Threadbare Volume 2

by Andrew Seiple

  “I know. I do feel bad about it. But Zuula and Garon were my friends first and they needed my help.”

  She sighed.

  CHA +1

  Your Adorable skill is now level 20!

  “Fahk it. Can’t stay mad at you. So whaddya say? Soulstone me, prahmise to give me a new bahdy, and I’ll show you wheah we hide our loot. Ain’t much, but we got plenty of yellow dust. An’ other colors besides.”

  “I’ll vouch for her,” Garon spoke up.

  “Garon! She enslave you!” Zuula hissed.

  “She’s a monster. She was just doing what came naturally. You should know all about that, Mom. That nature thing?”

  “Dat is low blow.”

  “I’m not a Knight. Mercenaries can afford to fight dirty. And anyway, she was nice enough, just... yeah. Didn’t work out.”

  “Thanks, Gar,” Madeline said. Then she looked at her hands, as they started to fade. “Uh? Might wanna decide quick, Mistah Beah.”

  It wasn’t much of a decision, really. “Soulstone.” He offered it to her, and she dove in happily.

  That joy lasted all of five seconds.

  “Level fahcking three?” She screamed.

  Zuula laughed her ghostly ass off.

  *****

  The box didn’t just hold yellow reagents. It had lots more red, plenty of orange, and even a dose of bright, glittering green. Along with about three dozen crystals, most of which were level one.

  “Where did all this come from?” he wondered, as the teddy bears and their feline companions stared at the glowing hoard in the box.

  “Item smugglahs, mostly,” Madeline replied. “Remembah those resistance guys? I searched theah houses aftah they were dead. Most of them made some coin this way. Which is in that sack to ya left, by the by.”

  “Oh, thank you.” My, that was a heavy sack.

  Your Sturdy Back skill is now level 7!

  “There was a pretty brisk trade in illegal items from the Catamountain,” Garon offered. “Used to be some of the wizards and guards could be bribed to look the other way, back before things got serious near the end. Items come out, and the really powerful ones got shipped elsewhere to help with the fight, and the lesser ones got disenchanted and sold as components on the black market.”

  “This is what happens when you disenchant things,” Threadbare said, counting the vials of reagents. “That’s what my appraise skill tells me, anyway.”

  “You need to get better at a lot of t’ings,” Zuula griped at him from her own soulstone. “Gots to find focus. Is one reason Zuula come along. She gonna be your trainer, boy. You will hate her, before all is done. But you will learn. You will learn.”

  “I love you, Zuula,” Threadbare said. “I won’t hate you.”

  “We gonna put dat to de test, little bears.”

  Madeline cleared her nonexistent throat. “So, ah, about those bahdies... how does this wahk exahctly?”

  “I can make toy golems. Maybe other kinds someday. It uses level one crystals, but soulstones are level one crystals. And it uses up yellow reagents. I just need to find or make toys, and prepare them.”

  “Oh you ah in luck,” Madeline chuckled. “We ah, anyway. Theah's a whole stoah fah those not fah away!”

  “Mrs. Fub!” Garon yelled. “Oh that’s perfect!”

  “What?” Threadbare looked down at his upside-down hat, and the soulstones he’d put in it. “What’s a Fub?”

  “It’s a who. She was a toymaker before the slaughter,” Garon said. “It’s where Mordecai got most of his toys from, before she started getting suspicious. Her shop came through mostly intact.”

  “Oh! That sounds good. Let’s go have a look.” Threadbare said, and the voices of the dead guided the little group out of the darkness of the secret hidey hole, and out into the newly-rising light of dawn.

  CECELIA’S QUEST 1: A HARD KNIGHT’S DAY

  The shield slammed into Cecelia's face, rattling her head inside her helm. Dazed, she stumbled backward, barely managing to intercept the mace with her sword, as the black knight swung it to her side.

  Even then, the blade’s intervention only blunted the impact. Her foe was larger, stronger, more practiced. Knocked to the side, she backpedaled, used her superior agility to get some distance. But he followed, relentless, armor dull save for the red runes of the Royal Army.

  She had to lock down that mace. Without catching the shield to her face, this time.

  “Corps a Corps!” She shouted, lunging forward, and like magnets her blade clashed against the mace and stuck. The skill added to her strength, keeping both weapons locked. Corps a Corps was designed to tie up strong foes, keep them busy while her allies did damage, tore into the temporarily disabled target.

  Your Corps a Corps skill is now level 57!

  Or not so disabled, as the case may be. Sure enough, his shield came up again—

  —and she let her legs go limp, slammed her greaves into the ground, and shouted “Dolorous Strike!”

  With boosted strength, she drove her own shield into the plates over his codpiece.

  Your Dolorous Strike skill is now level 48!

  Her shield had spikes on it. They got in between the joints, and plate tore as she twisted. Her foe staggered back, breaking the corps a corp, choking noises emerging from his helm.

  The black knight hunched over. Blood spattered the floor, and she shifted her eyes away as she rose. She stood there, bashed her sword into her shield, waiting.

  From the sidelines, King Melos shook his head. He gestured for his attendants to leave, then beckoned. “Come here, Cecelia.”

  Cecelia Ragandor-Gearhart saluted her foe, then turned to her father.

  Noise behind her, as armor clattered, and she whirled around too late.

  Realization crashed into her at the same time the black knight did, bowling her over and hammering her down to the floor. Father had called to her, but he never actually stopped the match!

  Gods damn it, father.

  “Animus!” She snapped out, ignoring the pain, and slapping her hand to her foe’s chest. “Invite armor, get the hell off me!”

  She couldn’t match her foe in strength, but will she had a plenty. And when you were dealing with animi, the animator’s will WAS their strength. Her foe howled as his armor moved against his flesh, catching his muscles out of joint, straining them as it threw him backward to land in a heap on the ground. “I yield!” he cried. “I yield me!”

  Cecelia walked over to her father, glaring at him through her visor. “What?”

  “You just forfeited the match by casting a spell. Which doesn’t matter, because you lost it half a minute ago.” Melos sighed. His own armor was darker than her opponent’s, his red hair stark against it like a spill of blood. But his eyes were full of disappointment, and Cecelia hated to see it.

  He was her father, after all, and she had to do right by him.

  “How did I lose?” She asked, unbuckling her helm. It was white-enameled metal like the rest of her armor, pearly white, with a unicorn’s horn spike just above the visor. She’d designed it, crafted it herself. There had been some snickering in the barracks, she was sure, talk about “pony knight armor for the pretty pretty princess,” but she didn’t care. They didn’t matter. She had worked hard to fight on even ground with youths and adults who had been training for it since they were born. Besides, she had moxie and cool enough to handle a little teasing.

  And her armor was cute, dammit.

  She liked cute things. There weren’t many of those left in her life, these days. The few that were reminded her of better times. Simpler times.

  “You lost,” her father explained, clanking over to her and placing his hands on her shoulder pauldrons. “You lost when you stopped hitting him. He wasn’t down. You needed to follow up, to end his threat.”

  “He was done. If he’d come at me again from the front I would have taken him down hard. He only got that last hit in because you distracted me.” She glanced ov
er to Renick, her assigned foe for today, standing locked and gasping in his frozen armor. That was a fair amount of blood on the floor. “Hey! Why isn’t he healed?” She snapped to the clerics on duty. They looked to the king, and she slammed her sword’s pommel against her shield. “Don’t look at my father, look to your charge! Heal him!” She yelled.

  Her father said nothing, and the two clerics nodded, and rushed over to the knight. She let the animus spell dissolve as they got to him, dropping Renick onto the shorter of the pair.

  “Unnecessary,” Melos murmured to her, a smile tugging at his lips, swiftly banished.

  “They need to learn THEIR duty.” She ran a gauntleted hand through her short-cropped ginger hair. “Do I pass muster?”

  Her father pursed his lips, blew air out through his teeth as he thought. “Walk with me,” he decided, putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her away.

  “That’s a no, then?” She said, feeling her heart sink.

  Five years I’ve been stuck in this castle. Five years, and I might have just blown my chance at getting free—

  —no. No, it wasn’t freedom. It was just another set of chains.

  But at least these would be chains she’d built herself.

  “It’s a ‘let me think about it.’ You’ve taken well to your knight’s training, even though you came to it belated. And your craftsmanship is exquisite. It makes me proud. It would have made Amelia proud to see it.” He looked away for a second.

  Which was good, because Cecelia had a lump in her throat, and boy did her eyes burn. She blinked away tears. “Thank you,” Cecelia husked.

  “But you’d be going to a battlefield. And on a battlefield, there are no rules beyond survival and winning. A painfully disabling groin shot? Well, his healer will shout out a word or two and it’ll be healed just like THAT. It’s not enough to disable a foe, if they have a chance to recover. You have to end it, decisively, until they stand no chance of posing a threat to you again.” Melos’ gauntlet clenched. “Every time I’ve deviated from this practice, from this policy, it’s come back to harm me. And worse, to harm my kingdom. And I fear it will hurt YOU. Do you understand, Cecelia?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  He stopped, studied her for a long minute. “I wonder.” He gave her shoulder one last squeeze, then withdrew his arm. “I’ll arrange a new test for you.”

  “What sort of test?”

  “No. No, this is a... make-up exam, if you will. It won’t be anything you have time to prepare for. You’ll have to show me not only your strength but your wisdom, when the time comes. And you’ll have to win. No matter the cost.”

  Oh gods. Her mouth went dry, and Cecelia licked her lips. “I will.” This is going to suck.

  Then a flicker of motion caught her eye. Down the corridor, just under one of the tapestries, a green glow danced and flickered. “Oh! That thing again. I’ll go get the wizards.”

  “What—” Melos turned, hand on his sword and froze in horror. He stared at the flickering light, and Cecelia watched as her father, the mighty figure who had been the anchoring point in her new life these last five years, the indomitable King of Cylvania, trembled so hard his armor shook.

  “Gh!” He said, leaning on the wall, clapping his hand to his chest.

  “Father? Father!”

  And for a second, for just a second, he glanced at her. And to her shock it his eyes had gone black, black with dancing green specks. “Go. I’ll handle it,” he rasped, looking away just as fast.

  “Are you okay? Handle what? What is this?” Cecelia said, moving around him, to try and confirm what she saw.

  But he whipped his hand up to shield his face. “I’m fine. Go! Say nothing of this!”

  Green light played through the cracks between his clenched fingers, and Cecelia nodded, and fled.

  Behind her, she heard her father mutter, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.

  “What the heck is going on?” She wondered, heading back to her quarters. It didn’t look good, whatever it was, but if her Father said to leave it be, he meant it. She couldn’t risk any more of his ire, not this close to her freedom.

  Halfway to her room she changed her mind, and headed for the barracks instead.

  She’d hurt Renick pretty badly, she figured she owed the guy an apology.

  *****

  “Haha, no, it’s fine, really,” Renick grinned. Renick was big and broad, with hair like straw, and an earnest, ugly face. The joke around the barracks was that he’d joined the king’s knights for the charisma boosts, so could stand a chance at getting laid someday.

  Not that they’d joked like that around Cecelia, not at first, but they’d eventually come to accept her. Which was good, because though they weren’t exactly as close to her as they were with each other, they didn’t tiptoe around her or try to curry her favor and kiss up by flattery. When she wore the armor and trained with them, she was one of the knights, and that was that.

  Her father had seemed to approve, though he’d warned her about getting attached. “A lot of these men and women are going to die for you,” he told her. “Be careful how much emotional investment you put into any particular one.”

  “Well, if they’re going to die for me, I should at least be good to them, right? Shouldn’t I be someone worth dying for?”

  Usually it went one of two ways when she stood up to him. The first way was solemn, shameful disappointment that depressed her for days. But that time it had gone the second way, and he’d been proud. And so from that point on she spent time in the barracks, albeit with a chaperone present, and joined in what camaraderie she could.

  “It’s fine. I mean, I’ve taken groin shots before. And the clerics healed me right up.” Renick smiled, leaning back in his chair, running a rag over his shield as he cleaned it.

  Next to him, a short woman with black hair grinned, and opened her mouth—

  “—besides, it’s not like I was using my balls for anything anyway,” Renick smirked.

  “You asshole! That was the perfect setup!” The short woman punched his (thankfully unarmored) shoulder.

  Cecelia laughed with the rest of them.

  “Sorry Lana, you gotta be quick. Or try something new,” Renick said, placidly. “But seriously, Cee, that’s a pretty good trick you did out there. I might try it sometime.”

  “I wouldn’t,” A thin, whiplike young woman with a scarred face spoke from her corner, where she was busy sorting knives into sheaths. “That’s more of a duelist trick. And with your weight, Renick, you’d jam up your knees something fierce.” She’d been an assassin, before she’d joined the Corps, as the rumor went. Going by how she acted, how she fought, Cecelia believed the rumor.

  “You calling me fat now, Kayin?” He flipped her off casually.

  She put a dagger past his shoulder, equally casually, sinking it into the dartboard beyond. “Nah, just big. But no, I’m just saying she can get away with it because of her weight and agility. You can’t.”

  “That’s a point. But either way, it was a smooth move.” Renick sighed. “You’re lucky, you got to dip into scout when you were younger. Lots of good battlefield stuff there, I hear.”

  “I haven’t practiced it much. But sturdy back helps with the armor, won’t deny,” Cecelia smiled.

  “I’m still waiting for my Duelist training approval,” Renick said, checking his armor. “I mean a lot of the nimbleness stuff will be hard to pull off until I get my agility up there, but that class bumps strength, so it’s good. And since Knight bumps charisma they dovetail nicely.”

  “And duelist adds dexterity and agility, so you don’t completely suck once you finally get someone in bed,” Lana said, smugly. And this time as the laughter rang out again, Renick punched HER shoulder. She just laughed harder.

  “Hey, Cee,” Kayin whispered in her ear, when the rest of the barracks had fallen back to arguing and boasting and the small talk and stuff that the knights filled their day with. “Your da
ddy tell you when we’re shipping out East?”

  Cecelia bit her lip. “No. And... I might not go with you. It’s...” She bit her tongue, not wanting to confess to the lean girl that she’d failed what was supposed to be her graduation test. Not a failure yet, she reminded herself. I get a do-over. “...I have to prove to my father that I can handle it.”

  “What? I thought it was a sure thing!”

  “He cheated. Upped the stakes.” And he had. She’d won that fight, but he’d changed the rules, thrown in another variable. Which... okay, she could see the point of that as a general life lesson, but still, she’d WON.

  “That’s a shit thing to do to your own kid...” Kayin hissed, then shot a glance around. No one was listening, or even looking.

  “It is what it is,” Cecelia said. “Though...” She thought ahead. “I think I know what he has in mind. Would you be willing to help me if things go like I think they will?”

  “What did you have in mind?” Kayin stepped back, and smirked. “And what’s in it for me?”

  Cecelia reached into her pouch, and jingled a handful of coins, and the former assassin grinned harder...

  *****

  “Stoker Feed Activated!” Cecelia shouted, feeling her hit points drain as a metal conveyor whirred to life under her. Whirring and clanking, it carried coal from the fuel box, to the fire. Heated instantly by magic, the gauges around her jumped and flickered, glowing in the cramped darkness.

  “Boiler Shunt is Go!” Cecelia screamed, over the din of the stoker feed. Instantly her invention screamed, sending clouds of steam past the viewport, as the magic got the water boiling in seconds, synching it to the fire stoked by the belt. It took moxie from her, but not more than she could spare.

  “Clockwork Engaged!” Cecelia roared, shoving her arms and legs into the sleeves, feeling metal clamps rattle and bind her limbs. Whirring, ticking, driven by steam and kinetic energy, she twisted her arms and felt the arms of her armor rise around her, massive by comparison to her regular fleshy limbs. She clenched her fingers, feeling her sanity diminish, but she had plenty of that and now the armor moved as she did.