by Galen Wolf
‘We need a healer, you’re definitely coming,’ Bernard says.
I smile. ‘Whether you want to or not.’
I have a few things to sort out in real life. I don’t want to start the quest until the next day anyway, but I can’t resist logging in later when I should be doing something else in real life, and I find Fitheach in his chambers.
The stone chamber is lit by a ball of light up at ceiling level. It’s far more realistic light than the wizard spell light which is harsh and white. This looks like real sunlight.
‘I’m leaving my friars here,’ he says. He means the four brown clad monks that live here in his chambers and who came with him when he first arrived at the dungeon. I’ve never really understood their purpose and he doesn’t explain now; he just says he’s leaving them here. That’s fine.
‘We’ll set off tomorrow when I log back in. Bernard and Tye aren’t logged on now. The dungeon’s off-line. Geraint’s restocking the loot and Peter’s fixing the traps that the Fangs of Koth smashed up. Seems they won’t just respawn pristine for some reason.
‘Yes, I’m tired.’ Fitheach rubs his tired old eyes.
Then I see there’s orchids growing in pots on his wooden desk. I point. ‘Are those orchids?’
He nods. ‘Nice, aren’t they?’ He goes over. ‘This is a moth orchid, see how the flowers look like moths? And this one’s a Christmas orchid—‘
I interrupt him. ‘I mean are those orchids?’
He’s puzzled. ‘Of course, I just said so.’ He can see how excited I am but he still doesn’t see why.
I go right up to them and examine them. They’re alive all right. I jerk my head round to see him standing baffled behind me. ‘So you grow them here?’ I say insistently.
He’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘Of course, Gorrow. You’ve got one in your hand. You can see it’s growing.’
‘How do you grow them in here? We’re underground.’
He scratches his head. ‘They just grow. I give them water, of course, and I got the soil from the Secret Valley and put it in those little pots. They’re sweet, aren’t they?’
‘How do they grow?’
‘Hmm. I just said that. Soil and water.’
‘And light. Plants need light.’ I snap up my head to see his Sunlight spell that’s hovering just below the ceiling. I jab my finger at it. ‘That’s not a wizard light. They’re harsh and white.’
‘It’s a nicer, gentler light than a wizard’s light. Priests Light is designed to emulate the sun. It has great effect against light hating undead.’
‘And plants grow in its light.’
‘Ah,’ he says, the penny finally dropping. ‘I see.’
I’m so excited I can hardly talk. All this time I thought the only way we could grow our crops was to have fields up in the Secret Valley. Fields open to enemy reconnaissance and very vulnerable to any attacks. I’d thought that if we lost our fields, our whole settlement would wither and die, our NPCs would starve and that would be the end of us. But here are orchids growing a quarter mile underground. In the light of a priest spell.
‘How long does it last? The sun spell.’
‘Twenty minutes, a minute per level then with Extend I can get it ten times that —so two hundred minutes.’
This is a problem. It’s not enough, I’d have to maintain an army of clerics just to keep the lights burning. Then I have my second brainwave of the day. ‘You know that Peter the Silent and in fact Bernard can enchant traps and items with wizard spells? Peter did it for Tye, I think Bernard’s got some enchanted items too.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Can they enchant items with cleric spells, with this Sunlight spell?’
He nods rapidly. ‘Yes, they can.’
‘So if we have a chamber cut out down here, and we bring in tons of earth from the Secret Valley, and we’ve got plenty of water, because in fact drainage is an issue and we have trouble getting rid of it. If we put all that together with a series of lamps enchanted between you and Bernard strung along the ceiling, then we can grow crops. We can grow potatoes, and barley and oats and wheat and hops and whatever we need. Not only that we can grow grass. We can have a stud farm and breed cavalry horses down here in Silver Drift Mine.’
He’s still nodding, tugging his white beard. ‘So like a hydroponics farm. Except with soil. It’s like my marijuana farm in real life.’
‘What?’ I’m floored. Fitheach is supposed to be a saint. ‘You grow marijuana in real life?’
‘Yes. For medical purposes only. Regulated by Oregon Health Authority.’
‘You amaze me.’
He beams. ‘Really? Is that good?’
‘Oh yes.’
He comes and gives me a big saintly hug. ‘I really like you, Gorrow. We all do.’
‘Err. Thanks. Anyway. The priority is getting lamps.’ I check. Bernard’s still off-line and I guess he won’t be back until morning. ‘It’ll have to be tomorrow.’
He sits on the rock ledge on the far side of his chambers. ‘So does this mean we’re postponing out trip to Lindisfarne?’
That’s a point. Still, I can’t see a few days will make much difference.
‘I already told Cuthbert we’re coming.’
‘Ah. Okay.’ I frown. I’m not sure I wanted to announce our quest to the world, he guesses my thoughts and adds, ‘He’s one of the good guys. No one will find out, so don’t worry about any ambushes or anything.’
I guess he’s right. After all this is Saint Cuthbert we’re talking about. I try to reassure myself that it’s all fine. I’m really tired now. I need to get some sleep. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Fitheach.’
‘You take care, Gorrow. See you tomorrow.’
And with that, I log off.
The next day I go find Thorvald and the miners. They are about to begin digging out Level 3 and Bernard is with them showing them where he wants the stairs down. This is going to be Fitheach’s level, but Fitheach isn’t there.
‘Come with me,’ I say, catching their attention from the door. I hurry back up the corridor and Thorvald and Bernard follow me. We pick up Tye in his luxurious boss chambers where he’s lying on the bed smoking a cheroot. ‘What’s up?’ He says, scrambling to his feet and following. I’m in a hurry and fumble the key through to the Silver Drift Mine when we get to the connecting door.
The atmosphere of the settlement is so different from that of the dungeon, far more serious and business-like. I come across miners and Thorvald beckons for them to follow. It’s still a mystery to them where I’m taking them and we come to Fitheach’s chambers. He’s kneeling praying with the friars, a cloud of sweet incense fills the room.
He gets to his feet, dusting off his knees. ‘Ah, Gorrow, you’ve come about the hydroponics, I take it.’
I look around. ‘Where’s Jason?’
Thorvald says, ‘He’ll be brewing. Can’t you smell that malty odour on the air?’
‘Can you send someone to get him?’
Thorvald nods and instructs one of the miners.
‘It’s not hydroponics, Fitheach. We discussed that.’
‘Just I use hydroponics for my marijuana.’
Tye looks at us both. ‘I’m confused now. We’re getting into the drugs business?’
‘No.’ Jason enters with the miner, looking as bemused as anyone else.
I outline my idea.
There’s a lot of nodding and frowning and scraping of boot toes on the ground as they ponder it.
Jason’s the first to speak. ‘So, we’re going to build farms underground?’
‘Exactly. It will make us food-secure. We won’t have to worry about Secret Valley getting discovered and burned.’
Thorvald says, ‘So me and my miners dug that huge long tunnel and nearly died, for nothing?’
‘Some of them did die,’ Jason reminds him.
I feel bad about that. ‘I didn’t know priests had a spell that mimicked sunshine until yesterda
y.’
‘Everyone knows that,’ Bernard says. ‘It’s called ‘Sunlight’ for one thing.’
I glare at him. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Sorry I brought the tunnel up,’ Thorvald says.
‘It’s okay. So can you start digging out a mighty big chamber, south and west of here, just extending the settlement?’
Thorvald nods. ‘If you say so, Sir Gorrow.’
‘And Jason, can you and the farmers start bringing in cartloads of earth to make the soil?’
‘As soon as they’ve dug enough of the cavern out, we’ll get onto it.’
‘And Bernard, will you work with Fitheach to make sunshine lamps and hang them along the ceiling of the chamber?’
‘How many will we need?’ Bernard asks. Underneath his grumpy exterior I see even he’s getting into the project.
‘I don’t know.’ I look to the others, but they don’t know either. ‘Maybe ten? Maybe twelve?’
‘I can maybe make those in a day.’
‘And I’ll supply the sunshine spells,’ Fitheach says.
Tye smiles. ‘I can enchant some with wizard light.’
I shake my head, I’m about to politely refuse when Bernard says, ’No, that won’t work. Wizard light’s crap.’
Tye looks crestfallen standing there suddenly chin down in his blue robes.
I pat him. ‘Hey, it’s because the priest spell has to mimic sunlight to kill undead. That’s all.’
Fitheach nods. ‘That’s right. That’s all it is.’ He’s a kind soul and Tye cheers up a bit. He says, ‘What about the Quest of the Jabberwock? I thought that was priority.’
’No, this is priority. Then that. As soon as we get the underground field created, I’ll leave it to Jason to plough and seed it. We need food security.’
Jason nods. ‘Sure. Potatoes first, or oats?’
‘A bit of all of them. Then we can extend the chamber and when we get back, create more fields. We’ll need one for the horses too.’
‘So the day after tomorrow to set off for Lindisfarne?’ Bernard asks.
‘Like I said, as soon as we get the cavern field done.’
‘You haven’t even accepted the quest,’ Bernard says.
‘The rest of us have,’ Tye says.
I forgot. I accept it there and then.
That’s that then.
The Wall
The next morning, the weather is clear with a slight cold breeze from over the moor. To north, east, west and south the black and red haze denoting an evil zone of control covers the landscape. Crows hang mournfully in the wind above us. They might be spying for the Evil One or they might not.
I’m riding Spirit and it’s the first time I’ve been above ground for what seems ages. It’s great to have the wind in my face again. Beside me riding Henry is Bernard. The two seem to have an odd grumpy friendship, but then Bernard’s grumpy by nature as is Henry.
Tye is there on Bessie — the girl mule Bernard is planning to marry one day soon, he says.
Fitheach has bought a horse from Asterix the NPC supplier of other NPCs, including animals. She’s a bay mare that he’s calling Láireog; it turns out his Gaelic name isn’t a coincidence and neither is the mare’s. Fitheach is Irish in real life.
Tye’s orange-red hair streams in the wind as we sit atop the raise, waiting to begin our quest to find St Cuthbert and somehow obtain the blood of the Jabberwock to combine with the Smoky Crystals and create awesome weapons that will win the war against the Evil One. Simple really.
Because I want us to be discreet, we’re all wearing black robes with hoods that cover our headgear. Black is the enemy’s favourite colour but it won’t fool anyone who gets too close. And, trying to be prepared, I’ve got glass bottles in my inventory to collect the Jabberwock blood when we kill it.
I give the order and we move out. We head north, joining the main road from Carrionburg to New World Order after about three miles. This road is mainly used by cargo trains to and from Carrionburg, taking supplies in for the workers and bringing out the Smoky Crystals. We’ve never seen or even heard report of the enemy having vorpal weapons, so I’m likely they haven’t discovered that you need the blood of a Jabberwock to craft them. My guess is they’re storing the Smoky Crystals somewhere, probably New World Order while they figure out what they need to do with them to get the magical effect. I mention this as we ride.
Fitheach agrees. ‘I think we should find the warehouse and destroy it.’
I stare at the old saint and I’m amazed at the change in him. I thought he was a peace-loving guy. He sees me looking at him and says abruptly. ‘I’ve told you, Gorrow, I will strike at them when I can. When it comes to the enemy, I remember all they did, all the peaceful villages full of NPCs they slaughtered and how they’ve even blighted nature itself.’ He indicates the desolation all around. And it’s true. What was once a pleasant moorland with blooming purple heather, food for bees and home to swift hawks and songbirds is now a dying brown and black mulch as far as the eye can see. The enemy has no need for, or interest in nature.
Fitheach says, ‘It’s only a matter of time before they find out that the secret ingredient for vorpal enhancement to weapons is Jabberwock blood, and they’ll be ruthless in hunting them all down and combining them with the crystals, so we need to destroy their stock of crystals and then go back and blow up their mine at Carrionburg.’
‘On our way to see St Cuthbert and the Jabberwock or on the way back? Just asking.’ Bernard’s riding alongside us. He’s mocking Fitheach’s new found warlike nature, but I’m still open mouthed at this transformation from feeble saint to total badass.
Fitheach nods vigorously. ‘We smash the warehouse on the way up and when we’ve got the Jabberwock blood—‘
He’s so angry he can hardly speak, but he finishes. ‘— Then we go to Carrionburg and raze it to the ground.’
I say, ‘I was hoping to build our army a little before we hit Carrionburg.’
Fitheach scratches his cheek. ‘Very well. We’ll build the army and then burn the bastards down.’
I see Bernard and Tye looking at each other, then Tye bursts out laughing, but immediately tries to stifle his laughter with his hand. Fitheach doesn’t realise he’s the source of Tye’s amusement. Either that or he doesn’t care. He just keeps staring forward with hawk-like eyes and beak-like nose.
Then Bernard looks down the road too. ‘What’s that?’ He points then answers his own question. ‘Cargo waggon coming into Carrionburg.’
I peer where he’s looking. Yes, he’s right.
’I say we slaughter them,’ Fitheach blurts out.
Tye goes into another muffled explosion, his sides heaving as he fails to control the giggles.
I knew we’d come across the enemy at some point but I’d hoped to be discreet and get as far as we can without alerting the enemy that we’re going deep into his territory.
‘No slaughtering, keep your heads down. Say nothing.’
‘But, we should kill them. We must.’ Fitheach’s frowning hard.
I turn to the saint. ‘Sometimes to win the war, you need to let the odd battle pass you by.’
He’s unhappy but takes what I say. Tye pulls up his hood and so does Bernard. They stoop slightly on their mules so their faces are in shadow. I have my helm on put I pull up my hood so it’s covered.
Fitheach shakes his head in disapproval, but does the same, then we’re just four mounted figures making our way north on the road. Nothing special. Dressed in black — we look like the Enemy’s men. We should be the Enemy’s men. After all who else is going to be travelling this road in the occupied north?
They’re close now. It’s a supply train packed with kegs of beer, potatoes and timber. Just the sort we would have raided before. I nod my head further. I know Spirit’s too good a horse to be ridden by one of their scum but I hope they don’t notice.
They’re very clo
se now. I hold my breath. Just a minute or two and we’ll be past. I hear the mutter of their black speech. They’re dwemmers and hobgoblins. They would fall like wheat before a scythe if I were only to pull out my sword, but I don’t want to alert them we even exist.
I hear the clip clop of their mules, the sound of the harnesses, the rough talk. I even smell them. The mules smell strong but the dwemmers stink like old shoe inlays. I’m not looking. I don’t want to meet their eyes; I don’t even plan on greeting them. As far as I know the Minions of Evil don’t bother with pleasantries.
Then we’re up to the heads of their leading horses.
‘Budge,’ one of them yells. He obviously thinks we’re taking up too much of the road. I hear grumbling from my companions. ‘Just budge,’ I whisper.
Then the dwemmers start to guffaw. I don’t know what they’re laughing at, I’m just guessing it’s us. Still that’s fine. Think grey. Think unremarkable. We’re just going past; they won’t even remember us when we’re gone, we’re so not worth noticing.
Then I hear one yell out, ‘Short-arse.’
I sigh quietly to myself. We’re almost halfway down the waggon train and in a matter of seconds they’ll be gone so we can just ignore this nonsense.
The dwemmer who called out, shouts louder this time. ‘Hey, short-arse, I’m talking to you.’
He must mean Tye. I wish it was me or Fitheach, or even Bernard.
The third time the dwemmer shouts ‘short-arse,’ out of the corner of my eye, I see a hood go down and a shock of orangey hair emerges.
Tye says quietly, ‘Are you talking to me?’
I shake my head in resignation. My hand goes to my sword hilt.
‘Ooo!’ The dwemmer says, suspicions fully aroused. ‘You’re not one of us, are you? I thought you were just a dwarf, but now I see you’re enemy too.’
I feel the tension as the dwemmer cock their arrows, and the hobgoblins draw their swords with a scraping of steel. I jerk my head to knock back my hood and drag my own sword from its scabbard.
‘Eat fire, turd burglar!’ Tye growls and blasts a fireball into the dwemmers on the waggon. They’re blown off it, some of them fall like Hollywood extras on fire, others are crisped up completely into charcoal. The waggon catches fire and its timber load burns. The mules panic and drag the waggon away down the road. That’s the first, but there are there more waggons.
