by Robert Bevan
Satisfied that Mordred was secure, they mounted and rode full-throttle toward Cardinia. Dave the dog followed enthusiastically.
After just a few minutes of riding, their path was blocked by the enormous dead body of Falkor, the red dragon. Julian would have loved to hang out for a while and take a closer look at an actual dragon, but Tony the Elf, who was leading the way, didn’t even slow down. He jumped his horse over the dragon’s neck and continued galloping northward.
The next obstacle they came to was not so easily ignored. Tony the Elf reined his horse to a halt once they were in sight of the crossroads. Pouring out from the eastbound road onto the main road were hundreds and hundreds of orcs.
Chapter 35
Randy led his band of the king’s ex-prisoners to the Whore’s Head Inn. The twelve men had taken to calling themselves his disciples, which Randy was not at all comfortable with, but he believed their motivations were pure.
Loud, cheerful music greeted them as they bypassed the front door and walked around the inn to the gap in the wall. Two bards, one with a fiddle and the other with a set of pipes, played their instruments fervently near the door leading down to the cellar.
The mood of the patrons didn’t seem to match the jolly tune in the air. There was no singing or dancing. Most everyone was sitting at tables, listlessly nursing their beers.
“Tough crowd!” Randy shouted over the music.
Frank looked up from his seat on the bar. “Randy!” His gaze darted to the musicians, then back at Randy.
He hopped down and walked briskly toward Randy. They met at a table in the center of the dining area.
“Who are these men?” asked Frank. Even at the same table, Frank had to raise his voice to be heard over the music.
“They’re just some… friends.” Randy scanned the room. Everyone was staring at him and the twelve strangers he’d just brought into the place. Did they think…Oh no! Best get that clear straight away. “This ain’t, like, an orgy or nothin’, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Frank grimaced. “That had not even begun to cross my mind.”
Something was odd though. Randy couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Then it hit him. “Where’s Denise?”
“Randy, listen.” Frank’s tone suggested that Randy wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Stop the music.”
“Just hear me out.”
Randy turned to the musicians. “Stop the music!”
The two bards glanced nervously at each other, but continued to play.
“Randy,” said Frank. “Just give me a minute to explain.”
Randy stared coldly at Frank. “Rutger. Tobin. Please stop the music.”
“Right away, teacher.”
Two scrawny bards wouldn’t put up too much resistance against Randy’s two largest ‘disciples’.
The music stopped suddenly and was replaced by Denise’s muffled shouting.
“I said wake up, motherfucker! I’ll break every goddamn finger you got!”
“No!” said Randy, running to the cellar door. He kicked it as hard as he could, but it didn’t budge. Trying the handle, he found it to be unlocked. “Denise!”
“Aw shit,” said Denise. “You stay outta here, Randy!”
Randy took the stairs three at a time. What he found at the bottom was a grisly sight.
Denise’s knuckles were swollen and bloodied, but not half so much as the little halfling’s face.
Wister was still tied to the chair, still unconscious. Fresh blood dribbled out over crusted dry blood from his nose and mouth. His right eye was purple and swollen shut, and his left eye wasn’t much better.
“I’m sorry, Randy,” said Denise, backing up against the wall. “We put this to a vote. You need to respect the democratic pro—”
Randy punched her as hard as he could in the face, relishing the crunch of her nose. He resisted the urge to heal Wister right then and there. These people had to see what they had allowed to happen.
He picked up Wister, still tied to the chair, and walked him up the stairs. He was met with gasps and averted eyes when he pushed open the cellar door.
“I know this looks bad,” said Frank.
“It is bad,” said Randy.
“We want to go home. You’re not thinking straight because you’re a paladin. The game has given you a rigid set of morals.”
“I don’t need to be no paladin to see this is wrong,” said Randy. He pointed at Wister. “Last I checked, that’s still a human being, and this is still America!”
“Actually, neither of those things you just said is true.”
Randy spoke louder, addressing the whole inn. “Y’all know you done wrong. And I know you know you done wrong, on account of you had them two bards playing outside the door so you didn’t have to hear this little guy getting the shit beat out of him.”
He placed his hand on Wister’s feverish, sweaty forehead. “In Jesus Christ’s name, I heal you.”Wister’s head cooled as the swelling subsided from his eyes. Within seconds, he was perfectly healthy, but still unconscious.
“I can’t let you cut him loose,” said Frank.
“I don’t intend to cut him loose,” said Randy. “I’ll give him a proper interrogation when we return.”
“We who? And return from where?”
“There’s still the matter of your atonement. The Lord has provided an opportunity for all of you to clear your souls.”
The mood of the inn lightened as a murmur of light laughter spread through the crowd.
Frank smirked. “What, do we have to say ten Hail Marys?”
“No,” said Randy. “You need to fight. The city is about to get besieged by orcs, and the king’s army ain’t big enough to fend them off.I’ve volunteered us to help defend the city.”
The murmur of the crowd rose, but no longer had any trace of laughter.
“You did what?” said Frank.
“It’s time to stop pretending. We get to be heroes for real!”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” asked Frank. “There’s no way we’re going to risk our lives to defend some imaginary city.”
Randy nodded. “I reckoned you might say that. You should know that failure to show up will be regarded as an act of treason, and I will be compelled to report you.”
From the look in Frank’s eyes, Randy could tell that he both believed him and understood the gravity of being arrested for treason.
“Randy,” Frank pleaded. He gestured at the silent crowd. “A lot of these folks have families they need to get home to.”
“And what about the people of this city?” demanded Randy. “You think they don’t have spouses and kids, or eggs, or larva, or whatever?”
“This is a game, Randy. None of this is real. What happens here doesn’t matter.”
“It’s gonna matter when this city is overrun with orcs, and Timmon Bloodsoul shows up with his magic penis.”
Wettle cleared his throat. “It’s the Phantom Pinas.”
“We’re so close,” said Frank. “We’ve got the dice. We’ve got Mordred. Don’t ask us to die in this game.”
“We don’t know that’s Mordred,” said Randy. “And now that you done beat him into a coma, it may be a while before we is able to find out for sure. In the meantime we still need a place to live. And from what I gather, this Timmon Bloodsoul ain’t coming to establish no change in government. He’s coming to kill us all.”
“Then we can flee north.”
Stuart, the bald man who was familiar with the Dragonlance books, stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s Mordred,” he said, looking at Wister.
“What are you talking about?” said Frank. “You were the one who was so adamant about him being Mordred before. You convinced us!”
“And now I’m not so sure.”
“What about the Red Robes of Neutrality?”
“I’m not saying it’s definitely not him.”
“Then
what are you saying?”
“I know the legend of Timmon Bloodsoul and the Phantom Pinas,” said Stuart. “I don’t know how I know it. Must be a Local Knowledge check or something. But Randy’s right about this guy being bad news.”
“So what’s that got to do with the halfling tied to the chair?”
“Do you really think it’s a coincidence that one of the biggest bads in the world is headed our way, out of the blue, right after Mordred showed up? The king thinks he’s coming for him, but if Mordred’s pulling the strings, I’ve got a hunch he’s actually coming for us.”
Frank folded his arms. “So what do you propose we do?”
“If we’re going to have to square off with Timmon Bloodsoul, I’d rather do it with the king’s army backing us up.”
Frank frowned. “It’s just as well, I suppose. Randy here hasn’t left us much choice in the matter.”
“What do we do with him?” asked Stuart, nodding down at Wister.
Frank glanced up at Randy, then looked away, like he was having thoughts he’d prefer Randy wasn’t privy to. “You really don’t think this is Mordred?”
Stuart shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Then we should hold on to him for the time being, if that’s okay with the paladin.” Frank looked up at Randy.
Randy nodded. “For the time being.” He picked up Wister by the chair and started down the steps.
“Some of you guys come and help me lug all the weapons crates out of the cellar,” said Frank. He and a few others followed Randy down the stairs.
Having placed Wister as comfortably as possible in the corner, Randy nudged Denise with his foot. “Come on, you. Wake up. It’s time to go.”
Denise groaned as her eyes opened.
“What the hell happened to her?” asked Frank. “She looks like her face got hit by a truck. Did you do that to her?”
“I did.”It only now occurred to Randy how bad the scene looked.
“What kind of paladin punches a woman in the face?”
“I deserved it!” said Denise. “I… I talked back to him.”
“Denise!” Randy knew that Denise only blurted out the first thing that popped into her head to cut off Randy from exposing her secret, but why did the first thing to pop into her head have to make him look like some kind of habitual domestic abuser?
Frank shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“This ain’t how it looks,” said Randy. He wanted so badly to tell everyone the truth, that Dennis was not only a man, but a dirty cop, an attempted child rapist, and to point out that he’d just admitted to thinking talking back to a man was justification for hitting a woman. But he’d made a promise to keep Denise’s secret, and he was compelled to honor that promise. He’d have to diffuse this situation by some other means. He reached down to lay his hand on Denise’s head.
“Don’t you touch her!” said the big girl, Rhonda.
Randy jerked his hand away and backed off as Rhonda rushed forward to help Denise to her feet.
“I was just gonna heal her.”
“She’s had enough of your healing.You’re never going to touch her again.” Rhonda escorted Denise up the stairs. Denise, for her part, said nothing in Randy’s defense.
Gus, the gay half-orc who Randy had been itching to have a long conversation with now that he was out of the closet, shook his head at him as he picked up a crate full of pieces of armor. As he and the others hauled crates up the stairs, Frank took Randy aside.
“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” said Frank.
“What makes you think that?” said Randy.
“You’re not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.”
“Thank you?”
Frank smiled. “But I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t have to. You punched Denise in the face before you healed the halfling.”
“That is correct.” Randy didn’t know where Frank was going with this.
“Something doesn’t add up,” said Frank. “Paladins are held to a strict moral standard. If you willingly commit an evil act, such as punching a woman in the face for talking back to you, you should have been immediately stripped of your healing powers.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’ll respect your privacy on the specifics, but just tell me this. There’s more to you and Denise than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
Randy nodded. “There is.”
“You’re not the most popular guy at the Whore’s Head Inn right now.”
“I recognize that.”
“Maybe, for your own safety, it’s best that we travel separately to South Gate.”
That sounded a lot like a threat, but Randy gave Frank the benefit of the doubt and took it as genuine concern for his wellbeing. “I won’t leave you alone with Wister.”
“I understand that,” said Frank. “I’ll lead our people out first, then you come along in a little while with your new friends.”
Randy nodded and sat down on the floor.
Frank patted him on the shoulder. “See you at South Gate.” He hopped up the stairs and closed the door behind him.
Randy sat in silent contemplation. His disciples weren’t friends. They were nice enough folks, but they revered him without even knowing him. The closest thing he’d had to actual friends were the folks at the Whore’s Head Inn, and now they all thought of him as some sanctimonious piece of wife-beating white trash who was sending them off to face certain death.
He waited until the bustle of people donning their armor and readying their weapons died down, then trudged up the stairs to meet his disciples.
Chapter 36
In exchange for some intentionally vague promises, Tim had managed to score himself two big bags full of Arby’s roast beef sandwiches and curly fries. He’d even pilfered a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of Arby’s Sauce from off a tabletop.
He was out of booze and out of money, but otherwise feeling pretty good. His head beginning to clear, the thought about what Randy and Dave had told him in the car on the way to the Beauregard Casino, and what Cooper had told him in the bar two nights ago.
There was no point denying it anymore. Tim was a fuckup, and the only person who could change that was him. He’d start with a peace offering of roast beef sandwiches and curly fries to the people of the Whore’s Head Inn. They were a forgiving bunch, and nobody could resist Arby’s.
The streets were damn near deserted as Tim hugged his two Arby’s bags and walked briskly toward the Collapsed Sewer District.
Approaching from the rear, Tim first noticed that the trunk of the piss tree was bone dry.
“Nobody thought to water you today? Hang in there, buddy. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The next thing he noticed was how quiet the Whore’s Head Inn was. No low murmur of conversation. No clink of glasses. Nothing. It was eerily quiet, as if everyone was waiting for Tim to step inside before they shouted “SURPRISE!”, or murdered him or something.
He briefly considered arming himself, but decided against it. This was a peace offering, after all.
“Hello?” he called inside. There was no answer. That was weird. This place was never empty. “Don’t kill me. I’ve got Arby’s.” He stepped in through the gap in the wall. Not another living soul in sight. “Where the fuck is everybody?”
It was getting late in the evening, when everyone was usually coming back from their various assigned tasks and money-making jobs. This place should be hopping right now. Judging by some strewn articles of clothing, upturned supply crates, and the amount of unfinished beer glasses on the tables, Tim guessed there had been a sudden evacuation sometime in the early afternoon, but what could have prompted that, unless…
“Those motherfuckers. They did it.”
Tim was both giddy and nervous at the same time. He calmed his nerves with the aid of an unattended glass of be
er. He tried to think of other possible explanations for everyone to just up and leave the Whore’s Head Inn all at once, but couldn’t come up with any. There was only one possible explanation. They’d found Mordred, and forced him to send them home.
A wave of panic washed over Tim as he munched on a curly fry. Had he missed the bus? Had he gotten left behind? He shook the thought out of his head. They wouldn’t do that to him. He’d been kind of an asshole lately, but not that big of an asshole. They were good people. They would have thought up some kind of contingency plan for those who weren’t currently at the inn.
And that’s another thing. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t here when everyone left. He knew for a fact that Cooper wasn’t in the city. And Dave, Julian, and Stacy were out on some fishing trip. Even if they’d leave Tim behind, they wouldn’t leave Julian and Stacy. Everybody liked Julian and Stacy. All he had to do was to hang around and wait for the next bus.
Tim couldn’t wait to meet Stacy again on the other side. The first things he’d do when he got back would be shave, take a shower, and put on some nice clothes. Not too nice. Keep it casual. He’d ask her to… The Olive Garden. Perfect. The one in D’Iberville. Casual, ironic, and it wouldn’t put her on the spot about it being a date date. It would just be two friends sharing a meal and a common memory after coming through a –“What the fuck was that?”
Tim scooted his chair back. Wooden chair leg scraping against wooden floor. The same as the sound he’d just heard, but it was coming from the cellar. It appeared that he wasn’t here alone after all.
Tim armed himself with a dagger in one hand and a roast beef sandwich in the other, giving him some options as to how he could face whoever was in the cellar.
