The Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen (The Flying Tooth Garden Book 1)
Page 12
“Oh, thank you.” She stood up and shivered. “We must be ready to fight.”
“Uh? Why would moose need help for such a thing? Also, where moose?”
It was just possible she had suggested they prepare for a ritual barn raising. She repeated the sentence using a different word.
“Oh, fight.” He laughed. “Yes, no moose here! Ha ha!” He hunkered down. “No, no. This is cursed realm. They think we die.” He sighed. “No light. No heat. We die. How about we…” He used a verb she didn’t recognise. “…first?”
“Wait,” she said. She rummaged in her bag and lit a match.
The flare of light illuminated the barbarian like an old oil painting. He was truly magnificent, despite the effect of the cold.
He leapt back. “Sorcery!”
She shook her head. “Um…craft?”
That seemed to quiet him.
She felt his eyes on her as she brought out the candle, lit that—“More craft”—then indicated the felt cloak.
He was not too proud to wrap himself in that.
She took out the heavy knife she kept for camping emergencies. She offered it to him hilt first. “Make fire?”
Withard worked quickly, splitting the planks lengthwise then snapping the smaller spars. He broke some into kindling and by the time Millicent got her first Potestas point back—about twenty minutes—he had a nice fire going.
The barbarian went outside to scout. He returned bearing a haunch of wyvern meat. He broke up the spare spears and added them to the fire.
Roasted wyvern turned out to be palatable enough, if a little salty.
They shared water from her canteen then sat in companionable silence until the tension became unbearable.
Potestas 1 of 6.
Form 3. Performing Virago at level 7.
Using Maelstrom+1, cost 1 Potestas, 0 of 6 remaining.
“That word you used,” said Millicent. She repeated it as best she could.
“Oh,” said Withard. “Like how baby moose are made.”
“I’m no moose,” she said.
His grin flashed in the half dark. “I make you sound like one.”
Result = 7 (Performance) +3 (Feat) +0 (Luck) +4 (Enthusiastic Target) = 14.
Effect…
As it turned out, Withard, son of Maeve the Cruncher, was no liar, though perhaps the acoustic properties of the ruin helped.
Nor was he somebody she could just abandon.
When the circle of sky grew light, Millicent showed him her chart.
Withard stabbed at one of the little circular maps, just two portals away from the central crown.
“There,” he said, “big stone horse, except front legs now gone. Give me chart I get home.”
Millicent shook her head. “I’ll just have to take you there myself.”
Chapter 18: Catacomb Quest!
Torstag drew himself up, squared his jaw.
Current Form 3. Performing Necromancer at Level 4.
Mummies. Thousands. Inert. Enchanted.
Mummies webbed by glowing gossamer strands, to be precise.
Behind them, the door thudded.
“Fuck!” said Ingar. “I thought the skeletons wanted to escape?”
“They want to kill the most number of people,” said Torstag. “Since they can’t escape the Catacombs, we’re it.”
“How do you know that?” asked Ingar.
“Um,” said Torstag. “I just remembered.”
“Better get this over with quickly,” said Ingar.
“Yes,” said Torstag. “We just follow the threads.”
“Which only you can see.”
“Yup,” said Torstag. “It’s your turn to be blind.” He squinted, half-closing his eyes so he could make out the thread.
A dry breeze tickled his cheeks, warmed his limbs.
He flexed his fingers. “This way.”
Current Form 3. Performing Necromancer at Level 4.
Go on…
You are Torstag, Human Warlock, Youth, Agile, Empathic, Cautious, Marked.
Potestas 1/4. Will 2. Cowardice 2/6. Horror of the Unquiet Dead 1/6.
Vitality 2/3. Toughness 1.
Vocations:
Warlord 1: Tea Drinking.
Warrior 1: (Brawl, Sidearm): Wrath Strike +1, Split Shield 2/6
Scout 2 (Mountains, Forest, Jungle): Climb+1, Spider Climb, Stalk 4/6, Forage 2/6.
Necromancer 1 (Cantrips): Repel Shade, Shade Cloak 3/6.
Various General Skills including Meditation.
While his Tempter reeled off his accomplishments, Torstag led his friend across the cavern, through row upon row of mildewed mummies, some bearing obvious wounds—even missing limbs—all sedately kneeling before a plinth on which sat a copy of the Book of Obedience in various states of decrepitude. A good proportion of them were tonsured like monks and the right sole of each bore a crudely nailed on parchment label. He stooped to read one.
Mummy. Inert. Enchanted.
“Come on,” said Ingar. “We don’t have time.”
“We need to understand,” said Torstag. He read out a date over two centuries past, then the text: “Ornhalt Corebinder, executed rebel, dedicated by City Elders of Sturmburgh. Reincarnated as Brother Nugatory.” He rose and saw that the back of Ornhalt’s skull had been crushed.
“‘Dedicated’,” said Ingar, making air quotes. “So much for having an Epiphany and dedicating himself.”
Torstag shook his head. His eyes narrowed.
A glowing thread connected Ornhalt’s mummy to its fresher-looking neighbour. He squeezed past—the mummies had the texture of dried wood—and read out a date ninety years later, then, “Brother Nugatory, Presbyter Self-dedicated. Reincarnated as Brother Obscurity.” And the next mummy was Brother Obscurity, who had reincarnated as…
“Brother Neutrality!” hissed Torstag.
“Smelly Newt liked it so much, he came back for more and more,” said Ingar.
Torstag shrugged. “His choice, I suppose.”
“I wonder what Ornhalt Corebinder might say, though?”
“Well, he was a rebel,” said Torstag. “I mean, it’s one way of taking a warlock out of the Ten Thousand Realms for a generation.”
“Humph,” said Ingar. “We’re escaping and you’re still a conformist.”
Torstag frowned. There was something on the edge of his mind.
“Go on,” said Ingar. “Lead the way.”
The threads took them across the cavern and into one of the side tunnels. The everlights cast moving shadows from the endless rows of mummies.
One of the threads vanished.
“Stop,” said Torstag. He padded around Ingar until he found the thread, now pointing backwards to a niche containing just one mummy that had toppled onto its side. “I think we’ve found you,” he said.
Mummy. Inert.
Ingar ducked forward to read the plaque on the dead man’s foot.
Torstag noticed the state of the mummy. “Wait!”
Too late! Ingar read out, “Marvon the Mutilator, tyrant. Kicked to death by the mob. Dedicated by the People’s Revolutionary Council of Vitigern. Mummification Overseer, Brother Benign-Stasis.” He swore. “That’s bad.”
“It might not mean what it says,” said Torstag. “‘Mutilator’ might be a ritual thing.”
“I’m a monster!”
“Was a monster. You’re Ingar now.”
“Am I? Fuck! What if that…person takes over a little each time I succumb to the Tempter? What if the monks are telling the truth?”
Torstag shrugged. “You were other somebodies. I’m sure some of them were quite pleasant.”
“What?” said Ingar. “You mean Marvon the Impaler? Marvon the Puppy Strangler? Marvon the Kitten Drowner…”
“They wouldn’t all be called Marvon,” said Torstag. “And it does show you didn’t have a choice. Your past self didn’t ‘have an epiphany and become a Dedicant’, he was killed and his body sent here…”
“But that would be to stop him—me!—reincarnating as another tyrant,” said Ingar. “Which on the face of it sounds quite reasonable.”
“Well, you didn’t, did you?” said Torstag firmly.
“He even looks like me.”
“Frankly, it’s hard to say what he looks like.”
Though the mummy was less than two decades old, it was in a terrible state. The skull bore great dents, as did the flesh. The arms were broken in three places, with bones poking through the blackened skin. The legs weren’t right either. Presumably the damage from being very thoroughly kicked to death by an angry mob had caused the mummy to collapse out of its position.
Torstag’s brow furrowed. There was something else wrong as well.
Mummy. Inert.
“No enchantment,” he said. “That’s why you’re such a rule breaker. Everybody else has a mummy kneeling before the Book of Obedience. You don’t.”
“Or maybe I’m just a monster,” said Ingar. He sat down cross-legged. “I’ll wait for you to get away then surrender myself.”
Torstag regarded his friend, couldn’t find the right words. He passed his mace to his shield hand, bent his knees and hauled Marvon’s mummy over his shoulder. It was surprisingly light. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“Hey, put me down you fucker!” cried Ingar, rising. He grabbed the mummy’s leg. His eyes widened. “Oh shit.” He snatched his hand back and staggered. “Whoa! Oh my. Oh my…” He clutched his head. “Fuck.”
Torstag took a step toward his friend, but he had his hands full.
“I’m all right—wow!—better than all right,” said Ingar, steadying himself. “I had a Surge. They’re only supposed to happen when you level up your top vocation.”
Torstag furrowed his brow. “But I had one when the girl kissed me.”
“She kissed you?” Ingar leered. “I’ll bet you ‘surged’.”
Torstag felt his cheeks colour. “A very chaste kiss,” he said. “And my Tempter called it a Surge.”
“OK,” said Ingar. “So you touched a girl from a past life, I touched my body from a past life…so level up or touch a relic from a previous existance and you get to surge.”
“She didn’t look like a relic,” said Torstag. “But that makes sense.”
“Hah,” said Ingar. “I’m a level 4 Burglar, now.”
“Congratulations,” said Torstag. He was never going to catch up.
“Oh Gods!” Ingar bent double and vomited on a mummy’s feet.
Torstag took a sharp step backwards to avoid the splash. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I should stay behind, for your sake,” said Ingar. “For everybody’s sakes. I just had a flash of Marvon wielding a hammer. He really was a mutilator.”
“I…,” began Torstag. There was too much to say, too little time. “I need you,” he said. He set off to follow the glowing thread that still extended from his sternum.
It led them deeper into the catacombs, their footfalls now louder than the sound of the skeletons rattling at the door. They then zigzagged through different passages and came to one with very well preserved mummies. The warm breeze was stronger here.
“Getting close to the the portal,” said Ingar.
Torstag nodded. He took three more paces and there was the mummy of a giant of a man. He was vaguely reminiscent of an old bronze tea strainer, so perforated were his upper torso and arms. Kneeling next to him was a much skinnier individual. Shimmering strands connected the pair to each other and to Torstag.
He dumped the mummy of Marvon the Mutilator across the laps of his kneeling former selves, making the dry wooden podium rock. Dust billowed from the open pages of the Book of Obedience.
“Hey! Careful with me!” said Ingar.
“My past selves,” said Torstag, with a wave of the spiked mace.
Each mummy was naked and shrivelled where it mattered. Their lips had shrunken away to reveal black gums and yellow teeth. The flesh of their limbs had withered into the bones.
Torstag knelt to read the tag. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “Berotspan son of Bruglehilda, known as ‘the Marshal’. Killed while defending Yinkesia against the God Gronchard the Flayer. Self-Dedicant…”
“Gronchard the Flayer!” said Ingar. “I look after his temple. He has a really hot consort…or did. But you fought a demi-god?”
“Apparently.” Torstag’s shoulders slumped. “The girl mentioned we had a common enemy. But she didn’t say it was a god.”
“Well fuck him, and fuck her. Not our problem, remember?” said Ingar. “What about the earlier you?”
Torstag squinted at the smaller of the two husks of his former self.
“Lashton the Necromancer,” he read out.
“Well that explains—” began Ingar.
Torstag read on. “Executed. Dedicated by Gronchard the Flayer. Harvesting failed.”
“King Gronchard the Flayer again!” said Ingar. “You must have really pissed him off.”
“Harvesting failed,” quoted Torstag. “So Lashton-Me was executed and his body sent here. He was reborn as the Marshal…”
Ingar cut in, “But the Grey Cortège didn’t manage to harvest him when he came of age.”
“But he still felt the tug, and, when he was old, dedicated himself,” completed Torstag. “I—he—we—didn’t really choose this life, he was nudged into it.”
“It’s a fucking scam!” exclaimed Ingar. “Once they get one of your corpses, they have you for all eternity!”
“And I’m only a goody-two-shoes because they mummified me kneeling before the book,” said Torstag. “Bastards!” He yanked at the podium. Both podium and Book of Obedience crashed into the corridor.
A weight lifted from his shoulders.
You are now: Torstag, Human, Youth, Agile, Sensitive, Bold, Marked.
“So much for cautious,” said Torstag. “I’m my own man now. Truly.”
But what did Marked mean?
There was a crunch.
Footsteps echoed up from further up the darkened tunnel.
“Patrol,” said Ingar. “You shouldn’t have made all that noise.”
Three skeletons clattered out into the pool of light.
Torstag started to turn to run, but then suddenly didn’t feel like retreating, not now not ever again.
“Oh shit,” said Ingar.
“Hah!” said Torstag. “Let’s see if this works.” He glanced from mummy to mummy, from necromancer to warrior. He put his hand on the mummified head of Berotspan the Marshal.
Chapter 19: Smiting Skeletons!
Power rampaged through Torstag like…oddly like a glittering column of heavy cavalry, steel plates wreathed in the glare of the desert sun while around him men fled and died and tents burned and—
9 points of Grasp Improvement available. Which Vocation?
Warrior.
First, he was going to advance the Feat that had won him the spiked mace…
Disarm 3/6 secured. 6 Points remaining.
And might as well tidy up loose ends…
Cleave Shield 2/6 secured. 2 points remaining.
Select a 5th Warrior Feat to study.
Twitch—getting in a second cut down the other side—looked useful and led on to Rampage.
Twitch unlocked at 2/6 Grasp.
You have surpassed 3 Warrior Feats.
Warrior advances to 2. 6 Feats required to secure 3rd level.
Vitality = 2 + 2 (highest applicable vocation) = 4
Select a Proficiency.
Given there were lots of them around…
“Shield” Proficiency unlocked.
2 points of Improvement available. Which Vocation?
Warrior!
Warrior, Twitch advanced to 4/6 Grasp. 0 points remaining.
Vitality restored.
Potestas restored and boosted.
You are Torstag, Human Warlock, Youth, Agile, Sensitive, Bold, Marked.
Potestas 8/4.
Will 2. Horror of the Unquiet Dead 1/6.
Vitality 4. Toughness 2.
Vocations:
Warlord 0: Tea Drinking 2/6.
Warrior, 2 (Brawl, Sidearm, Shield): Wrath Strike +1, Split Shield, Disarm, Twitch 4/6.
Scout 2 (Mountain, Forest, Jungle): Climb +1, Spider Climb, Sneak
Necromancer 1 (Cantrips): Repel Shade, Shade Cloak 3/6, Manifest Shade 4/6
Various General Skills including Meditate.
Form 5.
And the clatter of skeletons echoed closer down the tunnels of the Catacombs of Hesitation.
3 Skeletons, hostile. Natural armour. Structure 6. Unaffected by thrusts.
Torstag wriggled his shoulders and hefted the spiked mace. Somehow he felt more himself. “Hold the everlight high,” he said.
“Let’s run,” said Ingar.
“Let’s not,” said Torstag.
The skeletons came around a corner, jogging along three abreast.
“Are you going to repel them?”
“Absolutely,” said Torstag, the blood rushing in his ears. He twirled the mace, got the handle to settle into his palm.
“Oh crap,” said Ingar.
You are performing Warrior at level 7.
3 Skeletons. 2 long knife, 1 hand axe. Natural Armour, 2. Shields, 2.
The skeletons were nearly on him.
Enemy has Advantage of Numbers.
Cramped Space.
They clattered closer until Ingar’s everlight illuminated the backs of their empty eye sockets.
Torstag stepped to his right, close to the wall, so as at least not to be outflanked.