The Guild Core: The Complete Saga Boxset: A LitRPG Dungeon Adventure

by TJ Reynolds

  Rhona nodded to the kind-faced old woman and replied. “Yes, goodwife. I need to stable my horse if you have stalls, and a room and meal for myself.”

  “We have both.” She brought a hand to her mouth and whistled sharply.

  A boy erupted from a backroom, suds adorning his arms and apron. “Yes, Miss Colmer! Ya called?”

  “Horse out front. Make sure he’s brushed and watered and then go and fetch him some oats!”

  Adding her own instructions, Rhona pronounced that if they were available, honeyed oats or molasses would do him fine. “Been riding the poor boy hard for over a week. He needs to put a bit of fat back on.”

  Miss Colmer looked to the boy and he nodded before sprinting away. “Well you know my name now, what’s yours, love?”

  “Please, call me Rhona.”

  The woman smiled, the stern edge of command melting away. She rummaged in a drawer behind the counter and produced a small key. “Here ya go. Payment first though, I’m afraid. The horse, room, and as much as you can eat for four silver, please.”

  Rhona nodded and exchanged her coin for the key. Then she added, “I’m only here for the night, but I’d be ever so grateful for a hot bath before I conduct any business in town.”

  “I keep water boiling at all times. I’ll bring up a kettle myself. The bath is upstairs at the end of the hall. Make sure to knock before you enter, and once inside, there’s a latch, so don’t you worry none about anyone peeking in on you. Give me five minutes and we’ll have that bath good and hot.”

  It was with a sense of profound ease and gratitude that Rhona ascended the stairs. She lugged all of her gear up with her on the first trip, and Miss Colmer threw her an anxious glance. Rhona was aware that her stature didn’t inspire confidence in her strength, but hauling the eighty or so pounds of her saddlebags and gear up the stairs was something she’d grown well used to.

  She smiled and wiggled her fingers at the woman. Miss Colmer laughed low and loud then ducked out through a door that most likely led to the kitchen.

  The room wasn’t big. A single bed narrow enough to make anything but sleeping a bit of a challenge sat on one side of the room. Rhona had no plans on seeking fickle love this night, though, so the somewhat-lumpy mattress and woolen blanket covering it looked to her like the height of luxury. She set down her gear in the corner, reminded once more how she had no armor to take off, no sword to unbuckle. Instead, she unlaced her boots, wincing at the smell of her own ripe feet. She propped the boots up in the window ledge, hoping the sun might blast away the worst of the smell and even a bit of the grime.

  She tossed her belt on the bed, then checked the bath. It was empty, for now, and Rhona decided to take that as a sign she was welcome to prepare for a soak. For such a small town, the bath was luxurious. A pump hung its spout over the edge of a modest but well-crafted brass tub. A few lumps of lye soap sat in a basket that hung over its edge, and a stack of fluffy towels lay in the corner. Rhona would feel like a queen in a matter of minutes.

  A mirror in the corner caught her eye. Usually, she avoided the vain temptations of staring at her own image, but today felt different. Her eyes were still the same over-sized green orbs she was used to, darker than her mother’s but close enough most wouldn’t notice the difference. The wiry and temperamental red hair she’d inherited from her father. It irked her that they both had dispositions to match as well: fiery and just a touch wild.

  Rhona’s usually full lips were cracked and wind-worn. She’d need to ask for a bit of fat to treat them with. Yet what surprised her most were the lines etched into her round face. Dark circles under and crow’s feet winking at each corner, Rhona’s eyes seemed like those of a woman much older than she was.

  How much of this can you keep carrying around, girl, she asked herself, rubbing her hands into her cheeks and brow. You’ll be a crone before you settle down. Pity for whatever fool you wind up with.

  Rhona filled the tub, stripped down, and began the serious work of cleaning her finger and toenails. If a soldier didn’t care for such matters of hygiene, they’d fall to infection or untimely illness. Many careers had been lost for less.

  A knock on the door announced the arrival of two massive kettles filled with boiling water. Miss Colmer passed them in one at a time, giving her a wink as she did so. Moments later, Rhona was soaking her tired, stinking, road-weary arse in a near-scalding bath.

  When her fingers were fully transformed into raisins, Rhona tromped back down the stairs, her skin scrubbed pink and her nose shiny. She’d tied her hair in a braid again and felt delightful in a fresh set of clothes. Holding the pile of soiled bits under her arm, she approached Miss Colmer once more. “I need my clothes laundered. Do you know anyone who might be willing to foul themselves with my breeches?”

  “Another silver and I’ll have the boy take them for ya. And don’t worry, I have a bag for that purpose.” The inn-keep laughed. “No sense in ruining the boy’s innocence with the sight of your small clothes.”

  They shared a smile and Rhona paid her the silver and left the inn. The sun was falling with a purpose now, and there were a few things Rhona wanted to do before she returned for her supper.

  She browsed some of the wares available in the market, trying—unsuccessfully—not to draw too many looks from the locals. The last town she’d visited had catered to a busy port, so new faces weren’t uncommon there. In Mindonne, however, everyone gave her the once over, and some, especially the men of course, appraised her with the professional gaze of a farrier trying to spot hoof rot. Rhona ignored the attention until one man decided he’d stare at her arse until it was dark. She stared back at him until he grew uncomfortable and left.

  Rhona bought a sack of nearly ripe peaches. Some would soften in the days to come, and the rest would be a treat for Honor in the morning. As the man loaded the bag, she overheard two women talking one stall over.

  “He wasn’t good for much, mind you, a real lout, but to be swallowed whole like that. It isn’t right!”

  “I know, Trudy. And I agree. Been telling my own that if they go up to the dungeon, I’ll sign them up for the king’s service myself. That put some sense into them. Still, I hope it stays shivvered. Never heard of a broken dungeon eating a man before. Queer times, Trudy. Queer times.”

  They walked away, arm in arm, and began tittering over the latest gossip about one of the local farmers and his new wife.

  Their words stuck in Rhona’s head though. Swallowed whole? By a dungeon? Rhona knew there were shivvered dungeons all throughout the mountains, but she’d never seen one. From what she understood, the only real danger in such a place was the unstable ether. It tended to drive anything in its right mind away or twist the thoughts of those foolish enough to stick around.

  Shrugging, Rhona asked the merchant if the town had an apothecary or herbalist, and he pointed to a small hut at the end of the market.

  She knew she was in the right place straight away. The pungent musk of dried herbs surrounded the hut like an invisible aura. Rhona recognized a few: Latchberry Flowers, Poorman’s Thyme, and Burning Dogear to name a few, but whoever the proprietor was, their herb lore far surpassed her own.

  The front door was open, so Rhona stepped inside. For an instant, she thought the place might be empty. Then she noticed a form shift in the corner. A woman so small Rhona felt she might be part gnome lifted up her head. “Welcome,” the diminutive woman greeted Rhona. “Come in, please. I’ve got anything you’re looking for—so long as it’s got a root, leaf, or stem.”

  Inspecting the woman again, Rhona saw she was of an age with her, and not old at all, like she’d first thought. In her lap was some stitch-work project, and no surprise, a half-formed wildflower was its center.

  “Thanks,” Rhona replied. “I’m looking for some healing herbs and anything of the kind. Tried to make some purchases in Orman’s Port, but they didn’t have much more than common fever root. And that seems to work less than half the time.”


  Standing up and setting her needle work aside, the tiny woman held up a hand to point at a few clusters of dried herbs. “I have a healthy supply of Sir Constantine. It increases health regeneration by three-fold. I do have some poultices and tinctures if you need something more potent, but we’ve no alchemist in town, so the chance of getting your hands on real potions is zero to none, even should you be lucky enough to be able to afford them.”

  “No, I doubt I could, and what you are offering sounds perfect. I think I’ll trust you. Please, just tell me what I need. I want something for poison, infection, burn wounds, and the most potent health restorations you have. I should have enough coin. Where I’m going, I’ll need it.”

  The woman’s eyes glittered up at Rhona. And she noticed just a hint of lilac there. So, she is gnomish, Rhona mused. Just my luck, eh?

  It took no longer than a minute for the diminutive herbalist to assemble several packets of herbs, a few dried roots, and a thick paste in a tiny jar that looked like nothing more than what you might find in a bedpan after a hard night of drinking. Finally, she reached into a chest in the corner, dug around and came out with two tiny vials.

  “Where might you be going?” the girl asked.

  Rhona trusted the herbalist. A half gnome, even this far from the capital, would be an outcast in this town. She answered plainly. “Into the swamps. And then, hopefully, beyond.”

  The merchant nodded, as if the answer was what she’d expected. “These herbs, when combined with hot water, will fight infection, fever, and improve the recovery time of wounds. The roots boost your Constitution Attribute, which will do the same thing but in a different way. Stacked together, the effects can be impressive. The paste is good for almost any wound. Just smear a bit of this on a wound to prevent rot. It’ll even thwart some poisons, not all by any means, but some. And these two,” she said, holding up the clear vials, “these are Briga’s Tears, distilled from the flower of the same name. Considering your destination, I think you should have these as well.”

  “I haven’t heard of them.” Rhona leaned in for a closer look. “What do they do?”

  “A few things. First and perhaps most practical, they infuse the body with an abundance of ether. This saturation makes the body less susceptible to spells. A physical attack will still cause the same damage, but as all spells are powered by ether, their effectiveness will be reduced by 30% due to ether absorption. We are all sponges, my da used to say.” She tied the packages together in a small bundle. “If you fill the sponge with a bit of water, it won’t be able to take in as much.”

  Rhona nodded. “Okay, that makes sense, I suppose. I’m no adept though. What else?”

  The woman winked, then responded. “Aye. Well, being infused by ether will make you glow, plain and simple. Not very brightly, but enough to notice. Most ether-infused beasts will glow the pale blue of ether itself. This, however, will make you turn a shade of lilac.”

  “Like your eyes,” Rhona noted, and when the woman blushed, she cleared her throat and continued. “Is that all?”

  “Perhaps. The effects always vary. Some say their vision grows sharper or they can smell better than before. Others complain of a terrible itch in unfortunate places. But the only other significant effect is that should you be seen by those who guard the border of Hintar, you’ll appear to be less of a threat.” Sensing Rhona’s suspicion, the little woman held up her hands and explained, “You did say beyond the swamps, and there’s aught else beyond but Hintar. I won’t tell a soul,” she promised. “That’ll be three gold, two silver for the lot.”

  Rhona tried to hide her alarm by sifting through her purse. She placed the coins on the counter and thanked the herbalist. Her hands were shaking though, and it was obvious.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” the small lady apologized. “You were unusually honest with me, something that is rare in this town full of bigots and fools. I simply meant to reward you with the same.”

  Meeting the herbalist’s gaze, Rhona saw the sincerity that lay in those eyes. She nodded, then held out her hand. The little woman took hers, and they shook. A flash of the slaughter she’d witnessed, gnomes cut down for the convenience of those with more power than they needed, burned into her mind’s eye. She withdrew her hand and bit her lip, tears welling at the bitter memory.

  Embarrassment poured through her chest, hot and volatile. She’d kept herself bound tight ever since returning from the mission, but this was the first gnome she’d laid eyes upon, let alone touched. It was too much for her to easily contain.

  The herbalist’s face grew solemn, compassion filling her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was softer than before. “You’ll be given opportunity to amend your past. The gods grant that boon to all of us equally. But the pain you carry will not help you if it’s too much a burden. The choice is yours, but should you wish to ease your mind, I have something for you that I give out to those whose hearts are… fragile. It won’t erase your memories, nor will it soften your resolve. It may, however, allow you to move forward less impeded.”

  Their eyes met, and the gnome lifted her eyebrows, finishing her offer with an unspoken question. The pain in Rhona’s chest boiled in fury, begging for an outlet. Her eyes burned with tears, and her breath came in short, harsh pants. What do I have to lose? And how can I hope to save the shivving world if I feel this… this weight pressing down on me all the time?

  At last, she made up her mind. “Sure. I’ll give it a go. What is it you offer, lady?”

  The merchant smiled back and left to rummage once more in the chest. When she returned, she deposited three tiny seeds in Rhona’s hand. They were no bigger than flax seeds and had a deep purple glow about them. “Niama’s Tears, some name them. Take them now and be sure you don’t go off into the woods, no matter how pretty the leaves are. One with as much spine as you will be fine, I think. Good luck.”

  “Thank you for everything,” she said as she packed the herbs away, placing the vials reverently in the tiny pockets she had sewn into her trousers.

  “Don’t you fret about it.” The herbalist smirked. “Besides, I over-charged you. I’ll have sweets for a month on the coin I took from you.”

  Rhona laughed, spilling the rest of her unshed tears gratefully. Too much blubbering for one bleeding night, she thought. And since it seemed foolhardy to start distrusting the woman now, she bowed her head in respect and farewell, threw the seeds in her mouth, and walked out of the hut already chewing.

  Her hands stopped shaking immediately, and Rhona felt the weight of guilt and obligation she bore ease somewhat.

  The night shone a shade of blue that fell somewhere between newly cast steel and a handful of plump cobalt berries. A breeze danced through Rhona’s hair, imploring her to turn and run at the edge of its wavering blade. She laughed, not at some witticism conjured by her mind, but for the joy of hearing again that almost-forgotten sound.

  It would be a fine night, Rhona told herself, and she walked with the freedom of a child, aware but unconcerned by the faint colors that seemed to bend the edges of the buildings in town. She let her heart and her nose guide her.

  A baker’s shop, she mused, is just what I need.

  25

  This Way Comes

  Kai

  “Behind you, Kai! Duck!” Ban cried out in a reedy voice.

  Trusting his companion implicitly, Kai rolled on the ground, the faint whizz of another dart sailing over him. He came up and saw the Midgeling Scout preparing to fire another projectile at him. The little blighter was no more than a foot tall. Its thin body dangled from wings that buzzed horrendously; Kai noticed that it looked much like a mosquito. The difference was that, though its eyes were wide and bulging, it had a nearly human face. Its mouth was round and perfectly suited for the thin reed it shot darts from.

  Ban swept down just in time and snatched the pest from the air, his champion’s talons rending the Midgeling’s frail body. The creatures were exceptionally easy to kill, i
f you could hit them. Kai had trouble, however, tracking their speeding progress, let alone landing a hit with his glaive.

  A faint tink sounded as another dart bounced off of his bracer and Kai spun to search for this new foe. A second dart landed shortly thereafter in the exposed skin of his neck. He turned again, and this time spotted the other Midgeling, who hovered for just a moment above the surface of a pool. The water rippled outward from the force of its wingbeats and Kai acted. He brought up his glaive and channeled Flame Dart through the weapon. The blue blast exploded the tiny creature into bits, leaving a cloud of its expended ether behind.

  “That’s the last of them, I think.”

  Kai nodded, thanking Ban. They’d been fighting groups of the Midgelings all day and had skirted disaster several times.

  Kai slowly absorbed the ether, then stood to catch his breath. He felt the fire of the dart’s poison seeping into his veins. Finding it buried in his neck, Kai plucked it out and tossed it away.

  “Shivving demons! I swear, this feels personal. I mean, we just want to pass through their land,” Kai complained. “Not take it over.”

  Scratching his chin, Ban unhelpfully explained, “They aren’t traditionally so hostile. I had some hope that we might trade with them. Their culture is really quite fascinating, Kai. Their music alone is enough to…” He trailed off when he noticed his dragon’s scowl.

  “I don’t give a bucket full of cren for their music. I’d as soon kill the lot of them than get covered by their nasty darts again. Makes me miss the Fell Bullies,” he muttered.

  When they’d first entered the swamps, Kai and his companion had made good progress. The unpredictable ground proved their most formidable enemy, forcing them to retreat and seek another path more than once. Still, Ban being able to use his champion’s body to fly above the morass gave them an advantage. They soon found more stable trails to head deeper in the marsh.