Page 10
