The Dungeoneers: Blackfog Island

by Jeffery Russell

  “They’re getting older,” Nibbly said. “The wrecks. The further in we go the older they get.” He pointed at the shipwreck in front of them. The ship looked to have landed nose first then toppled over upside down. The hull was sharp and narrow and lined with oar-holes, oars protruding like gangly insect legs. “That’s a Mondolian Raider. Ain’t been one o' those around since Kordavia sacked Glassport, what, hunnert or so years ago?”

  “Blackfog has been around for awhile,” Thud said.

  “Aye, but it implies that it’s been growin'. Like, maybe this was the outer edge when Mondor still had a navy. Don’t see any other way ships coulda gotten this far in.”

  “The chasm is getting larger the further we go,” Durham said. He’d been regularly pacing off the chasm width as they’d traveled. “Every time one of those branches joins up it seems to add to this one.”

  “Ruby and I are bothered about everything bein' wet and having barnacles and seaweed,” Thud said. “Cause that tells us that these chasms move around. All o' this has been underwater recently.”

  Nibbly paled slightly. “You think they move slow or fast?”

  “Consider it a point o' suspense.”

  “Slow,” a non-dwarven voice said from above. It was a deep and booming voice. There were plenty of dwarves with deep voices; it could almost be said to be the default tone. But to get a boom like that required a resonance chamber larger than the dwarven torso could accommodate.

  Every face looked up. Standing atop the wreckage in front of them was a giant.

  He was a little giant, as far as giants went. More of an ogre, on second glance. Thud had seen a giant or two, one almost as tall as a fir tree, and he’d heard stories of larger ones. The biggest was popularly known as ‘Gorm’ and was said to tower into the clouds, with a stride so great that one foot could step on a village and then the next set down on one in an entirely different postal code. Stories usually placed him further north which is what made Thud suspicious as to the truth of the stories. It seemed to him that eventually a giant would get around to turning and with a stride like that a Northern giant would become a Southern giant in the space of a leisurely stroll.

  This particular giant looked about four dwarves high. He was definitely of giant stock, his lower half nearly a third again as bulky as his upper in order to support his mass. His ears were set so low they seemed to sprout from his neck and he had a forehead that sloped like Keezix on two-for-one ale night. He had a crossbow the size of a small ballista casually laid on his shoulder. Their own ballista was disassembled into about a dozen parts across almost as many dwarves.

  “Name’s Rend,” the giant said. “I’m guessing you folks are new here. Heard a ship come down last night while I was out walking hereabouts. That yours?”

  “Might have been,” Dadger said. He stepped forward as he spoke, the motion drawing the giant’s attention. Every other dwarf took the opportunity to take a large step toward the nearest cover.

  Rend’s brow furrowed. “You a dance troupe? Like a circus act?”

  “We have many skills,” Dadger said. “Synchronized dance being among the least of them. The name is Dadger Ben and we are delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  “Polite li'l guy, ain’t ya?” the giant said.

  “Obliged, I’m sure.”

  “You got any wounded folk need seein' to? There’s a healer not far off.”

  “You have a camp of some sort?”

  “S'pose you could call it that,” Rend said. Was that a hint of a laugh in his voice? “Why don’t the rest of you step on out and let me have a look at you?”

  Thud stood slowly. Taking the cue, Vanguard emerged from cover. They stepped forward into a line, shields dropping in practiced unison, latching together to form a barrier wall. Even two members down they looked intimidating.

  “Relax!” Dadger said. He gave a placating wave of his hand. “Master Rend here seems a friendly sort.” It was the standard jolly dwarf, grumpy dwarf routine. Thud liked to err on the side of grumpy dwarves as far as numbers went. They carried more weight than the jolly dwarves when the bolts started flying.

  The giant, for his part, still held the ballista insouciantly on his shoulder.

  “We’re just shipwreck survivors like yourselves,” Rend said. “We’re all in the same wrecked boat.” He gave a snort of laughter at his joke. Then he frowned. “Why does a dance troupe have shields?”

  “The Ka'naa'kta-Cha! It’s a very traditional dwarven dance,” Dadger said.

  It was a code, of sorts. ‘Safe,’ in Dwarven, along with a load of garble. Thud was impressed by the number of apostrophes Dadger had managed to work in without having a seizure. He was in agreement, though, and being friends with a giant had all sorts of things to recommend it over getting into a fight with one.

  “We’ll have ‘em dance it for ya later,” Thud said, reserving himself the opportunity to enjoy watching Vanguard try and improvise a dance involving shields. He saw them exchanging looks with each other as they dismantled the shield wall. The rest of the Dungeoneers emerged from cover. Thud had confirmed Dadger’s 'safe’ assessment by speaking without countermanding it.

  “Lot of you, ain’t there?” Rend rubbed his forehead with long, thick fingers. “But there ain’t much to each of ya so I reckon that works out the same.”

  Sensitivity to height references was a common dwarven stereotype among the other races. And while dwarves could certainly be sensitive about jokes regarding their height, a simple reference to the fact of their lack of it didn’t bother them. After all, it was a statement of fact and dwarves were inclined to a tactical mindset. At least, that was the stereotype. From the dwarven perspective the actuality was that, diminutive races aside, everyone else was overly tall. Their height had many advantages on the battlefield. They were hard to hit with arrows as everyone else was a taller target and they were easy to overlook. Most enemies also had plenty of weak spots from the waist down as can be attested to by anyone who’d faced a charge of the 83rd Tactical Regiment of Kheldarian Groin-Lancers. Giants had the opposite problem, making it difficult to ever persuade any giants to join on the battlefield. When a giant came striding out every enemy archer in a quarter mile had an irresistible target.

  “We’re able and reasonably supplied,” Thud said, picking up on the giant’s concerns. “We’ll be more benefit than burden. We do have some wounded, being tended to back at our shipwreck. We can worry ‘bout transporting them later after we have a look at your situation.”

  Rend nodded. “Guess you’d better follow me then. It ain’t too far.” He turned and cupped his hands to his mouth. “AWOOOOOOO!”

  “One mystery solved,” Ruby murmured.

  “Now they’ll be expecting us,” Rend said. He frowned and rubbed his forehead again then turned and disappeared down the other side of the wreck. Thud didn’t get the sense that the frown had been a general sort of frown. That had been a specific frown and it looked like the giant had been directing it at Ruby.

  ***

  The Water Slider had landed upright at the juncture of a joining channel, leaving a large open space around her sides and bow. The aft of the ship extended through into the sea, the wall of water claiming a quarter of the ship. It looked as if she were sailing out of the ocean. She’d been a big one. Some kind of cargo vessel that Thud didn’t know the name of. Her hull and lowest decks had crushed on landing but her upper decks remained intact. It was an older wreck, as evidenced by the barnacles crusting her rails, but the debris had been cleared from her deck, the remains of the rigging and sails cleared way. Light streamed from her portholes, yellow torchlight mixing with the weird blue light outside to create a green glow around her. A hole in the starboard bow with a curtain across it served as a door. Someone was playing a lute inside and singing.

  “We’ve fixed her up a little bit,” Rend said. “Tried to make her a bit homey. I’d best go in first and announce y'all.” He frowned, again in Ruby’s direction, t
hen lumbered off toward the ship. Thud made his way to Ruby.

  “So,” he said. “What’s this I hear about you and giants?”

  “You noticed that too, eh?” Ruby said. “I’ve not met a giant before. I’m certain I would have made note of that if I had. Makes me think he was looking at my stole.”

  The stole was what marked her as a scribe. Knee length and black with the sigil of the Athenaeum at the ends. It stood out against her red robe. Scribes had immunity nearly everywhere they went. From throne rooms to battlefields, scribes could stroll in safety and write their accounts.

  The music inside had stopped. Vanguard were idling, all of their shields just happening to be directed toward the ship in such a way as to obscure the crossbows behind them. After a minute a figure appeared up above at the deck rail, looking down. An elderly human woman, stooped near horizontal, face framed with a wild tangle of gray hair. A scribe stole hung from her neck.

  Ruby stepped forward. Thud angled his lantern to cast her in its light. The old woman looked at her for a long time.

  “Kimber?” she asked.

  “Ruby, now,” Ruby said. There was astonishment in her voice. “Is that Aldine?”

  The old woman cackled. “They call me The Hag, now. I think you got the better nickname.”

  “It’s been…how long?”

  “Near sixty, give or take a decade. Last I saw you you were marching out the Athenaeum gate with your brand new stole and your brand new boots because your feet were still growing.” She leaned forward and squinted. “Looks like they haven’t stopped yet.”

  “I forgot to tell you,” Ruby said. “I borrowed your brush and never got to return it. I see you’ve not replaced it.”

  “The hair goes well with the nickname.”

  “Good, because I sold your brush to buy bigger boots.”

  Aldine shrieked with laughter, Ruby joining her.

  Thud coughed.

  “Yes, yes,” Ruby said. “I’m getting to it.” She turned back to Aldine. “These are The Dungeoneers. I’d introduce them all to you but we’re old enough to place more value on our time than that. They can all line up and state their names for you later if you want them too.”

  “Reminds me of my university days,” Aldine said.

  “I’m positive I don’t want to know. Are you going to invite us in?”

  “I’m getting to that. Dungeoneers, eh? What an interesting place for you to find yourselves. By all means, come aboard and we’ll see if we have room for you all.”

  Twenty yards away a figure crouched behind a tumble of barrels. He’d listened. He’d counted heads. He’d made note of weapons. Now he studied the shipwreck, its holes and approaches. He grinned, his golden tooth gleaming in the flickering blue light. There were a lot of merits in his future. He turned and crept away.

  ***

  The interior of the Water Slider had been cleared of debris. The ship’s cargo space and the broken decks above combined to give the wreck a cavernous interior. Lanterns were hung along ropes strung from the edges of the broken decks. The decks had been repurposed as sleeping areas. At the base of it all a bar had been set up, a small stage before it with tables and chairs circled around. A dozen people were scattered about the room, still more faces peering down from the balconies above. Rend was at the bar, arms crossed, waiting, his head nearly at the level of the next deck up.

  The bard they’d heard from outside was sitting on a stool at the center of it, pretending to tune his lute during the bustle of the dwarves arrival. He was an orc, gold rings in his tusks and silver rings in his braids. His clothes were rich and bright. Stage clothes for a grand festival.

  To say that orcs and dwarves had a history of antagonism would be akin to saying that the sun was bright, a fact both obvious and understated. Dwarves had a history with every cave-dwelling race, the two most notable being orcs and goblins. Goblins came from the deep caves and desired caves close to the surface for access to food. Orcs came from the surface but desired caves for their defensibility. The dwarves, as the typical inhabitants of the desired caves, had a history of being caught in the middle of conflicts with the orcs on one side and the goblins on the other. Orcs weren’t popular with most of the surface races to begin with as they raided the areas around their caves for food. Orcs were not skilled farmers.

  Most kingdoms had an unofficial ‘kill on sight’ allowance when it came to orcs. If you burst into an orc den, murdered everyone there and hauled off all of their valuables, the least of your concerns was the local sheriff making a fuss about it. It was one of the standard ways of obtaining the initial financing for an adventuring company. The Dungeoneers were professionals but that didn’t mean that they didn’t have more than a few members that had taken part in any of the innumerable conflicts with the orcs. Some of them were more a behavior concern than others.

  Thud leaned over and whispered in Ginny’s ear. “Might wanna step back out and pop the hood over Gryngo’s head so he goes to sleep. Last thing we need is him coming here and trying to kill the entertainment.” Ginny nodded and darted back out.

  Aldine appeared up top, where the captain’s cabin had been. It looked to now be serving as the entryway onto the top deck. She began descending the steep flights of steps that led to the lower areas, a process that involved falling from step to step and catching herself with a cane. Everyone else was silent, looking at the new arrivals. The only noise was the repetitive shuffle, thump, thump, shuffle thump, thump of Aldine coming down the stairs. One flight. Two. Three. Thud cleared his throat and felt everyone’s attention shift to him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a tip of his top-hat that turned into a sweeping bow. “We are at your service.”

  The room was silent.

  “Dadger!” he hissed.

  “Ah, yes,” Dadger said. “Sorry, I was appreciating the excruciating level of awkwardness you were achieving there.” He stepped forward and bowed grandly. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “You just did the same thing that I did but with different words!”

  The bard leaned toward Rend. “Are you sure they’re a dance troupe?”

  “The shields throw you off a bit,” the giant admitted.

  Dadger silenced Thud with a quick gesture then looked at the orc and smiled. “Surely you are familiar with the Ka'naa'kta-Chakey?” Dadger asked, gesturing at the lute. Caution, he warned.

  The orc arched an eyebrow. “Can’t say that my repertoire of Dwarven dance tunes is that inclusive.”

  Rend’s voice came rumbling down from above. “I thought you called it the Ka'naa'kta-Cha?”

  “Your memory is astonishing!” Dadger said. “Sadly, the Ka'naa'kta-Cha requires five dwarves to dance it and, as you know, one of our number was injured in the shipwreck. Is there someone in charge that we might speak to regarding accommodation? You, perhaps?” he said to Aldine as she completed her descent with a final thump, shuffle, thump, thump, sptang.

  She cackled. “Right! They put someone named ‘The Hag’ in charge. No, you want Korak there.” She pointed at the orc.

  “You…umm…you put the bard in charge?” Dadger asked.

  “He’s captain around here.”

  The orc favored them with a tusky grin, gold loops glittering. It was the sort of grin a cat might give a mouse that had just turned the wrong corner.

  “Well met, I’m sure!” Dadger said. “You’re not actually a bard, are you?”

  “Not any more than you’re a dance troupe.” Perfect Karthorian with no accent.

  “A convenient misunderstanding at the time, easily rectified,” Dadger said. “Allow me to introduce The Dungeoneers. Dungeons sacked, relics recovered, no job too big or too small.”

  “Adventurers, eh?”

  “Professionals,” Thud corrected automatically.

  Korak set the lute down and stood. He craned his neck to see over the dwarves. It didn’t take much craning.

  “
Is that Skulk back there? Samona’s mate?”

  Skulk stepped out from behind Durham. Had he been trying to hide there? Was that a bit of hesitation in his step?

  “Captain Korak, sir,” he said.

  Korak’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s Samona? How do you come to be here?”

  “We came on the…”

  “Speak up!”

  “We came on the Squiffy. Samona wasn’t with us. He got taken by Laughing Larry.”

  “You’re on Samona’s ship without Samona?”

  “We’re after him to rescue him. Didn’t steal it.”

  Was this a trial occurring? Over a rule either bent or broken?

  “Laughing Larry brought Samona here?” Korak asked. His tone was that of someone playing along with a joke, waiting for the punchline.

  “Aye,” Skulk said. “Larry’s after something here.”

  “And you so pure of heart that you followed them into the depths of Blackfog to rescue your captain and return his ship to him?”

  “Samona hired us,” Thud said, deciding Skulk was overdue a defense witness. “We’re acting in his interests and that includes rescuing him. We don’t know if Laughing Larry made it here or not. We lost track of him somewhere around the tentacle monster. Maybe it’s time you provided a few answers of your own. What are you doing here?”

  Korak shrugged. “We sailed, got surrounded by darkness, then we fell. We explored a bit then picked this as a good place to settle in. We’ve been down here for a month.”

  “You’re all crew from the same ship?”

  “Only some. Most of my crew were lost.” The loss was still strong in his voice. “Others here are from a wreck a couple of weeks ago, some from one a few days back.”

  “But no one that’s been here longer than a month?”