by C. M. Carney
He was nearly a head shorter than both Gryph and Ovrym, with a shaggy mop of unkempt hair surrounding a dark-skinned face. Ice blue eyes pierced the distance between them like a laser. A thin scar traced down his left cheek from jaw to cheekbone. As he eyeballed the tall xydai, the man known as Dirge traced the scar with an idle thumb, almost as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it.
Gryph saw Ovrym tense and knew that the warrior monk had been the one to give Dirge the scar. Gryph got ready for action, as this encounter was unlikely to go any better than that one.
“Been wondering these last few months if you were still alive,” Dirge said as he picked at his fingernails with a wickedly sharp dagger. “But part of me knew you were still around. Part of me knew all I had to do was wait for the sign. I didn’t know the sign would be such a little prick.”
“Stop squeezing Xeg, fat hairy thing.”
A heavy man emerged from the shadows, his sausage fingers clasped around Xeg’s thin neck. When Xeg saw them he grinned. In anger or joy, Gryph could not tell.
“Stupid blue-haired midget. See what trouble get Xeg into.”
“Of course,” Wick grumbled, gripping his staff harder. “Bet you didn’t even try to keep your mouth shut.”
“Fat hands want crush Xeg’s neck. Xeg like neck just fine. No want crushed. Xeg tell thin ugly face what want know. Xeg’s neck stay no crushed.”
Gryph felt the tension rise as Xeg laid out insults without care of consequence.
“We have somewhere we need to be,” Ovyrm said in a steady voice, his eyes never leaving Dirge’s.
“At first I wondered what would bring you back down here,” Dirge said. Then his voice changed to a mockery of Xeg’s. “Pretty lady need save,” Dirge squeaked before the strain of the tone caused him to cough and clear his throat. “Damn, how do you talk like that?” Dirge said, glancing at Xeg.
“Sound nothing like Xeg,” Xeg pouted.
Dirge chuckled to himself at the imp’s irritation, but then brought his focus to Gryph. “You are new to the neighborhood aren't you? How are you liking the accommodations?”
Gryph said nothing.
“Oooh, the strong, silent type. My favorite. What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Gryph, and I have no quarrel with you.”
Dirge walked up to Gryph, running a thin hand along Gryph’s chest and then down his arm and along his back. It was all Gryph could do not to flinch at the man’s predatory attention. This Dirge was skilled in the art of psychological warfare. He was trying to make Gryph uncomfortable. After a moment, sensing that Gryph was no easy target, Dirge gave up on the tactic.
“You’re the one who stirred up this hornet’s nest aren’t you? The vermin and the dead have been all aflutter these last few days. That’s when you arrived, isn’t it? What makes you so interesting?”
“Nothing. I’ve been here for weeks,” Gryph said. “So if you could point the way to the exit, I’ll gladly get out of your hair.”
Dirge laughed what seemed to be a genuine laugh. “Amusing and attractive,” Dirge said, taking Gryph’s chin in his hand.
Gryph did his best not to flinch and stared back into the man’s eyes.
“But I do not think so. You’re new to the Barrow. Your eyes don’t have that sunken desperation the rest of ours do. You still think there’s a way out don’t you?”
“There’s always a way out,” Gryph said. “You just have to do what is necessary to find it.”
“You may be right, my tall friend. And just what will you do to find it?” Gryph felt an odd twinge in his mind as Dirge stared at him. Without thinking he cast Mind Shield. Dirge jumped as the shell snapped around Gryph’s mind
“Well that was rude,” Dirge said. “But there are others ways of seeing truths. Dirge studied Gryph’s face, twirling his knife almost casually as he did. Gryph stared back with an unflinching gaze. He’d faced more skilled interrogators in his day. After a few moments, Dirge understood he would get nothing from Gryph and chuckled slightly.
"I wouldn’t trust this one Ovy, he has the look of a man who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals, even if that means tossing you and wee mohawk boy aside like last week’s fling.”
Wick glowered at the comment, even as Xeg chuckled under his breath at the insult. Dirge looked down on Wick. “This one’s yours if I’m not mistaken?” Wick said nothing. “A gnome chthonic summoner? I’m sure that went over well with the family.”
Wick tensed and gripped his staff tighter. Ovyrm extended a hand to the gnome’s shoulder, warning him with a calm grip. Dirge’s hand whipped up to Ovyrm’s neck and a small bead of blood pulsed from the xydai's jugular.
Gryph tensed, ready to move, but with a last motion Ovyrm warned Gryph off. A moment later he collapsed to one knee and then fell onto his side, muscles knotted in paralysis.
“That was a long time coming,” Dirge said with a satisfied sigh.
Gryph walked to his fallen friend and felt for a pulse. Ovyrm’s heart was beating at a normal rate and the xydai’s eyes were alert. “What did you do to him?”
“A little gift,” Dirge said, holding the index finger up. A thin needle protruded from a thimble like apparatus on his right hand. “He’ll be fine in a few hours.” The rogue moved his hands with a flourish, and the thimble disappeared somewhere in the folds of his clothing.
Dirge kneeled down and traced a line on Ovyrm’s face as if willing a matching scar to appear on the monk’s face.
“Did Ovy here tell you about me? We used to be the best of pals. Thick as thieves as the saying goes. Which was proper because we are all of us thieves.” Dirge stood and spread his hands around his assembled men. “We were brothers in blood. It broke my heart when I learned he no longer wanted to be buddies. I tried to talk some sense into him, but, he wouldn’t have any of it. Even left me with a parting gift.” Dirge rubbed the scar on his cheek with the thumb of his right hand.
“I’m afraid he didn’t mention you,” Gryph said, causing the wiry man to pause. Dirge did a good job of hiding his irritation, but Gryph saw it still. Dirge smiled and turned away.
“No? Too bad. We had some good times, Ovy and I. But enough reminiscing about old times. What can I do for you my new, strapping friend?”
“I want an alliance.” Gryph noticed that several of the men lurking around the cavern were eyeballing Ovyrm in a way that suggested they didn’t quite approve of Dirge or his methods. “With the Grey Company.”
“Interesting. To what end.”
“I already told you. I am leaving the Barrow.”
Dirge laughed again. “I think he just insulted us boys. Apparently without the great and wonderful Gryph, we’re too weak and stupid to figure a way out. Now that he’s here things will be just grand. Soon we’ll be having garden parties and singing songs and frolicking through the trees.”
Forced laughter spread through the assembled men and Gryph knew that every one of them pictured that very thing in their minds now. Dirge didn’t have quite the control over his men as he thought.
“I’m leaving the Barrow, but I need your help.”
“Okay, I like riddles and games. How?”
“We’re going to kill the Barrow King.”
A silence descended upon the room as the audacity of the idea wormed its way into every mind present. Even Dirge looked taken aback for a moment. But then, like a practiced actor getting into character, the thief smiled once more.
“Good plan, with just one minor issue. You know the Barrow King is already dead, right?”
“Doesn’t mean he cannot be killed. If the Grey Company will help.”
Several of the assembled men exchanged glances. It was clear to Gryph that while they still had their lives in the Barrow, they all knew that they were prisoners. For men like these, that had to be the worst torture.
Dirge must have sensed the tide in the room and was desperate to return to the status quo. “It isn’t so bad here. Our little corner of the Barrow is quite nic
e. It's easily defensible, has plenty of water, a farm, sure it's a fungus and root vegetable farm, but still fresh food. We even have our own tavern courtesy of Runveld over there.” Dirge indicated the burly sausage fingered man clutching Xeg.
Runveld grinned at the praise. Xeg took that moment to kick the brute in his stomach, a motion that earned an annoyed glance from the large Ordonian.
“No offense to Runveld and his fine fungus brew, but what I’m offering is a chance at life again. It won’t be easy. Some of us may not survive, but at least we’ll retain some control over our own lives.”
A pulse of anger surged through Dirge as the Aegtyptian sensed the tone of the room turn. He sidled up to Gryph, whispering in his ear.
“What’s your game friend?”
“No game,” Gryph whispered back, staring directly down into the thief’s blue eyes. “All I want is to get out. I have somewhere to be.” Gryph leaned in close. Lowering his voice. “And I know what happened between you and Ovyrm. I know the truth.”
Panic surged into Dirge’s eyes, and Gryph knew that Dirge’s grip on the Grey Company was tenuous. After a long moment where Gryph could feel Dirge’s thoughts testing his mental defenses, Dirge finally grinned. “You know, maybe you are onto something.” He turned back to his fellows and opened his eyes wide. “What say you fellas, feel like getting out of here?”
A lukewarm cheer rose among the men and many of them gripped their weapons, ready for action.
“I just have one condition,” Dirge said. “And it is non-negotiable.”
“Name it.”
“This one stays behind. Locked up and left.” Dirge nudged Ovrym with a toe. A small grunt came from the xydai’s mouth and his eyes locked onto Gryph’s. “He betrayed the Code. None of us will fight alongside him.”
Every man of the Grey Company nodded in agreement. Whatever this Code was it apparently held sway over these men. Gryph wished that Ovyrm had told him the truth of his banishment, but if Dirge’s moment of panic was any clue, then it was likely Dirge had been the one to betray this Code.
Gryph inhaled deeply and pretended to be deep in thought. After a moment he turned to Dirge. "Fine by me," Gryph said in his most casual tone. Dirge smiled. Wick reacted a little worse.
“You bastard. He got us down here and you’re just gonna leave him to this psycho?”
Dirge turned on the gnome. “You want to join him? The well has enough room for two if you don’t move around too much.” Wick’s eyes went wide in panic.
“We need him,” Gryph said. “I’ve seen the things he can do.”
Dirge thought for a moment and then waved his hand idly. “Fine, but keep him under control or my next sting will be for him.” Dirge nodded his head towards Ovyrm and one of the larger men hefted the fallen xydai onto his shoulder.
Without another word, Dirge exited the room. Some of his men filed out after him. Others eyed Gryph and Wick warily, waiting for them to leave. Wick glared anger at Gryph before leaving.
39
D irge led them on a circuitous path through the Barrow. Gryph knew the thief was doubling back on purpose in an attempt to prevent Gryph from gaining an accurate feel of the terrain. It would have been a smart tactic, but Gryph’s map auto updated. I wonder, does that only work for Players?
Eventually they emerged into a large cavern. Gryph imagined that in the days when the Barrow had been a tower, it had once been some kind of reception hall. The ceiling was at least thirty feet above their heads. Luminescent moss covered the walls casting a pleasant glow across the small village that dominated the chamber.
The efficiency of the setup surprised Gryph. Several neat lines of tents filled the cavern. A small brook babbled from the wall and skirted the wall where it fed a small field of plants before disappearing into the far wall. It wasn’t paradise, but one could do worse inside the Barrow. No wonder the Grey Company seemed content here.
The men carrying Ovyrm left the main group and brought the paralyzed xydai over to a well in the center of the chamber. They tied a rope around his chest and none too gently dumped him over the side where they lowered him down. Gryph paid only the slightest attention, feeling Dirge’s eyes on him.
A small grin crossed Dirge’s lips as he led them into a large tent where rows of dilapidated chairs butted up against stone blocks used as tables. He hadn’t been lying. They had their own pub, and while it wouldn’t make any Travel and Leisure top ten lists, it had a certain hominess to it.
Dirge snapped and held up three fingers. A barman poured two draughts of some brackish amber liquid and placed the gourd cups on the stone bar. Dirge picked up one and Gryph grabbed another. Wick sat unmoving, silent and fuming. Gryph knew that fear was eating at his friend.
Gryph placed his hand on the gnome’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, but we need a plan.”
Wick shrugged Gryph’s hand off and stood. “Make your plans and make them quickly. I will go it alone if I must.” Wick picked up his gourd of beer and threw it across the tent where it smashed against another table spilling the contents. Then he stomped out, came back in and grabbed a wineskin full of the rancid stuff that the barman was pouring.
“What the hell. You little bastard,” the barman said, but Dirge held up a hand to stop his complaints.
Wick stared at Gryph with a look of anger and hate that made Gryph’s veins turn to ice. Finally, the gnome turned and stomped out of the tent.
Dirge laughed and Gryph felt an intense need to punch the wiry man in the face. Instead Gryph raised his glass to the man in salute.
“To new friends,” Dirge said, hefting his cup high.
“To getting out of here,” Gryph countered and clapped his gourd against Dirge’s. The thief nodded and grinned.
Both men drank, but only Gryph’s faced screwed up in distaste. The liquid may technically be beer, but it was unlike any brew Gryph had ever tasted. Peaty, earthy and sour, the liquid burned as it went down. The aftertaste wasn’t any better, reminding Gryph of rancid meat.
Dirge laughed. “It takes some getting used to, but it packs a punch.” Dirge indicated a table and waited for Gryph to sit.
“So tell me about this plan of yours,” Dirge said taking another swig.
Gryph held out his hand palm up. “First, I need to know the lay of the land.” Dirge stared at Gryph’s hand and then up at him. Gryph could see the man’s mind working. Knowledge was power down here, but there was no logical reason for Dirge to withhold any. After all they were allies now.
Reluctantly Dirge placed his hand on top of Gryph’s and Gryph’s mental map expanded with knowledge. Gryph took a moment to examine the map. They seemed to occupy most of the tenth level of the one time tower. According to Dirge’s information the Barrow King occupied the lowest level, three levels down. The twelfth level was a warren of passages and dead ends filled with red trap icons and numerous enclaves of creatures Dirge had marked as the Dead.
“The Dead?”
“As in undead,” Dirge said, questioning Gryph’s blank look. “Where the hell are you from that you haven’t encountered the undead?”
“I’m new to the area. Can they be killed?”
Dirge eyed him suspiciously before speaking. “Sure, same as anything else. Hit them hard they’ll eventually go down. Lower level undead like skeletons and zombies are pretty easy. Revenants, spectres, wraiths and the more ethereal dead need silver or magic weapons."
"Now, the Barrow King is something different altogether. Technically he is some kinda lich.” Dirge saw Gryph’s blank expression and shrugged. “I'm going to regret this.”
“Just do your part and we’ll stay pals.”
“Anyway, a lich is the spirit of a powerful magician who has stuck around after death. Kinda foolish if you ask me since every sentient being in the Realms has an immortal soul that reincarnates after death as something new. Why get stuck as some half life monster when you can just come back as a newborn babe.”
“Power,” Gryph said.
Dirge nodded in assent as if he had never thought of it before, but knew it to be true.
“What’s on the next floor down?”
“Nothing really. Rats, some random monsters, but no organized force.”
“Seems a little odd.”
Dirge eyed Gryph a moment before answering. “It was part of the deal we negotiated.”
“Some deal.”
Dirge leaned forward, anger taking hold of him. “Judge me all you like my new friend, but all of us are still alive because of the deal. It has held for the last two years.”
Gryph realized that timeline likely matched up with Ovyrm’s exile from the Grey Company. “Then why agree to my plan?”
“Like you said, some deal,” Dirge said and took a sip of his beer, never once taking his eyes from Gryph.
Their talk turned to the casual. Dire told him about his home. A small town on the shores of the Gypt River, a massive waterway that stabbed through the desert lands to the west and gave rise to some of the most fertile lands in the Realms. “The most advanced civilization on Korynn,” Dirge boasted.
“Sounds lovely. Why’d you leave?”
“Let’s say a powerful noble and I didn't see eye to eye on a few things.”
Gryph gave Dirge a smug look.
“I may have bedded his daughter,” Dirge said, raising his gourd. Gryph nodded in understanding. “And his wives.”
Gryph spit up his drink in amusement. “Wives?”
Dirge held up three fingers as he took another sip from his gourd. Gryph laughed.
“What can I say, I have a particular skill with alchemy and my wares were popular with men of a certain age." Dirge held his forearm up in an unmistakable gesture. Dirge had made magic Viagra. "This noble was a longtime customer. Even introduced me to his wives.” Dirge winked and Gryph laughed again, a true belly laugh this time. “That isn’t the worst of it. Pretty sure the last straw on the camel’s back was the bedding on his favorite son.”
