The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  But cause trouble and death would come for her tribe. So Rags would be ground to pieces with the Watch on one side and the Red Fang Tribe on the other. The dungeon—she couldn’t risk it yet. So how…?

  Small. She was small. But she had faced Relc and not run away. Rags remembered it. She remembered the trembling fear, the knowledge of death. But she’d stood tall. She hadn’t run. She had been mortally afraid but in that moment—

  She hadn’t been small.

  And in that moment, Rags knew what she had to do.

  “Rags?”

  The Goblin jumped. Erin’s head had appeared between two chair legs.

  “There you are. Look, come on out. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

  As if Rags cared about that. She came out anyways, though. Erin touched at Rags’ face in concern, and asked her unimportant questions. But the knowledge was burning within Rags. The feeling.

  She knew.

  “I guess you’re okay. I’m just so sorry this happened. Look, let me give you some food or—or let’s play a game of chess.”

  Rags shook her head. There was no time. She pointed towards the door, and Erin looked at it.

  “You want to—of course. You can come back at any time, though, okay? It will be safe here.”

  A wonderful lie. Or perhaps—Rags hesitated, looking at Erin. Perhaps she would make it true. But that wasn’t where salvation lay. That wasn’t where Rags could grow.

  She shook her head, and pointed at the door again.

  “Sure, sure. I know you’re busy. You’re going to go off and…”

  Erin hesitated, and frowned.

  “What do Goblins do all day when they’re not…trying to stab me or foraging for food?”

  Rags looked up at Erin. And then she smiled.

  “…You smile? I don’t get it.”

  —-

  The Jawbreaker Tribe was a small tribe of Goblins closest to Liscor. Besides the Flooded Waters Tribe, of course. In truth, both tribes were small-fry even among Goblins. But the Jawbreaker clan was one of those who paid regular tribute to the Red Fang Tribe, and so they enjoyed a modicum of protection.

  Even so, they rested in a secluded grove of trees far away from any settlements, in a small valley where they wouldn’t be so easily noticed. The tribe was mostly asleep at this time of day—just before dawn.

  It was winter, and cold was in the air. No Goblin wanted to be up, especially since being up meant scavenging all day for food, or chasing reindeer or other animals miles through the snow. Food might mean survival or death, but it didn’t mean they had to be proactive about it.

  Their Chief thought the same way. Rockgaw, an approximate translation of his name from the Goblin’s language, was just waking up as the sunlight hit his face. He was a Hob, one of two in the tribe. He was the stronger of the two, but just by one or two levels, and he was lazy as well.

  But even Rockgaw’s inclination to sleep couldn’t keep him abed when the sunlight was filtering down from over the hill top. He’d chosen the valley so it would take longer for the sun to reach him, but Rockgaw always felt the light was far too early.

  He yawned, sat up, and looked around at his tribe as he scratched at his loincloth. Rockgaw pushed himself to his feet—

  —And because Rags had no sense of the dramatic moment, that was when the crossbow bolt exited his spine and nailed his corpse to the ground.

  The other Goblins in the tribe looked up and around. In the shocked silence, Rags gave the order to fire.

  Clay bullets rained down from above, striking Goblins and sending the camp into chaos. Rags slowly loaded the black crossbow with another bolt and waited. Pound the enemy. Harass their flanks. She looked at the rows of Goblins holding crossbows and smiled.

  Experiment. Change. Evolve. Oh, and pillage, steal, and stab in the back. That was the Goblin way.

  The north was hers. The Red Fang tribe might control the local Goblins, but Rags had new weapons, new ideas, and most importantly, a new base to fight from. She could win. She would win.

  She would claim the northern territory if the south was too dangerous. Rags would become stronger. She would level. And then, when she was ready she would explore the dungeon again. She would create a tribe large enough to kill the Drake and oppose the Watch. She would gather enough Goblins to remember what drove the Goblin King into such a rage.

  She would grow. Until she could defeat the strange person who played chess from far away. Until she could beat Erin herself.

  Rags had a list. She raised the crossbow, sighted at the Hob who came charging uphill and fired. Not at his head; lower down. At his second head, as it were.

  She would not lose here, or ever. She had to be bigger, stronger. She would learn, and be merciful. To survive, Rags would be anything.

  The Hob clasped the stricken area and collapsed to the ground. Rags eyed the object she’d partially severed with her bolt. Not too merciful; she was a Goblin after all.

  But she could do it, Rags knew. She would do it. No matter what it took.

  She would never die.

  2.18

  When Ryoka finished her run, she found Erin and Olesm sitting around the chessboard, discussing chess. She, Val, and Hawk stopped to watch the two.

  If running was their world, Erin and Olesm belonged to the silent, mystifying world of chess. It reminded Ryoka a bit of religion, only instead of an altar or text, Erin and Olesm used a chessboard.

  But then, would playing chess be the equivalent of prayer? And what was blasphemy? Flipping the board? And why was Ryoka taking this analogy so far?

  She coughed into one hand. Olesm and Erin didn’t even look up.

  “See, that’s when I knew he was pushing with the left side and trying to set me up for a pin. Here. So I did this and…”

  “Ah! That’s when he made the blunder!”

  “Right. But even if he didn’t, I would have taken a pawn and taken an advantage for the endgame. Which is where it would have gone if he hadn’t opened himself up like that.”

  Olesm was busy writing on pieces of paper as Erin explained. At least she looked happy. Ryoka still wasn’t sure about the advisability of playing chess with someone unknown but—

  Trust. She had to trust Erin. Not with everything, but at least with this.

  Ryoka coughed again, louder. Then she gave up.

  “Erin.”

  Erin looked up. She caught sight of Val and Hawk, and her eyes widened.

  “Oh! Oh!”

  Olesm looked round and nearly dropped his quill.

  “Is that Hawk? What are you doing here?”

  Hawk smiled as he and Val stepped into the room. Ryoka was displeased to note that they weren’t even sweating.

  “We had a morning run, and Hawk and I were thinking of staying here for a chat. Unless you’re busy with your…game?”

  “What? The chess? Oh, no. We’ve got lots of tables.”

  Erin hovered around the two Couriers as they chose a table on the other side of the room. She kept staring at Hawk, and Ryoka knew she wanted to pet him. Erin was complex in many ways, but her hand was twitching.

  “Can I…get you two anything? Breakfast? An early lunch? Snacks?”

  “Can I have a hamburger?”

  Hawk looked wistfully at Erin. Val groaned.

  “Anything but a hamburger. How about those potato strips?”

  “French fries? Sure! One hamburger and fries coming up. You want ketchup? Everyone wants ketchup.”

  Ryoka looked at Olesm as Erin bustled around. The Drake was still writing on the parchment. Chess…notation?

  “Now would be a good time for you to use your head, idiot.”

  Olesm looked up.

  “Hm? I’m sorry, were you speaking to me, Ryoka?”

  “No. Myself.”

  He went back to writing. Ryoka tried to clear her mind. She’d had her morning run, and that was helping dispel the effects of last night’s party and drinking.

  Now—c
oncentrate. What was he doing? Writing things down. Obviously. Try to think a bit harder than pre-school level analysis. No, if Olesm was writing down Erin’s chess game—presumably against the other player—and given her comments about an equal game…

  Erin was considered better than anyone else…

  Ah. He was making a record of chess games. That was again, obvious. But Ryoka could see him making commentary notes on another sheet of paper. And you only did that when…

  “A newsletter. Or magazine.”

  Olesm looked up again.

  “Hm?”

  “Sorry. Just thinking aloud.”

  “It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it? Erin is a brilliant player and her opponent—”

  “I imagine you must level quite often, playing her.”

  The Drake made a face Ryoka could only describe as ruefully awkward.

  “Not that much. But you’re right. I did level up quite a bit, and quite quickly too!”

  Great. So Erin was helping whoever was on the other side of the world. Ryoka eyed the pieces of paper. Would reading chess strategy help other [Tacticians]? For that matter, why was chess so good for [Tacticians] anyways? It was a game. One that involved strategy, true, but not…

  “Oh my god.”

  “That’s an interesting phrase. Most humans just say ‘dead gods’.”

  Ryoka didn’t answer. That was it. Think for five second and you could figure out one of the critical truths of this world. This system of leveling had not been created by someone from Ryoka and Erin’s world, from Earth.

  If what Ryoka thought was true. She had to ask.

  “Olesm.”

  He looked at her, quill poised above the parchment.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you familiar with most classes? I mean, I assume there are rare classes, but you know all of the ones people normally receive, don’t you?”

  He hesitated.

  “To an extent. I do ask about classes so I can use them if I need to coordinate with the Watch, so you could say that. Why? Was there one you were interested in?”

  “Are there any classes for people who play…games? Board games, I mean?”

  Olesm frowned and tapped his chin with the quill, ignoring the spots it left on his scales.

  “Board games…we don’t really have that many. There are checkers, of course, and I know there are games that [Tacticians] have invented like chess…but none other that I can think of. Kids mostly play games like tailpuck or beanbag throwing.”

  “Any classes related to that? A…class that involves playing against others for fun?”

  “[Gambler]? Um…I’ve heard of some people getting the [Layabout] class or [Idler] class depending on what people call it, but that’s something that usually only applies to the aristocracy, you know, fourth sons and all that. Otherwise I suppose the [Tactician] class is the only one that fits.”

  “I thought so. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Glad I could help?”

  Ryoka left Olesm to his game, thinking hard. She was right. It explained everything.

  Question. Why did [Tacticians] level up from playing chess? Perhaps a few levels could be explained by the idea of strategy, feints, and so on, but that kind of rapid growth? No. It made no sense, especially not for a class that should be gaining experience from commanding armies and making dangerous decisions.

  Yes, normally if you were going to level it should be in some kind of board game playing class, only there wasn’t one. And that was why Olesm and the others were leveling, and also why Erin wasn’t.

  Because there was no [Gamer] class. And whoever had designed the initial system hadn’t thought of—no, perhaps it was the culture which hadn’t yet adapted to the idea of someone who just played casual games without a tactical or gambling focus. Erin thought of the game as casual; not something that she should gain a [Tactician] class from. But Olesm and the others looked on it as something different.

  Which meant that Erin and Ryoka by themselves didn’t constitute enough of a group to define a new class, if that were even possible. The idea of pre-defined classes made by the creator of this leveling system might not gel with culture defining classes—Ryoka decided to table that idea for now as unconfirmed.

  But it all made sense. It was a loophole in the system.

  And she had no way to exploit it, unless she decided she wanted to play chess. And even then, probably only Erin would gain the benefits if she stopped looking at it as a game.

  But that wasn’t the truly frightening thing. What was truly frightening was the secondary thought that had sprung into Ryoka’s mind as she stared at the chessboard.

  Was it an accident? Or…was it on purpose. Chess. It had just been invented in this world, and it was gaining popularity among [Tacticians]. Enough so that one person had sent an expensive chessboard across the world, paying probably thousands of gold coins for the board, delivery, and so on.

  Because they loved chess? Or because they knew it would help them level up if they found a worthy opponent?

  Did the person who invented chess know they’d found a way to peacefully, easily level up their class? Or was it coincidence?

  And what the hell should Ryoka do about the chessboard?

  She considered her options. They weren’t numerous, and most of them would lead to Erin pitching a fit, even if the board ‘disappeared’ by accident. And the dangers…

  True, it would help one person. But considering them an enemy because they might be using this to their advantage wasn’t wise. For all they knew, they were benefiting Erin as much as themselves, and that was if Ryoka’s darkest fears were completely on a level.

  At any rate, Erin’s skill made her noteworthy, and more importantly, valuable. Was it better to be valuable and noticed or hidden and secret? She’d already sent the letter, and it would invite more problems to stop now.

  Let her play was Ryoka’s plan of action, but she resolved to talk with Erin as soon as possible. Right after—

  “Hey, do you want some fries?”

  Ryoka nearly jumped out of her skin. Erin stepped back to avoid Ryoka knocking the big platter of golden, crispy, french fries. Ryoka stared at them.

  “That was fast.”

  “Yeah, it’s this new skill I got! [Advanced Cooking]. It makes preparing everything so easy, and look!”

  Erin held up the plate in front of Ryoka. Each fry had been cooked until the skins were golden-brown, and Ryoka could just imagine the crunch. And hear it, because she’d tried one.

  “This is good.”

  “I know, right? So much better than the ones I made the first time! Skills are awesome!”

  There was no denying that. Awesome. And scary.

  “Anyways, I made a ton since I want to eat while I play with Olesm. Too bad they’re so greasy, but I bet the pieces won’t even take the grease!”

  Erin beamed as she pointed to the magic chessboard and the ghostly pieces. Yes, that was Erin. Give her a magical chessboard capable of playing anyone around the world and she thought it was nifty because she wouldn’t get food on the chess pieces.

  …Actually, if Ryoka could do that with clothing she wouldn’t mind forking over as much gold as necessary. Erin carried the food over to Val and Hawk, much to their approval and called out over her shoulder.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot! Ceria’s upstairs, Ryoka!”

  “What?”

  Ryoka looked over, confused.

  “She’s back already?”

  They’d barely been gone for two hours, even with their discussion about dangerous places and monsters to avoid. Erin nodded.

  “Yeah, she said she wanted to rest. But I’m sure she’s still awake. You could invite her for…french fry brunch! Or let her sleep if she’s napping.”

  “I might do that.”

  Ryoka left Erin behind as the innkeeper happily went back to the game with Olesm and the Couriers began eating. The taste of the french fry lingered in Ryoka’s mouth. It wasn’t quite a Mc
Donald’s fry, but damn it, it was close. Skills were the scariest thing in the world if they could let Erin do that.

  “And maybe they’ll change me, too.”

  Absolute power corrupts absolutely. But what did…changes like classes and levels do to people? Empower? Or turn them into unstoppable bullies who picked on the weak?

  Ryoka knew what it would do to people from her world. She’d seen the Stanford Prison experiment footage.

  But people were different here. Some were better. Or maybe it was just that Ryoka noticed they were better. It might be that there were monsters, actual monsters to fight, or that people had to risk their lives. Those who went through trials might strip away some of the things that burdened people like Ryoka, might make themselves different.

  Ryoka pushed open the door and stopped.

  Or—perhaps they were altogether too alien for Ryoka to ever comprehend.

  Ceria sat on the bed the Antinium had helped construct, in the light from the window, her features fair, her hair caught in the sun. Sometimes Ryoka forgot that half of her ancestry was immortal. Long dead, yes, but the flickers of her unearthly nature made Ceria so unique at times.

  At others, she was just like any human. But Ryoka had never asked her about her parents. And—

  She had the sense that it was something she shouldn’t ask for a long time, anyways. Not if what Ryoka thought was true. Cause and effect. Predictability.

  The world was made of sad stories.

  Such as these.

  Ceria turned as she heard Ryoka step into the room. She wiped at her eyes, but didn’t pretend she hadn’t been crying.

  “Ryoka. Sorry, I didn’t know you were back.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Where should I start?”

  Ceria laughed. She held up her skeletal hand mockingly, and shook her head.

  “No. It’s not that. It’s Yvlon. She’s awake.”

  For a second Ryoka had to remember, and then she recalled the female adventurer captain who wore silver armor. She felt a pang of guilt, remembering Yvlon had been at the Adventurer’s Guild and she’d never seen her. But—