“Yer quite lucky at that,” added Gnebnik, seeming to magically read Sam’s thoughts. “Most folks have to learn by readin’ a book.”
Sam was actually quite curious about the creature’s anatomy, but said nothing further. The ‘ardently enthusiastic’ personality trait was Lee’s domain, and it wouldn’t do to intrude.
The two sliced the creature apart, the sharpest edges of their daggers serving as makeshift scalpels. The soft portion of its anatomy was bizarre, a mix of gelatinous flesh with sheets and strands of tough but flexible tissue. The various tentacles were composed mostly of tougher tissue, especially the dart spitters. These were fed by long muscular tubes leading deep into the creature’s body. Shin warned them to be extra careful working near those.
It took the two an hour to locate the venom ducts: complex series of chambers the size of a cow’s heart.
“So what now?” said Lee.
Shin approached, bearing needle and thread. “Cut it off below the tube and sew it up with this. Then put it in a preserving jar. Should stay fresh for almost a week.”
“And what are they good for?” said Sam. “Gnebnik said they were valuable, but for what?”
“How do you feel?” said Shin.
Sam furrowed his brow. “I’m fine. I appreciate your concern, but can you tell me what the venom ducts are used for?”
“How do you feel?” Shin repeated.
This is a pointless question. But it’s nice he’s showing concern, thought Sam.
“I feel fine, really fine.” He straightened his back, twisting his shoulders and neck. “I don’t feel any ill effects from the venom. In fact I had a bit of a kink in my neck yesterday, and now it’s gone, you could say I feel better than fine.”
“That’s no coincidence. The venom is a powerful cocktail which includes muscle relaxants, even some compounds with healing properties.”
“That’s why it’s valuable,” said Gnebnik. “Of course, collecting the stuff can be a wee bit tricky.”
“So the venom isn’t fatal? We didn’t just get lucky and survive being poisoned?”
“No,” said Shin. “It worked exactly as intended. Paralyzes their prey, but doesn’t kill.”
“So they’re not actually dangerous?” said Lee.
“A single gastropoid immobilized two out of the four of us,” said Gnebnik. “If two or three had pressed the attack? Could have knocked us all out. And then taken their time decidin’ which of us were tastiest.”
“Wondrous creatures,” said Shin. “In perfect balance with their environment. They’ve evolved a venom that keeps their prey fresh and healthy until they’re ready to feed. And should they stun more prey than they need to sustain themselves, they can release what they don’t need. Their prey live to see another day. No waste.”
“The world is their livestock,” said Sam.
The pair continued their dissection, Gnebnik insisting how lucky they were, that the scent of the blood of most creatures would draw scavengers.
Shin tended to the donkey, which murmured, twitching its oversized ears as the venom wore off.
“Hey Gnebnik, why are we doing this, anyway?” asked Lee.
“Ya need ta learn the location of the creature’s vital organs.”
“Right.”
The pair continued for another hour, locating the two hearts, primary lung, as well as six of the nine mucus glands. Gelatinous fluids seeped from the carcass while those splattered on Lee’s clothes had congealed, leaving the fabric of his shirt stiff. And pungent.
Sam had managed to stay somewhat neater, but was looking forward to washing up as well. Yet as interesting as the creature’s anatomy was, something bothered him about the entire exercise. “Shin. These creatures… gastropoids… have no skeleton.”
“Not of bone like you or I.”
“So their internal organs can shift around.”
Shin nodded. “Correct.”
Lee glanced up, a dribble of intestinal fluid trailing off a lock of his curly black hair. He blinked, his mind catching up to Sam’s line of questioning. “So if we face them again, there’s really no way of knowing where their vitals are, is there?”
“That is, unfortunately, one of the difficulties in fighting them,” said Shin. “Though they’re usually rather easy to avoid, as slow as they are.”
Sam frowned. “So why are we really dissecting this thing?”
Shin shot him a little smile. “I think mostly because Gnebnik doesn’t want to get his clothes dirty.”
Sam grumbled, pushed his sleeve past his elbow for the third time, and went back to work.
“Hey, I feel something solid,” said Lee, bicep deep in fishy gore. “I thought these things had no bones.”
“Cartilage? Shin said there were some cartilaginous structures in there somewhere.”
“No. This feels solid.”
“Be careful,” said Sam. “It’s probably one of those darts you’re feeling. Don’t pierce the sheath.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not that.” Lee twisted his body, extending his arm almost to his armpit in the slimy gore of gastropoid entrails. “Got it.” He withdrew his arm, which trailed strands of reddish goop, in contrast to the whitish goop that comprised most of the creature’s innards.
Gnebnik stepped over, scrutinizing the object a moment long. “You’re right, lad. Not a dart.”
“See,” said Lee, straightening his spine, a smile spreading across his slime-splattered face. “I scored a 92 in my frog dissection in high-school biology.”
“But I don’ think it’s a human bone,” said Gnebnik. “Looks like a femur from a caprid. I’d say you’ve found the creature’s stomach.”
“Blech!” yelped Lee, dropping the bone, which hit the stony ground with a rubbery plop.
“Better wash yer arms before the critter’s stomach acid eats into yer skin.”
Sam and Lee washed up in the brook, with Sam pointing out the tusk toad to Lee. A creature that to Sam, after the prior night’s melee, now seemed like a harmless curiosity.
The donkey had fully recovered by late afternoon, but as there was no sense in breaking camp only to immediately have to make camp again, the party remained at the site, this time adding a second fire ring. They dragged the gastropoid carcass a safe distance away with the help of Sally and the donkey. Dinner consisted of grilled gastropoid eye stalk, which Gnebnik insisted was a delicacy.
“If I close my eyes, it almost reminds me of grilled octopus,” said Lee.
“Grilled octopus?” said Sam. “Where did you find something like that in Toledo?”
“My mother is Greek,” said Lee.
“That’s right,” said Sam.
“She always thought I’d be some kind of hero. When I was a kid she used to say ‘a wild, untamed country like this needs heroes.’ What did I do? Became a telegrapher.”
“Don’t forget about all those sports you did.”
“Yeah.” Lee stared into the campfire. “Still. Just sports. Can’t be a hero playing sports.”
“You’re better at all this than I am.” Sam scraped the last bits of grilled eye stalk from his plate.
“I dunno, you didn’t seem bothered by our task this afternoon. I nearly lost my lunch.”
“My father is… let’s just say our family works in the meat packing industry.”
“Oh.”
“Also, we didn’t have lunch.”
“Right,” said Lee, slicing off another chunk of grilled eye stalk.
◊ ◊ ◊
Day three and four passed with minimal incident thanks to the wondrous scent-masking properties of gastropoid mucus. Also among the positives, said mucus had, to the human nose, a minimal stench, and a dollop the size of a walnut rubbed into exposed skin sufficed for an entire day.
As foothills became mountains, the predominant color turned from shades of green to shades of gray. Trees grew smaller, scragglier, and scarcer, as they fought for life in crevices in the stone and scattered patc
hes of dirt. Daytime temperatures turned chilly, and nighttime temperatures turned frigid. Sam awoke to the unpleasant shock of finding his half-filled canteen frozen solid the morning of the fourth day.
The group rounded a curve on the narrow mountain road late that afternoon, Sam and Lee catching their first glimpse of Irondale. Hazelhearth’s defenses were but tattered rags in comparison to this knightly set of armor. The entire city was carved into the mountain, with walls twice the height of those in Hazelhearth, most overlooking thousand-foot drop-offs. Towers sprouted from the city like an asparagus patch of stonework. Some mounted cannon, others ballistae, still others were topped with onion domes concealing arcane defenses. There were but a few entrances visible, each protected by a gatehouse, and positioned where they could be covered by fire from several adjacent towers. The outer walls were faceted, angled to deflect projectiles, tall and thick enough to shrug off brute force attacks by giants. For Sam and Lee, used to plains and rolling hills of the midwest, it was jaw-dropping.
“Woah,” said Lee. “Irondale’s formidable.”
“It is a strategic location,” said Shin. “Along the primary north-south pass through the mountains.”
“Eh. Be glad ta get this over with. The city’s seen better days,” said Gnebnik.
“This is run down?” said Sam.
“It’s alright,” said Gnebnik. “It’s a chance to spend a night with both eyes shut.”
The group crossed a stone bridge to the main gate and was greeted by a pair of guards. One, in full plate armor, brandished a halberd and stood more or less at attention. The second, who busied himself questioning and inspecting travelers entering the city, had apparently cast off the more cumbersome elements of his uniform. He carried a sheathed shortsword, a single-shot pistol, and had exchanged the thick metal helm for a simple woolen cap. Both wore blue cloth surcoats trimmed in silver over the top of their armor.
The second guard made a cursory inspection of their cart. “That’ll be five silver oaks each, ten for the mounts, ten for the cart.”
“We’re on official imperial business,” said Gnebnic fishing through a leather document folio for the warrant bearing Lady Isylnoir’s seal.
“Ten for the mounts and cart only.”
“Official imperial business for Lady Isylnoir.” Gnebnik glanced at the frayed edges of the guard’s surcoat, his eyes finally locking with those of the guard’s. It might have been an intimidating stare if the guard hadn’t stood twice his height.
“Space is tight, what with the refugees and all. Ten is the justified rate.”
“Imperial business for Lady Isylnoir, the battlemage.”
“Welcome to Irondale, my good sir.”
In contrast to the two- to four-story buildings in Hazelhearth, the shops, houses and workshops towered six or more levels above the narrow streets. Slender balconies, walkways, and even bridges between the upper stories cast the bottom levels of the city deep in shadows, with some streets, in some seasons, never seeing the light of day. They passed a variety of shops, many with elaborate window displays. A ceramics shop, a tinsmith, brasswares… in fact numerous shops specialized in a specific metal ware. Many, however, were bare.
With the imperial supply depot closed, the group made their way to the Tipsy Troll Tavern. The emblem carved into the wooden sign was unrecognizable, as but a few fragments of paint remained. The tavern covered the first two floors of the narrow building, the upper four floors being sleeping halls.
Sam and Shin wedged into a corner bench. The room was cheery at first glance, a dozen glow stones embedded in walls and ceiling casting a friendly light. A pair of cast iron heating stoves at opposite corners of the L-shaped room were cold, covered in dust, but the crowd of disheveled merchants, adventurers, and even a few soldiers kept the room from being unbearably cold. Gnebnik and Lee squeezed into the bench opposite them a few moments later, Gnebnik setting brass tankards of ale on the worn planks of their table, Lee carrying steaming bowls of stew, cursing as they burned his fingers and forearms.
Lee raised a tankard. “To surviving our first journey on Arvia.”
“Aye,” said Gnebnik.
Shin nodded.
Sam nodded.
“Might be old hat to you two, but I’ve never seen a city like this before,” said Lee. He glanced at Sam. “And I daresay, neither have you.”
Sam gazed into Gnebnik’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Board and lodging six silver apiece, an’ that’s for a shared room,” said the gnome.
“Is that a lot?” asked Lee.
“I was here midsummer and remember people complaining that they had raised it from four to five,” said Shin.
Lee shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth. It was thin, a mix of stringy roots and tubers with a few flecks of fat that might pass for meat, but at least it was piping hot.
Gnebnik nodded at a human woman in a green double breasted coat bedecked with brass buttons and epaulets. “Not a good sign.”
“The uniform doesn’t look all that practical,” said Sam. “Although not all that long ago on our world most armies wore gaudy uniforms as well.”
“That tattered mess is a dress uniform,” said Gnebnik. “Might be coincidence, but I’d guess her combat uniform was worn out.”
“So I take it this war of yours isn’t going well,” said Lee.
“Who knows. Not like they’d tell us if it were. But you don’t have to be a tracker to read the signs.”
“So what is this conflict? It’s the Melandrach empire, you said.” Sam scraped the last dregs of soup from his bowl. “And you are a part of it, but also not?”
“Aye. This is a Melandrach-governed territory.”
“And this empire,” said Lee. “It’s fighting these beasts, these predators?”
“No. That was the new order of things,” said Shin.
“No army had ever been able to defeat more than a few of ’em,” said Gnebnik. “Small empires would rise and fall. Field a powerful army that could defeat the beasties in their territory. Then they’d try to conquer a new territory an’ get wiped out. Different terrain, new hazards, different beasties. Old tactics and equipment would be useless.”
“The Melandrach elves were different,” said Shin. “They paid out almost as much tribute as they demanded. Worked with the giants, the predators, any species they thought they could reason with. Like the ogres.”
“Ogres. I keep hearing about them,” said Lee. “Why are they so dangerous?”
“Big. Strong. Smart. Smart-ish,” said Gnebnik. “Opposable thumbs. Only thing that kept ’em from dominating the world was organization, tools, and weapons.”
“Which the empire supplied them with,” said Shin. “They used to live in tribes. It was the empire who set up ogre nobility, ranks, the whole system.”
“Hmm. So if not these giant predators, who are they fighting?” said Sam.
“Only a Melandrach noble would know for sure,” said Gnebnik.
“We don’t know exactly,” said Shin. “But if one were to sort through all the rumors… there’s something underground. Deep underground.”
“Most call them the subterranean hordes,” said Gnebnik. “Don’t know what they want, who they are, or why now. Some say mines went too deep, intruded on their territory.”
“What do you say,” said Sam.
“Civilizations have been mining fer thousands of years. There’ve been incidents. Miners disappearing here and there, sometimes an entire village. But then… quiet. Nothin’ like this.”
“A cheery thought,” said Sam. “Since we are now in a mining town.”
Shin patted Sam on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it. If you paid heed to every rumor, you wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. We’re in an outlying province, the fighting is more at the core of the empire.”
Gnebnik licked a dribble of ale from his beard. “No matter. We stay here tonight, an’ in the morning we pick up what we came for.”
“And sell the—” Lee was cut off with a stern glare from Gnebnik.
“And finish the rest of our business. I’ll go to the brassworks an’ pick up some hardware, Shin goes to the apothecary ta take care of his business, an’ you two go to the imperial depot. No haggling needed. Should be a simple exchange.”
“Right.”
Chapter 12
The imperial supply depot in Irondale was a hodge-podge of unheated storage rooms at different levels, mostly lower levels, just off the main street. There was a single guard in front of the main entrance—a tall arch with double doors.
“Gnebnik said the storerooms on the left were for larger, heavier supplies.” Sam’s gaze darted from doorframe to doorframe. He finally pointed to a standard-sized door at the opposite end of the building. “Quartermaster’s clerk should be in there.”
Lee twisted the wrought iron hoop, the door creaking open to reveal floor to ceiling shelving units housing a scattering of crates, jugs, and bottles. With quite a number of shelves housing only dust. A series of chalkboards hung at the ends of most of the shelves, scrawled with the names of various supplies.
At the front corner, jammed into an uncomfortably narrow desk piled high with caddies and paperwork, sat a lanky, irritable-looking man in a faded sage-green uniform. Though perhaps a bit taller than Sam, he seemed to fall into the rare category of persons on Arvia that Sam could most likely defeat in an arm wrestling match.
Sam addressed the presumable quartermaster’s clerk while Lee glanced at the shelves and chalkboards. Gnebnik had told them the dragonflies shouldn’t be heavy, but couldn’t say exactly how they might be caged.
The man perused the imperial warrant. “Seems to be in order. Let’s see. Two dozen messenger dragonflies, set of feeding nectar and pheromone vials.” He made a show of shivering and rubbing his hands together.
“It has been unseasonably cold these past days, hasn’t it,” said Sam. It never hurt to make a bit of small talk with bureaucrats.
“Transferred here from the Drizzlewood Meadows province,” said the man. “They said it was a promotion. Neglected to inform me it would be this cold.”
Hazelhearth Hires Heroes Page 10
