by Phil Tucker
“But then where are you getting your food from?”
“Whomever destroyed Feldgrau wasn’t that intent on looting. I’ve been carefully working my way through the surviving homes, finding any preserved goods in their pantries. I’ve been living off the mayor’s house this past week. Here. Look.” She took up her hemp sack and began to empty it out. Half a dozen small clay jars, their lacquered surfaces gleaming in her light. A hunk of cured meat, furry with mold. Three waterskins, and six wizened little apples.
My stomach howled and my mouth filled with spit. “I’ve never lusted after old apples before. May I?”
She laughed and tossed me one, which I immediately bit into. The taste was sharp and tangy and made me moan as the corners of my jaw cramped up in delight. I devoured it in three bites, and nearly ate the core.
“You know, if it weren’t for the threat of near certain death, the patrolling undead, the draugrs, and all the rest of it, I’d be spending every moment eating these apples.” I dropped the core on the floor and grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something so good. Not even in real life.”
Lotharia winked at me and cut through the waxen seal over one of the jars. She raised it to her nose and sniffed. “Ah, yes. Pâté. Perfect with… well, cured ham.” She used her knife to scrape off the mold, then sliced a thick cut of ruby-red cured meat clear from the bone. She lathered pâté onto it, rolled it into a tube, then took a large bite. “Excushe me,” she said around her mouthful, “as I shlowly die of delight.”
We devoured it all and finished the wine, too. For a while I lazily considered opening another bottle. Lotharia’s light was growing slightly dimmer, more intimate, and I thought that her half-lidded gaze was more appreciative than it had been before.
Who was I kidding? I had charisma nine. Even if I wanted to seduce her, I didn’t have the skill, and would probably end up banging my head into her nose or insulting her looks in an attempt to flatter her. I smiled in amusement.
“This is the nicest evening I’ve had since I arrived here,” she said, voice half dreamy. “Talking stats and eating moldy meat. Exactly what I hoped for when I snuck back into my corporate account.”
I snorted. “Couldn’t agree more. Totally lives up to the hype. This is by far the coziest, most inviting and decadent wine cellar I’ve ever had to hide in for fear of my mortal life. Ten out of ten.” I paused. “Snuck back into?”
Lotharia’s eyes widened as she realized her slip, but she covered it with admirable skill. She gave an airy wave of her knife. “Well, I suppose I’m technically no longer part of the company at this point. I was surprised they hadn’t shut the account down, to be honest.”
I smiled. “You’re sneaking in here? Must be a really big corporation for them not to notice an active Euphoria account.”
“Yeah, pretty big. I don’t miss it.” She studied her knife blade. “And it probably wasn’t the smartest move on my part, logging back in. But—well. I needed the diversion.”
“Why? Your life suck really bad or something?” I winced. “Sorry.”
She’d stiffened at my words and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Something like that. I thought some time partying with Jeramy and Hannah and the rest of my old friends would cheer me up. Ha!” She wiped her blade on her thigh and then sheathed it. “Yet another genius move on my part. Some party I logged back into.”
I didn’t know what to say. Nor did I trust Euphoria to not twist whatever I tried. So I simply sat there, thinking about the second wine bottle, watching Lotharia and wondering what her story was.
Finally, she looked up. “So, what’s our long-term plan here?” Strange. You’d think with her higher levels and experience she’d be the one taking control.
“Survival, obviously. But yeah. We need some kind of a plan. I’m hoping Brianna’s going to come back looking for me, so I say we leave her a message in the highland meadow. Then we find a new safehouse and hunker down, focusing on smart leveling till she can teleport us the heck out of here.”
“Sounds good. I’m suddenly dying to meet your ex.” Her eyes were nearly closing.
“Only complete and utter idiots say that,” I said, then held up both hands. “Damn it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Charisma nine.” She grabbed her cloak and pulled it over herself. “Don’t worry. Your complete ineptness is kind of cute.”
I went to reply, only to realize she’d fallen asleep. I watched her and mulled over the day. I was still alive. That was the most important thing. And I’d made an ally I wouldn’t mind spending time with, which was almost as good. While things were still suicidally awful, at least there was a modicum, the tiniest fraction of hope.
Eyelids closing, I realized I’d never actually spent the XP on Astute Observer. Rousing myself, I summoned my character sheet and tapped the talent. It glowed and appeared beneath my short list of items.
And just like that, a number of details about the wine cellar that I’d missed came swimming into view through my lethargy. The third rung below the trapdoor was in danger of pulling free. Lotharia had brought two kinds of sealed jars: two more tan ones like the first pâté jar she’d opened, and three slightly darker brown ones we’d not tried. A strange seam ran from ceiling to floor down the wall behind the wine shelving. Lotharia’s scepter had somehow disappeared altogether, and I’d not even noticed. I could smell draugr blood coming from my sheathed dagger, reminding me I hadn’t cleaned it, and I thought I could hear the sound of wind building up above, like a nascent storm.
I sat there, entranced. Anything I stared at seemed to grow slightly clearer, as if an invisible lens had swung before it, giving it a subtle magnification.
I looked closely at Lotharia. Was this what she looked like in real life? Probably not. There was no telling who she really was. But even under my new scrutiny she looked good. Real, somehow, and not some idealized and fake beauty. There were a few improbable gray strands mixed in with the black above her temple, which in time might become an actual streak; the hardness that I’d noted in her features had given way in sleep, and I caught a glimpse of what she might have looked like during her happier years here in Euphoria. It made me want to help her escape this wretched hellhole of a village, get her somewhere she could relax again and be herself.
Sleep began to steal over me. I fought it for as long as I could. How long had I been in Euphoria? Six hours? Maybe eight? That meant I’d been lying on my table in the docking station back in Miami for fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty all told.
I shook my head and gave a bemused smile. All this in just fifteen minutes. Amazing.
Warm, well fed, comfortable and with a faint glow of growing confidence, I allowed myself to fall asleep. Sure, I was still a level one noob. But things were looking up.
6
The sound of scratching woke me. Slight but persistent, and coming from the trapdoor. Lotharia was still asleep. Despite the adrenaline dumping into my system, I couldn’t help but feel a spike of satisfaction. Astute Observer for the win.
“Psst,” I hissed. Dust was sifting down from between the slats. It sounded like a dog pawing at the wood, trying to get in. “Lotharia. Company.”
“Hmmph?” She sat up and automatically activated her screen in the way some people check their phones first thing. “Mana’s only at six. What’s going on?”
I rose to a crouch. The scratching intensified, as if two sets of claws were now working on the wood. “Draugrs, I’m thinking. They’ve tracked us already.”
“Damn,” said Lotharia. “There’s no other way out. We’ll have to fight them.”
“Next base we find will have two exits,” I muttered, drawing my knife. My mind was already spinning through our options as I pulled up my sheet. Mana was back to one. Hip hip. That meant I could possibly Shadow Step upstairs and surprise the two draugrs.
No. Bad move. I was assuming there were only tw
o, and Lotharia had said they moved in packs.
She pulled her scepter from somewhere and its pale blue glow filled the wine cellar. “I can buy us a little time. Here.” So saying, she extended the scepter to the trapdoor and whispered, “Bind and fasten, firm and strong.” The blue glow flowed from her scepter across the surface of the trapdoor and the sound of scratching grew at once a little more distant.
“Imbue,” she said. “It’s surprisingly handy. Lets me change the nature of inanimate objects to a minor degree. The trapdoor should be as hard as stone for a few minutes.”
“Great. Let’s grab everything we need. We’re not going to be coming back here.”
Activity was a welcome distraction. It helped me not think about how I could die down here in a matter of moments. Instead, I shoved the few remaining jars into Lotharia’s hempen sack, then held it open for her books and other belongings.
There was a crackle from above, and I looked up to see thin shimmers of black electricity dance across the planks and then fade away. The scratching became much louder, more of a tearing and rending than the tentative explorations of before.
“What was that?”
“Not good. Someone just dispelled my magic.”
My blood ran cold. The odds of our surviving had just plummeted. An enemy magic user?
Inspiration hit me. I grabbed hold of the wine rack and hauled it away from the wall. It slid loudly across the flagstones then tipped over altogether, raining bottles onto Lotharia’s straw pallet, several of them shattering as they hit the ground.
Lotharia reached for me. “What are you doing?”
“Look! Here, a seam, see?” I jammed my dagger into it at the top then ran the tip down, digging out accumulated dirt and dust. “And there—a second one. Maybe a secret door?”
Planks broke above us and a snout shoved its way through, snarling with hunger and impatience.
“Here, look—might have been a handle once.” There was a crude, rusted mechanism visible in a coin-sized hole at about hip height. “Damn it! Looks broken!”
“Cleanse and brighten, fix and lighten!” She waved her scepter, and once again the blue flame from its top spread out, this time focusing on the ruined lock. The metal within took on a polished gleam, and more dust fell from the wall. I shoved my poor dagger into the square hole where some handle had rotted away, dug it in deep, then carefully twisted it.
The mechanism turned smoothly as a draugr fell through the ruined trapdoor, landing hard on its shoulder and scrabbling its claws across the flagstones in an attempt to gain its feet.
I slammed my shoulder into the wall and it opened inwards as if on oiled hinges, revealing a pitch-dark tunnel. Reaching out, I shoved Lotharia inside, threw the hempen sack after her, then stepped right in and slammed the secret door shut as the draugr launched itself against it.
The door shuddered violently.
Lotharia’s light spell caused the narrow tunnel to reveal itself. It was roughly carved from the rock and only broad enough for one of us at a time. A few wooden crates nearly blocked the entrance altogether where somebody had used the tunnel for storage years ago.
“Smash a crate!” I yelled as the door shivered again. The draugrs were baying on the far side, attacking the stone door with all they were worth.
Lotharia mercifully didn’t ask any questions. She slammed her scepter into the closest crate, shattering it.
“Give me a piece of wood!”
She did so, staring at me as if I’d gone mad, and I wasted no time wedging it tight under the door. The next draugr slam caused the door to open perhaps half an inch, and then it stuck.
I took a step back, hesitant, then the XP chime sounded. I turned to Lotharia. “Now run!”
We bounded down the tunnel, her ball of light dancing ahead of us. The doorway was quickly lost to the darkness, and the stale air filled with the sound of our gasps. The occasional root slapped me in the face, and I stumbled and nearly fell when an explosion sounded behind me.
Somebody had blasted the door in.
Draugr howls echoed behind us, sounding like the stuff of nightmares. My breath was already burning in my throat, my legs cramping, my brow wet with sweat. Lotharia pulled ahead of me, running with greater confidence and ease. The difference between my con eight and her con eleven was becoming apparent. Only my new skill of Athletics was allowing me to barely keep up.
I darted a look over my shoulder. The eyes of the draugrs loping after us burned red in the darkness. They were gaining, fast.
“Can you collapse the tunnel?” I shouted.
“No!”
It has to come out somewhere.
I gritted my teeth and put on an extra burst of speed. Adrenaline Surge would have been awesome right about now. Dagger in hand, I considered turning and fighting the lead draugr before it could leap at my back. Suicide. Literal suicide!
“There!” shouted Lotharia. Wooden slats came into view, nailed into the tunnel’s side up ahead. “Pass me!”
She stepped to the side, turning as she did so, and raised her scepter. “From the heart of glaciers, blue-green to black, I summon forth the coldest shards and send them to attack!”
She screamed the words so quickly I could barely make them out. I leapt and grabbed hold of the highest slat as a storm of icy shards rained down from the tunnel roof right before Lotharia. The lead draugr snarled as it tried to leap through and was pummeled down to the dirt, shards tearing open its hide. Four more skidded to a stop before the ice storm, lunging and snapping their jaws.
I could just make out a figure emerging from the gloom behind them. The sight of the man made my blood run cold. Twin specks of burning red light burned within the empty sockets of his eyes, his face little more than dried skin stretched tight over his angular skull. A dark hood was draped down low over this nightmare visage, and he walked slowly, staff tapping on the dirt as he drew close.
That was enough for me. I shoved at the trapdoor above and threw it open, then clambered up into the open air and turned to reach down for Lotharia. The sound of the ice storm abruptly cut off as I grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her up, shoulder burning from the effort.
Lotharia stumbled up and out into the ruined building and I slammed the trapdoor shut.
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“Here!” Lotharia struggled to lift a large block of stone. I hurried to help her. Grunting, we hauled it over and dropped it onto the scarred trapdoor. Only then did I stumble back to look at where we’d emerged.
Dawn was breaking over the mountains, filling the ruined village of Feldgrau with a soft, dusty gray light that bleached the surroundings of all color. Not that there was much to bleach. We stood in the ruins of a house, the walls ragged and mostly toppled around us, the ground covered in the collapsed remnants of the roof, the furniture shattered beneath it.
“Oh no,” said Lotharia, drawing close. “We’re out in the open.”
We were surrounded by other shattered buildings, and to my right I could make out the remnants of a stone tower, broad and squat. “That way?”
“That way? No! Never! Come on!” She grabbed my hand and we ran out of the house, leaping and hopping over the fallen rafters as the trapdoor behind us erupted in a torrent of green flame.
I turned, wide-eyed, as the last of the viridian gout curled away and disappeared in the morning air, but Lotharia grabbed me by my collar and hauled me on. I twisted and ran after her, out into the street.
I’d seen photographs of villages like this in the real world. Villages that had been bombed into ruin during the world wars of the twentieth century. Gaping, empty windows, stone chimneys rising up impossibly straight while the rest of the home had fallen. The street was filled with rubble, abandoned carts, rusted lengths of metal that might have once been swords. What the hell had happened here?
Lothari
a gripped me by the wrist and ran. We pounded down the narrow street, hemmed in on both sides by the ruins. The baying of the draugrs grew loud once more. They must have somehow climbed out of the tunnel. We sprinted around a corner onto a new street only to stagger to a stop at the sight of a skeleton swaying as it limped toward us.
I must have killed literally thousands of skeletons in all the different games I’d played over the years, and always thought of them as little more than annoyances. In Golden Dawn I could unleash a channeling blast that would demolish hundreds of them at a time.
But here, now, staring at the moss-covered bones of an actual animated skeleton, its jaws clacking unnervingly as it reached for us and stumbled forth? Every detail made painfully clear by my new talent, from the remnants of a torn dress about its legs to the dried blood and flesh that hung from its unnaturally long talons?
Horrific.
Still, you spend enough time gaming, you develop the right instincts.
I sidestepped into the shadows beneath the closest wall and activated Shadow Step. It was more intuitive this time, and I emerged a dozen yards down the street, elbowing my way out of the coiling darkness that filled a doorway. I immediately ran back to the skeleton, trying to move on the balls of my feet, and slammed my dagger as hard as I could down on its skull.
The tip of the blade sank in perhaps a quarter of an inch and stopped, but the force of my attack wrenched its head around regardless. Then Lotharia was there, swinging her scepter like a baseball bat right across its head, and with a crack she sent its lower jaw flying free.
The skeleton wasn’t finished. It reached for her, grabbed hold of her shoulders. I slammed the heel of my foot into the back of its calf – uh, tibia? Fibula? Whatever, its lower leg – and drove its knee down hard onto the cobbles.
Lotharia tore herself free, raised her scepter overhead with both hands and brought it crunching down. Its skull fragmented and it collapsed, all of its bones losing cohesion.
I grinned at her, elated, almost manic as the distinctive XP chime sounded. Then the draugrs came racing around the corner, trying to turn at full speed, one of them losing traction and slipping onto its side, the second leaping up to run along the far wall for a beat before dropping back down to the ground.
