D & D - Tale of the Comet

by Roland Green

  Zolaris only hurled a few pellets, as his stock of them was lower than he liked. His target was a stump, wedged between two rocks about fifty paces into the cave. It would have been nearly invisible in the gloom, if the two hadn't brought a Rael lantern.

  The magnum cannon snarled like a gigantic cat. The echoes flung themselves about the rocks. The stump vanished. So did one of the rocks holding it. The other seemed to shrink.

  Then something hit Hellandros violently in the small of the hack. "Down!" yelled Zolaris. The wizard flung himself on the filthy cave floor, not knowing why, but recognizing the urgency in the Rael's voice.

  A moment later he realized that bits of rock and wood had sprayed all over the cave, some of them as far back as the gun. It was as if the stump and rocks had been flung from a great height, shattering on impact.

  At last Zolaris let the wizard up, and they walked cautiously forward, holding the lantern. Ten paces from where the stump had been, Zolaris halted and muttered what might have been either a prayer or a curse.

  "Ten rounds couldn't have done that," he went on. "Impossible, from this gun. Maybe a deathstrike's, with heavy metal rounds, but... impossible."

  "Did the pellets strike with more than their natural force, or did they not?" Hellandros asked, somewhat impatiently.

  "Of course they did," Zolaris said, even more impatiently. "Anybody with eyes in their head ought to understand that."

  "Then we can, with the spell of heavy striking, increase the power of all your solid-round weapons. As long as you have enough rounds, and I have enough lead."

  "You say you can do this safely? Regularly? In battle?"

  "I have to read the spell from my spellbook before each casting. That is a weakness I cannot avoid. It is the nature of my magic."

  "Never mind weaknesses," Zolaris said. His whole face was one huge grin. "Think of the strengths. We have ourselves a tank-killer now, just as long as we find, or steal, some more ammunition."

  "Thank you," Hellandros said. He held up his free hand and tossed something into the air. Fifty paces away smoke puffed up, and a rotten-egg smell drifted back. Zolaris started toward the wisp of smoke.

  This time it was Hellandros's turn to warn his companion. "I would stay here, if I were you."

  "It didn't work, did it? What is the—?"

  A misshapen globe of orange fire rose where the smoke had curled up. It swelled to the roof of the cave and backward and forward, until it reached its full dimensions. Both men turned away, as the heat poured over them.

  When they looked back, Zolaris again muttered that prayer or curse. A piece of the cave floor, thirty-odd paces across, was blackened and smoking like cooling lava.

  "That was a fireball spell, with a delay aspect cast into it," I Icllandros said. "They are all that size, but they can be thrown in many directions. Not as fast or as far as magnum rounds or blasters, but up to half a bowshot. Ask Elda to show you how far iliiit is."

  "I will," Zolaris said. "Oh, I will." Then he embraced Hellandros. "By the Authority, whatever this magic is, it's real enough. I'm glad you're on our side!"

  "We do not worship the creators of monsters on this world," I Icllandros said, untangling himself from the Rael with as much dignity as he could contrive. "We fight them, whether they come from the planes, or the sky.

  "Just persuade the rest of your people of this, and we shall

  have a friendship that the Overseer itself must fear!"

  • • «

  Seldra Boatwright would not salute the Lady Captain, but she did wait for permission before sitting down.

  Torgia Mel raised her voice to call for wine, hoping her words would carry over the sound of masons' hammers outside. I lie keep had been hit only once during all the visits by the fly-ing golems, but that one hit had damaged the stable and killed ihree horses. For now, what was left of the garrison could keep what was left of its horses in town, or tethered to trees, but they would need a proper stable before winter.

  At least there was no shortage of lumber. Seldra had delivered a cartload of it herself, when she came to report on the ■ late of the watch. She hoped to take back some news of what the world beyond Paradise Lake could, or would do to help Aston Point.

  "How fares the watch?" Torgia asked.

  "We have twelve trustworthy folk," Seldra replied. "In pa-i rots of three, that means each can take half a night, and sleep in rhe next. These are all working folk, so I can't ask for more if I want them to come at all."

  She crossed one leg over the other before nervously continuing, "Mongo wants to join. Actually, Cumbry Stoos wants to pay me to take Mongo. The big guy's strong, but not always shrewd—"

  "Don't," the captain cut in. "Stoos may not be the head of the local thieves, but he surely knows who they are. Putting one of his people on the watch will do no good at all."

  "Thank you," Seldra said, relieved at having the decision made for her. "I think Cumbry's more after keeping Mongo from lolling about all day and scaring off customers, than he is trying to start a thieving ring."

  "What customers?" Torgia joked. "Has anyone in town heard anything of Detrius Phailmont?"

  "Nobody's seen him since 1 saw his back, that night we fought the Gyotsi."

  Torgia nodded thoughtfully, and Seldra cleared her throat before changing the subject.

  "There's a rumor that the merchants of Port Enkrimpe are going to hire sellswords and a wizard," Seldra said. "Or was it a paladin? Somebody potent, regardless, but rumor is as far as it's come."

  Aston Point, and the folk about it were still alone in the face of a menace .that perhaps even the gods did not understand. To fight the comet-spawned abominations, they had Torgia's handful of surviving soldiers, and the twelve members of the watch, and two of them were only half-grown girls and one a half-mad priest.

  Everyone knew it was death to go more than a few miles beyond Drenin Longstaff's grove. The few hardy souls who had ventured farther, and returned, reported golem forge-fires visible even in the daylight, and the ghoul warriors few, but vigilant.

  Among those who had not returned were Fedor Ohlt and his companions. Seldra hoped they had found a clean death, and had not had their souls stolen, and their skills turned to the service of evil. Ohlt was shrewd, Hellandros had potent spells, and i lie Ha-Gelhers were bonnie fighters, even if Elda coupled too much and thought too little.

  But against what they might have had to face, none of that would have been enough.

  Elda glowered at the morning mist. This was the fourth of five days she had gone out on guard duty when she could not see a good bowshot in front of her. She hoped the Rael on guard with her were using their magic to see through the mist. She couldn't actually see any of them, and, since they hadn't given her one of their magic speaking boxes, had no way to signal them.

  Effectively alone with her thoughts, she wondered what had happened to the clarity of the mountain air. The fires from the fall of the comet had long since died down. The Overseer's creations were hard at work on something that raised a tall plume of smoke, worthy of a giant's brick kiln, but they and it were in only one place, close to the crashed ship.

  She decided it was simply bad luck: the weather coming and going as it pleased the gods, oblivious to their desperate situation.

  This conclusion did not please her, but before she could curse her luck, she saw movement in the mist. She almost called out in hopes that one of the Rael sentries was within earshot when a large bear shambled out of cover, reared on his hind legs, and sniffed the air. Behind the bear came a slim, dark figure, with an elven cast to his features and limbs, and the garb of a wood elf.

  Fear stopped her mouth but gave wings to her feet. She rushed uphill, to what she hoped would be Vorris's post, trying to move quietly, but wasting no time.

  The Rael whirled as she ran up behind him, and nearly shot her before saying, "You are away from your post, Elda! What is the matter?"

  She struggled for breath, meanwhile pointing. "Oh,
I see," he said, "a bear. Are they good to eat?"

  "He's with the elf. That means he's a—a magic bear. Killing him would bring bad luck. Tell all your friends on guard, with the magic voice boxes. If I had one," she added, "I would not have left my post."

  "It is for Commander Jazra to say what you humans will have of our technology," Vorris replied.

  "Then call Commander Jazra too, and tell her of the bear. Surely no one will make a meal of it without her permission, not even Breena."

  Vorris's nose wrinkled at the name, which assured Elda that at least they were on the same side when it came to Breena. Vorris picked up his magic speaking box, the one he carried on his belt, and spoke briefly into it in the Rael tongue. Even without language spells, Elda understood a few words of it, but then she had always been quick to learn new tongues.

  What sounded like gnomish came out of the box, but Vorris's eyebrows went up, and he seemed to understand. He put the box down and looked downhill through the bushes, to where the elf was now tying something to the lowest branch of a tree.

  "The commander says she knows about magic bears," Vorris said. "She has seen one herself."

  Elda flushed. She had forgotten that Ohlt had explained Drenin to Jazra, during the night march from the battlefield. Jazra seemed not to have passed that bit of knowledge around.

  To cover her embarrassment, Elda turned away, and stared downhill. A moment later, the elf climbed onto the bear's back, and the furry beast ambled off.

  "I think they left a message for us," Elda said. "I'm going down to find it."

  Vorris shook his head. "I am the trained soldier."

  Unwanted chivalry always touched Elda the wrong way. She spat on the leaves before saying, "I am as trained for this world as you for yours. Also, I will recognize what they left, and you might not. Finally, you can cover me if it is a trap, but I cannot

  do the same without your rifle!"

  Elda sprang up, and scurried off down the slope before Vorris could reply. She didn't bother going down on her hands and k nees for a silent stalk until she was sure Vorris was not going to follow her.

  Gredin dismounted in front of the Fox and Feather, and was halfway up the front steps before anyone caught her horse. She was knocking when she saw Kalton Praug standing in the street.

  As grateful as she was to him for his fight against the Gyotsi—she might well owe him her life—she was not pleased to re him here. He seemed to spend considerable time roaming about in the neighborhood of the Fox and Feather, as if its customers were of great interest to him.

  She had overheard her parents, who thought she was asleep, t ilking about how Praug was looking for signs of Erick being a ghoul: Unnatural lights, sounds, smoke or fire, people coming and going at odd hours, and everything else that he and his masters called marks of evil.

  Gredin stamped down the stairs, and marched up to Kalton I'raug. He tried to look down at her, but for all her being shorter, this ploy failed.

  Instead, he growled, "What have you to say to me this morning, Maiden Gredin?"

  The way he pronounced "maiden" made her want to pull a double handful of his hair out by the roots. Instead she shrugged.

  "Only this. If you wish to know my reasons for visiting the box and Feather, I am visiting Erick Trussk. If you wish to know why I am visiting him, it is because he is my betrothed."

  She had not meant to say that last at all. Certainly she had not intended to say it so loudly that the whole street must have heard, it was early yet, but many windows were open to the morning air, and a few people were already on the street. She prayed to the

  Three Mothers that none of them had overheard her.

  The hold speech did one bit of good. It silenced Kalton Praug. He was still standing like a temple image when Gredin turned and strode back to the inn door.

  In fact, he was such a spectacle that Gredin laughed as she went in. The laughter died moments later, as she entered the taproom and saw Erick, sitting on a bench, his chest and limbs still bandaged, but taking his morning porridge and bread himself, with his one good hand.

  He laughed in turn as Gredin entered, and louder at the little squeak of horror she gave when she realized that he had probably heard her exchange with Praug.

  Grenna Tirmunt, Phaye's mother and mistress of the Fox and Feather, thrust her head over the counter between the taproom and kitchen, calling, "Now, enough of that, lad. Gredin was only trying to shut off Praug's yattering, and I'll say she succeeded. I could wish she'd turned him to stone, so we could ..."

  She went on in her usual cheerful fashion, but Gredin was not listening. She watched Erick's face turn to stone at Grenna's words; then saw him look at her, and seem to read the truth of those words on her face. He closed his eyes, with a man's reluctance to weep, but she could see his shoulders quivering.

  She walked up to his bench, and sat down beside him, then tore off a piece of bread and bit it, to keep her hands from shaking.

  "Erick. What I said out there. ... It was the truth. I am your betrothed—" a horrid thought nearly made her choke on the bread "—if you want me."

  It was hard for Erick to either kiss or hug her, so Gredin had to meet him more than halfway. It was Grenna who finally closed her mouth, pulled them apart, and laid down a tray with more porridge and bread, sausages, cheese, half a dried-apple tart, and a jug of herb tea with two cups.

  "Now, lass," Grenna said, with laughter in her voice, "since you've chosen your man, have a care. This is his first day up,

  and if you go on like this, it'll be his last for some while. You want him in fettle for the wedding night, don't you?"

  Then they were all laughing so hard nobody stopped to eat, until Erick finally had to, because of the pain the laughter was Hiving his battered ribs.

  • • •

  Hazlun, with a broken leg and broken ribs, could not sleep. The medikits had sleeping pills and soothers of every sort, but Hazlun did not care for them. They always exacted a price afterward, when you spent days or weeks sleepless and jittery while they flushed themselves out of your system.

  He realized that what was really bothering him was that even if it turned out that humans and Rael together could fight the Overseer, he would be out of the fight. He was not going to be back on duty for the most fascinating battle in the history of warfare.

  More immediately, Hazlun realized that he was hungry. The bowl of berries M'lenda had brought him was almost empty, but that and half a ration bar were all there was within reach.

  He picked up the bowl and grimaced as he saw that insects bad gnawed at some of the berries. The ration bar was hardly better off. If that wasn't mold growing on it—never mind that it was supposed to be mold-proof—Hazlun was a Trade Delegate.

  The thought of having only spoiled food brought to mind M'lenda's spell. For some reason it had sunk into his memory so that, although his decryptor could make no sense of the syllables, be could recite them perfectly.

  He reached for the ration bar, then stopped. Wasn't there something else? Oh, yes. A prayer, which seemed to be invoking some god, and a holy object.

  Hazlun made frustrated noises. What could be holy to a Rael, in the sense of being worshiped? It looked as if the Rael's lack of religion was going to be a problem.

  Except—if a holy book was one you referred to whenever you needed help, then his well-thumbed hardcopy of Advanced Display Graphics Technology might qualify. M'lenda had used her ring rather than a book, but she had said that there were such things as holy books.

  Hazlun pulled out the compact envelope that held Advanced Display Graphics Technology, and held it in one hand. Then he held up the ration bar in the other hand, and recited M'lenda's spell.

  Nothing happened. The bar simply sat there in his hand, showing as much activity as the slab top of a laboratory table.

  Hazlun tried again, and again; then became aware of Bruchs, who was on the other side of the tent. Bruchs was awake now, and staring at his fellow patient.
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  One more time, then he would have made a big enough fool of himself for one evening.

  The bar quivered. For a moment it seemed to blur, then it was again still in Hazlun's hand—except that now there was firm brown crust where there had been spots of mold. Even the smell of mold was gone.

  Hazlun cautiously took a bite. The bar tasted no better than they ever did, but instead of stale or moldy, it now tasted as if he had just unwrapped it. Or even as if he were eating it straight out of the synthesizer, before it had even been wrapped, barely before it had cooled.

  Hazlun gobbled the rest of the bar and belched, which drew a sour look from Bruchs. "What are you doing, gulping down that stuff? It's gone bad, anyway."

  "It had gone bad," Hazlun said carefully. He realized that Bruchs was an opportunity, not a nuisance. If the other Rael saw the same thing happen for a second time.. . .

  Hazlun's mind reeled back from the implications of this. For now, all he wanted was proof that he was not having a thoroughly comprehensive hallucination, involving all of his senses.

  "Bruchs." "Eh?"

  see these berries?"

  Hazlunn beld up the bowl.

  "I've seen garbage before," was Bruchs's answer. "What about Them ?"

  "Watch."

  With someone else watching, Hazlun was sweating and nearly stammering. So the first time, nothing happened. He was hardly surprised.

  Bruch's laughed. "I'm still watching."

  Hazlun went through some old fashioned concentration excercises, then thought of morning runs with his parents. They had both died in action before he joined the navy, but he could put in his mind a picture of them that was almost holographic In color and detail.

  Bruchs gasped. Hazlun looked at the bowl.

  All fifteen berries were as plump and clean as if they had just been picked. Their color was bright, their skins firm, their smell something that a starving man would kill for, and their flavor. ...

  They tasted as if they had been picked in the exact hour of perfect ripeness.