Genrenauts: Season One

by Michael R. Underwood

  “The people most likely to be betrayed are the ones who are certain that they won’t be.”

  “Well said, traveler, but irrelevant. My victory is at hand. Tonight, a lunar eclipse will give me all the time I need to cast an eternal darkness across the land, the solar power of the gods of light held at bay by the Moon Goddess and her shadowy children.

  “And you will all be here to witness. But not yet, not now. There are too many preparations. And without your precious wizard, no chance to escape.”

  The Night-Lord gave a dismissive wave. “Take them away. I must finish my work.”

  King locked eyes on the Tall Woman for as long as possible, until a skeleton grabbed his head and turned him toward the stairs.

  Options narrowed before his eyes, and King could not see a way forward. He was running short on options for a happy reversal.

  But he had to trust in the story. They all had weak points, edges, opportunities built into the ebb and flow of every tale type.

  It required patience, insight, and the bravery to put everything on the line when the opportunity presented itself.

  No matter the cost.

  Chapter Two: Cribbing from Edmond Dantès

  Leah was done being patient. Which meant that her best approach for figuring out an escape plan was to pace.

  Angrily. She’d pace so hard, her Robin Hood-y booties would wear down and then the skeletons would have to come in to give her new shoes and she could crack their skulls together in true heroic fashion and bust everyone out of the tower.

  It was her best plan so far, but it’d take a while. The skeletons hadn’t reacted when Shirin faked illness, nor apparently when Xan’De bloodied his hands against the door.

  Mallery meditated up a storm, still trying to reach out for some kind of divine intercession. But Felur wasn’t listening, or couldn’t hear. Which was alarming in and of itself. What could trump a god’s omniscience?

  Not to mention that Leah was still getting used to the idea of being in a world with demonstrably real gods. She venerated her ancestors like she’d been raised, but in a “respect your elders” kind of way more than a “their spirits will literally guide your hand” way.

  So, if the gods were really real, shouldn’t they be able to do something? Or was it that the cell and the manacles just stopped the god from being able to intervene? Because then it would mean the magic was trumping divine power, which was a whole different barrel of scary. Like antimatter scary.

  Were gods so puny here that evil overlords could just head them off at the pass with some cold iron and a rune pattern? She’d seen Mallery’s magic do some pretty awesome things, but it seemed like divine source or no, it was still magic, and one kind of magic could cancel out the other. She searched her memory for what the Genrenauts’ texts said on the matter. Before this mission, it’d all been theory to her, and only now that she’d been here and done magic herself did she have visceral context for all of the theorizing.

  Cosmological uncertainty kept Leah awake when Shirin and Mallery had both gone to sleep, napping during the daytime to be awake for the big finale when the Night-Lord sent for them once more.

  Which meant that Leah was the only one awake when the sound of metal on metal started up in the late afternoon.

  Leah kicked Shirin’s cot, then Mallery’s. The women snapped awake, another trick of the veteran Genrenaut that Leah had yet to master. Leah pointed at the door as the sound continued.

  Mallery’s hair was mussed and slick with sweat. The captors hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the hygiene supplies.

  The skeleton guards didn’t take this long when opening the door with keys. I mean, they have skeleton keys, after all.

  She held in her joke but mentally logged it in the file labeled Terrible Puns.

  Which meant…

  The figure in the hallway when the door swung open was no skeleton. It was a woman, russet-brown skin and short wiry hair. She was broad at the shoulder and wore loose gray clothes and a worn leather vest. She held a blackened knife and a metal pin, her lock-picking tools.

  By the description they’d given, Leah suspected that this was Alaria, the missing member of Theyn’s party.

  Finally, the break they’d needed.

  Alaria held the knife up to her mouth, not needing to say “Shh.”

  The three women composed themselves and stealthed out into the hall, where Xan’De watched the stairs as the woman padded soundlessly over to the last cell.

  Leah stepped over lifeless skeleton heaps to stand by Xan’De at the stairs. “Alaria?” Leah mouthed, pointing to their rescuer.

  “Indeed. Wisdom kept her from the fold; now we have our chance to away.” He gestured to a grappling hook and its tailing rope hanging out a window five steps down the spiral staircase.

  “What happened to ‘the walls are unclimbable’?”

  “Alaria has made a history of finding ways in and through impossible boundaries before.”

  “Nice.”

  The door to the final cell swung open, and Alaria waved the group out.

  “Down the rope. Do not let go. While you hold it, you will be able to walk down the tower walls. Let go, and the enchantment will not give you footing.”

  Shirin climbed out the window and started descending like it was no big thing to jump out of a two-hundred-foot-tall tower and start descending.

  Leah asked, “What about the Night-Lord? He’s doing the big evil ritual thing tonight!”

  Alaria grinned. “We’re getting out of the tower, not the castle. I stole your gear before I came up to the tower. It’s at the base of the rope. Then we find another entrance into the castle and make our way to the Night-Lord’s quarters.”

  “You’re next, bard,” King said, waving her out the window.

  “If you say so…” Leah stepped up into the window, holding on with both hands. She squatted down, grabbed the rope, then spent several seconds switching between positions, trying to both psyche herself up and figure out how one climbs out of a window when howling winds were basically begging for you to self-defenestrate into their loving embrace.

  “Hurry up,” Roman said. “Left leg out, brace yourself, and turn to your right and grab the rope with both hands.”

  Leah followed the directions and got herself outside the tower, feet in place, holding onto the rope for dear life. But with the rope, she felt nearly weightless. She reached down and practically floated down. Hand under hand, she started descending like it was a breeze.

  “I want one.”

  Roman climbed out after her. “Ask very nice and perhaps Alaria will give it to you as a parting gift once you shatter the Deathstone.”

  Leah held to her number-one goal during the descent, which was to not look down. She watched Roman’s descent, calm, smooth. The action hero looked down as he closed the distance between them, and Leah turned her gaze to the wall.

  The roof of the castle slanted down at about a twenty-degree grade, so Leah hopped off the rope and immediately sat down, holding the crest of the roof. Shirin had moved away from the tower, putting gear in order. She handed Leah her leather jerkin, then the belt, sword in place.

  “Hammer?”

  “It’s not here,” she said. “Not surprising. Night-Lord wouldn’t want to let that thing out of his sight.”

  “K’gon said that only I could wield it.”

  “Carrying something and locking it away are different from wielding it.”

  “So, first we get the Hammer, then we take out the Night-Lord?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Roman said, dropping from the rope to a squat, crab-walking across the roof to join them. Shirin slid his pack over to him, and the man began arming, strapping on weapon after weapon.

  One by one, the Genrenauts and companions took to the roof. Alaria came down last. Still holding the rope, she gave a flick of the wrist and the grapple unhooked from the tower and came tumbling down, landing conveniently in the rogue’s free hand.

&nb
sp; So cool, Leah thought. Gotta get me one of those.

  “You’re welcome. Now get yourselves sorted so we can finish this. I’m getting real sick of the color purple.”

  “Where were you this whole time?” King asked.

  Alaria scanned the roof, still on the lookout. “When Theyn fell, I vanished into the crowds, laid low while the Night-Lord solidified his control. took over. Then I tracked down Nolan and began to follow his movements. He met regularly with this other group, foreigners with strange manners and their own coded cant. Nolan was a traitor the whole time, allied with the Night-Lord.”

  Xan’De fumed, nose flaring. “He was a brother to us. We bled together for months. A traitor, the whole time?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Alaria said. “This group of his, they’ve been allied with the Night-Lord even before his ships struck land. They must have sent Nolan to oversee Theyn’s training, then turned on him when he confronted the Night-Lord. I followed Theyn up the tower, hoping to help him in those final moments if he needed me.

  “I saw Nolan come up behind him, but the storms and wind drowned out my voice, and my dagger missed. Nolan felled Theyn and then saluted the Night-Lord. I knew I couldn’t defeat them both, so I ran. I ran as fast as I could and stayed hidden. Then I went after Nolan. I never caught him on his own; the others were always nearby.

  “But I knew if I stopped Nolan before he betrayed the group, his allies might escape. So, I waited.”

  “Except now the wizard is dead and the world is mere hours from a magical apocalypse,” Leah said.

  Alaria’s grin returned. “Bluethorn’s not dead.”

  “What?”

  “Wizards bind their souls to a gemstone. If you seize the gemstone, you capture the wizard as well. That’s why if we break the Deathstone, we’ll be victorious. The Night-Lord has made that his soul gem.”

  “First, we get the Hammer,” King said, bringing the team back to order the way that he always did. “Then, my team will contain Nolan and his friends while you, Xan’De, and Leah foil the Night-Lord’s plans.” He looked over at the sinking sun.

  “We don’t have long. Let’s get moving.”

  * * *

  Alaria led Mallery and the rest through the halls, dodging patrols to avoid tipping their hand.

  “Patrols will find out you’re gone soon enough, but let them rush the tower first. Gives us more of an opening.”

  “Do we have a minute before the next patrol?” Shirin asked.

  “You should be good.”

  Mallery wasn’t so certain. The Fear had crept up on her again. That fear of pain, of death, of missed opportunities and interdimensional disaster. Great feeling. Big fan.

  Shirin raised her staff and cast another spell. When her eyes opened again, they were flat black, but she moved with purpose. “The Hammer is this way.”

  Divine magic was generally happy-making. The god’s love wrapped you up, guided you. The arcane magic Mallery had done as a bard felt different. It felt more like dipping a ladle into a pool of Power and taking a drink.

  Once again, she was happy to be the cleric. Also, better armor.

  They turned the corner into a hallway with a single door and a right turn at the end.

  But there was a skeleton patrol in the middle.

  “Raise the alarm,” said the skeleton leader.

  Mallery stepped forward. “No.” She raised her mace and gripped the holy symbol in her other hand. A chorus erupted in her mind, nearly Gregorian, but all in higher voices, altos and sopranos.

  A flash of holy light filled the room, drowning out the purple glow animating the skeletons.

  When the light cleared, the skeletons were no more than piles of bleached bone and forge-beaten arms and armor.

  “Daaaamn, girl,” Leah said.

  Mallery winked.

  Again, glad to be the cleric. Once the mission was sorted, she and Leah could spend some time outside of work again. Stolen kisses and walks to collect firewood were all well and good, but it’d be nice to have a date without the imminent threat of arcane ambush.

  Alaria grimaced. “No time for gloating. Get the Hammer, and then we need to double back before another patrol finds these.”

  Shirin held her staff out and started chanting again.

  Mallery’s heart began to race as their plan came together. Excitement and hope pushed the Fear to the sidelines. For now.

  Mallery, Alaria, and Leah raced up the stairs once more.

  “If he’s got it anywhere, it’s in the treasure room.”

  They fought past several more skeleton patrols, each just the right size to threaten them without barring their way entirely.

  The story is on our side, Mallery thought. The Hammer was what they needed to patch the breach, and its weight had kept the Night-Lord from securing it too well. The story wanted to be fixed, needed to be fixed. The world itself was bleeding, aching to be whole once more.

  Alaria picked the lock on treasure room, and when it opened, Leah raced inside.

  The room was huge. Far larger on the inside than the tower would allow.

  “How? Also what?”

  “The kingdom of Fallran is the richest in the known world. How are we to find one artifact in this?”

  Mallery spoke a prayer to Felur. “Great Felur, grant us your wisdom. Grant us true sight so that we might recover the Hammer of K’gon and put things to right.” Felur would be the story world’s agent, helping them once again.

  Mallery’s eyesight shifted, gold-white ghostly images of everything layered on top of her normal vision.

  “Follow me,” she said. Mallery scanned the shelves, which numbered in the dozens. They walked past countless treasure chests, stacks of carpets, scroll cases by the dozens. There was enough treasure for a dozen heroes to retire on. And even so, it was depleted. The section marked forbidden magic was picked nearly clean. The blessing led her past scrolls and suits of armor and artifacts of many sorts to a simple, unadorned chest.

  “It is protected by a magical lock.”

  Alaria grinned. “There hasn’t been a lock created by wizard or man that can keep me out.” She produced a set of lockpicks that glowed with their own magical aura, and set to work.

  Alaria knelt by the chest for several minutes, working deftly but carefully. Twice the chest lashed out with purple energy, trying to strangle the thief. And twice the three of them beat the tentacles back until Alaria could try again.

  At last, the lock clicked and the chest opened, revealing the Hammer of K’gon.

  Leah grabbed the McGuffin and hugged it to her chest.

  “Thank Felur,” Mallery said. The story had come through.

  Now they had to do their part.

  Leah swung the Hammer around like a set of keys on a lanyard, grinning ear to ear. “Now to the finale. This ends tonight.”

  That’s my girl.

  Chapter Three: The Deathstone

  Shirin, the Genrenauts, and the companions moved as fast as they could go without drawing the attention of the guards. Even Qargon was silent as they prowled the halls.

  Alaria and Xan’De led them through the winding passages of the castle, which were already beginning to look shabby and unkempt.

  The rogue spoke to them in a low voice. “There will be several patrols ahead. I’d expect a fight the whole way to the Night-Lord, and he’ll likely have time to prepare.”

  Xan-De added, “Several of us are likely to die. Those that survive will sing tales of this day.”

  “I would rather we try to all stay alive and sing tales about one another anyway,” Leah said. “After all, you have a bard in the party.”

  Xan’De and Qargon took the fore, Leah followed with Alaria at her back, then the rest of the Genrenauts, starting with King and Roman in the back, their two parties set.

  Sure enough, the next floor up, with tapestries and sconces galore, was also filled with skeletons, all heavily armed.

  And the battle was joined.

&
nbsp; They fought through three groups of skeletons, each larger than the last. The third group was led by another zombie knight. Roman dueled the undead lieutenant while the rest of the heroes felled the minions as quickly and quietly as possible.

  The quietly part was all thanks to Shirin and several judicious Silence spells. They made no sound, left no opportunity for the undead to raise an alarm.

  Soon, they came to the stairs below the royal wing.

  Another skeleton force met them there, dozens strong.

  Either they’d heard something echo through the hallways, or the Night-Lord had magical surveillance.

  All pretense of stealth was gone. Now there was only blood and steel.

  * * *

  Xan’De and Qargon tore into the skeletons’ ranks, and in Leah’s hands, the Hammer of K’gon shattered any armor or blade that stood in its way.

  Swinging the Hammer, she burst into a Song of Battle, singing about shield lines and heroic soldiers, belting as loud as she could to be heard over the din.

  The time for stealth was over. She wanted the Night-Lord to hear her coming.

  This was her chance to be the Chosen One. And she wouldn’t fail. Not again. Not with Mallery and the team depending on her. With a whole nation, world, and multiverse depending on it.

  This is what she’d joined the Genrenauts to do.

  A half-dozen skeletons went down in an instant under the heroes’ combined first strike. The Night-Lord’s forces fell back and set the shield wall, spear-wielders behind.

  They advanced, a wall of beaten metal and stabby death.

  Shirin’s staff sucked in air. A green light leapt up and split the sky, calling down lightning bolts from a fresh-made storm cloud in the hall’s vaulted ceiling.

  The lightning disintegrated several skeletons. The wooden haft of several spears caught fire. But where humans would have flipped out at being lit on fire, the burning skeletons merely hurled the spears at the assembled heroes.

  The group scattered. Xan’De, Qargon, and Roman charged, with Leah making for the corner. Leah shattered the shield of the skeleton nearest the wall. Seeing her opportunity, she started to fold the skeleton’s line in on itself, destroying everything in her way. In her mind, the song switched to “Another One Bites The Dust,” though she stuck to her genre-appropriate tune.