The Good Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  “I think you know.”

  I looked up ahead, watching Nikolai and Cleeve have a tense talk while attending their horses.

  “What is it?” Lee asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  “You’ve got a question, I can see it. I just want to know what it is.”

  “Re-spawning.”

  “I wouldn’t mention that around the locals. Not sure they know.”

  “So they don’t respawn?”

  Lee shook his head.

  “How many times can you do it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only met four of our kind. One was heading into the desert, so I’d be willing to bet he’ll be the first to know how many respawns we get. One is Darius, and one is you. And one was being executed for some rather heinous crimes.”

  “How’d you meet him?”

  “I took a job in a jail for a short time. Doing their books.”

  “Sounds, uh, unpleasant.”

  “It was. Hence why I was eager to come on this caravan into the wilderness. The jails were horror shows. Nothing good about them. But this man was in there, said he could tell by how I mumbled that I was from Earth. That he was from Dallas. That he was someone I would have known. We chatted a few times. He had been in Vuldranni a spell, and he told me that it was a great freedom. To act as a sort of god, because we couldn’t die. He felt it was okay to engage in terrible things because there weren’t real punishments, in his eyes.”

  “He didn’t mind the pain of getting killed?”

  “I’m not sure. I might have mentioned something to the jailer prior to leaving. So perhaps after being drawn and quartered, he might have a different view on things, but he said beheading wasn’t so bad. Went by the name Sithus. Nasty man. Hope I don’t encounter him again.”

  “You think you might?”

  “I’d imagine, should he find out what I said to the jailer, I might.”

  “Okay. Well, Sithus is on the shit list. Got it.”

  “Have you died?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah. It was awful.”

  “I have yet to have the displeasure.”

  Cleeve gave a big holler, and I did a jaunty little wave before starting the pull. I strained against the harness, swearing the wagon felt heavier than the previous day. But, after a moment of exertion, it started to roll. And then it was on.

  Head down, watching my own feet, step after step. Going forward, inexorably forward, hoping we’d stop.

  It wasn’t easy. Shortly into the pull, the pain started. But the pain was less than the day before. There was more oomph behind each step, and I could pull the wagon a little faster.

  My stamina bar still dropped pretty steadily. But once it hit zero, even though my body screamed at me and my health began to dip, I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t. Quitting here, not going far above and beyond what was expected or needed, that seemed like a perfect recipe to get sent home. If I even could get sent home. Maybe it was a recipe for having a crap life here. Which wasn’t an option. I had a second chance, and I was going to make something of myself. I was going to have a fucking good life as a good guy.

  I kindled that fear, fanning those flames into a burning rage, daring the world to take this from me. Even though the leather straps felt like they were sawing through my shoulders, I pulled. Even though my legs felt like they were made of lead, I picked them up and pushed against the world. Hour after hour, I pulled that fucking wagon.

  At some point, my body accepted the situation. It had two choices: adapt and overcome, or die. And my brain found a way to take me somewhere else. I thought about Detroit. About motorcycles and the wind in my hair. About my brothers in arms. About our fights and our parties. Our lives and our deaths.

  How I was so fucking alone in this new land, and what the fuck was I going to do when I got to Osterstadt? See the Emerald Sea and find a beach shack so I could be a lonely hermit and fish? Maybe I was fated to make the same mistakes here as I did on Earth. It would be easy to fall back on violence against innocents to make my way through the world. Not that I’d been that bad back home. I didn’t like, go around mugging people.

  But I did make money by making sure people paid their debts, which sometimes required a little, um, incentivizing. And sometimes I delivered drugs. Sometimes I dealt drugs. And yes, I made a ton of money selling drugs to the elderly. The Club’s single best money-maker was this place called Latte Bloomers, a cafe inside a retirement community. It was just the way I knew how to make money after all my legitimate means dried up.

  And, because there was no way around it, because I had no means of controlling my brain, my thoughts went to her. Our perfect little life. Our dreams. We’d played games like this one together. I wondered what she’d think of living in one. How she’d want to play this new world.

  No.

  I shook myself out of it and got back some measure of control. I pulled harder. I completely disregarded my body in an attempt to drown out my memories and thoughts. I stumbled forward, just pulling and pulling. My hitpoint bar dipped lower and then up, then down and up and down and up. My regeneration seemed to balance out the damage my completely depleted stamina was doing. Bit of a loophole — I wasn’t technically in combat, so my regeneration seemed to handle keeping me alive. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I wasn’t dying. And the more pain that came, the less I could think. I decided I’d stay in this pain-limbo indefinitely.

  Chapter 30

  Darkness swept over and we came to a halt.

  I dropped to my knees, my muscles quivering. I swallowed hard, doing my damnedest to keep from throwing up. I’d definitely pushed myself harder than the previous day, and by the end of it, my regeneration hadn’t been able to fully keep up with the HP drain. In a technical sense, I was damn close to death. But I’d gone as long as we needed — I’d pulled the wagon all the way tonight. I knelt there, my body shaking, wondering if I’d be able to do it again tomorrow.

  A hand rested on my shoulder.

  “You think you can do a bit more?” Cleeve asked quietly.

  I looked up at him, wanting to punch the man. To be completely honest, I was telling my arm to move, to punch him right in the fucking face, but my body wasn’t able to follow through with it. I just stared at him instead.

  “How much?” I finally managed to croak out.

  Cleeve helped me to my feet, and he pointed. The sun had set in front of us, providing a beautiful spray of colors behind distant mountains. But there was a gentle point of light at the bottom of a gentle grade, somewhere in the neighborhood of half a mile away. “That is our destination,” he said.

  “Osterstadt,” I said, relief flooding my voice.

  Cleeve just laughed out loud, a deep barking laugh, and shook his head. “No, Montana, not even close. That is Saumiers. The end of civilization. At least, it is the end until we get to Osterstadt.”

  “Wait—“

  “No roads after Saumiers.”

  “I want to ask why. I’m just—”

  “Tired,” Cleeve replied for me.

  “It is newer land for the Empire. The only road to Osterstadt runs straight from the capital. There are no lords yet. Land is there for the taking. Opportunity exists there like no other, provided you are willing to tame the wilderness.”

  “But Saumiers—”

  “Was, in the not-too-distant past, the last city of the Empire. Well, perhaps city is too generous. Village with walls is more accurate. We need to get there, transfer some goods, and heal some horses.”

  “Transfer goods?”

  “Not something you need worry about,” Cleeve replied, giving my shoulder a squeeze. He turned and addressed the rest of the caravan. “Able hands, assist Montana. We make Saumiers TONIGHT!” he shouted.

  Cleeve pulled himself into the harness, and started pulling. The wagon didn’t move. Not wanting the man to look weak, I wearily stood, and started pulling again. Everyone else, save the three drivers, swarmed the wagon. We made our final push.


  Chapter 31

  The last bit of the haul through the gate was done by yours truly. I’m not exactly sure why the group wanted to let me finish, but they did. The presence of the guild badge made entrance into Saumiers simple. As soon as the guards saw the badge, they whipped the giant door open. It revealed a positively provincial little town that ticked every last box I had in my head for “medieval Europe.” Cobblestone roads, thatched roofs, wattle and daub housing. There was quite a bit of common green space within the walls, and sheep lazily grazed on the grass.

  The rest of it is a little fuzzy. I remember the guards directing us towards a particular inn and hauling the wagon to a large open space next to it. I didn’t bother to do anything to help the caravan; I just stumbled out of the harness and into the inn. I gave someone some coin, and was led to a room where I promptly crashed into a bed and passed the fa-huck out.

  Chapter 32

  I woke to moonlight, or moonslight I guess, considering there were four moons up in the sky, streaming through the window and across my face. With the moons high in the sky, I figured it had to be quite a while until dawn. I moved slowly, trying to get up without a ton of hurt.

  It didn’t happen.

  The pain was intense, and I had to fight to get upright. It felt like I was ripping my muscles completely apart. Which, to be fair, was kinda what was happening. I’d almost killed myself through over-exertion. Had it not been for the incredibly generous boon from Mister Paul, I would have died. It should have been an impossible task.

  Instead, I pulled it off.

  Hah.

  Pulled.

  I never wanted to pull anything ever again, but I had a terrible feeling that wasn’t going to be possible.

  I looked around the room while I sat on the bed and let the pain surge through my body. It was a small room, with a single bed taking up most of one wall. A heavy writing desk sat under the window and a tall dresser rested against the wall opposite the bed. On top of the dresser, I saw big pitcher of water sitting in a large bowl.

  There was barely any floorspace, but I managed to adapt a stretching routine I remembered from my time doing jiu jitsu. The pain lessened. I started to feel limber again, less constrained by my body. A body that was, as I looked at it, vastly different than when I’d first come into the world. Or how it had ever been on Earth. I used to be strong and had muscle, but it was under a heavy layer of fat. Here though, I had a metric fuck-ton of muscle rippling over my entire body. Way more than I’d ever had in my previous life. I looked like the guy who kicked sand in Conan’s face. Who knew what we’d been eating on the road — I had a feeling I didn’t actually want to know — but the end result was definitely a stripping of the body fat I’d started with. I was jacked A to the fucking F. I wished I had a mirror, or even better, a body building competition to enter. But, the gamer in me was yelling. I was making a hyper-focused strength build, and I needed to get my agility and dexterity attributes on the same level. Otherwise I’d wind up being some muscle bound idiot unable to wipe his own ass.

  I took some water from the pitcher and splashed it on my face. Then I slicked my long hair back. I said a quiet thank you to Mister P — he’d done a good job on the hair. I’d yet to see my face, but I loved the beard. In the old life, I didn’t have the genetics to grow much of a beard.

  Then, I slipped out the door and walked down the hall. Plenty of grunting was coming form one of the rooms, so I started tiptoeing. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s after-hours activities.

  Chapter 33

  The staircase led down to the tavern space, where a fire still burned, providing just enough light to see around the room. Small tables made of rough-hewn wood were scattered about, surrounded by simple chairs. Broad beams ran across the ceiling, and a thick bar held the entire north wall.

  A heavyset man stood behind the bar, cleaning a mug with a rag. He looked up sharply as I hit the last step, which creaked.

  “Morning,” he said cheerily. A smile took over his ruddy face.

  “Is it?” I replied, really starting to miss having a watch. It was such a small thing, but never really knowing the time bothered me.

  “Somewhere closer to sunrise than sunset.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh. I—”

  “Come on over — let me get you something to eat.”

  “No, that’s—”

  “Comes with the room.”

  I shrugged, realizing the man wasn’t going to let me go. I weaved through the tables, noticing one drunkard clumped in a dark corner and a duo opposite him who were, well, busy.

  At least I wasn’t the last patron.

  He pointed to a stool, I sat, and he slid a large plate in front of me. A whole chicken. Then, he produced a side plate heavy with fried potatoes.

  “Drink?” he asked.

  “I know it’s weird, but milk?”

  “Butt milk?” he asked, but before I could respond, he cracked up at his own joke. “Coming up.”

  A second later, I had a massive mug of milk next to my wooden plate.

  “Now,” the innkeep said, “the name is Owen Stillingfleet. You?”

  “Montana,” I replied.

  “That is it? Just one name?”

  “That’s it. Is it odd?”

  “’Tis. For the Empire at least.”

  “I don’t know that much about the Empire. Just, you know, that I’d like to be here.”

  He winked. “Glad to have you.”

  “Thanks. Could you, like, give me the heads up on the Empire? Maybe tell me a little about the place?”

  “I am an innkeep. I can tell you something about anything if you buy my food and drink. But perhaps you could tell me something afore I tell you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you really pull that wagon out there in my field by yourself for two days?”

  “Just a day and a half.”

  He reached out and grabbed my shoulder, giving it a bit of squeeze. “I might actually believe that.”

  “Believe what you’d like,” I said, ripping off a chicken leg, and taking a big bite.

  “Now what is it you would like to know?”

  “This was the border of the Empire, right?”

  He nodded.

  “What happened? Who did you go to war against to get, like, whatever is next to you?”

  “There be plenty who will say the land here still belongs to no one, despite the emperor. I hear you are all headed over to Osterstadt, yes?”

  “Yeah, is that a ways from here? Still trying to pick up the geography.”

  “Osterstadt was its own nation. Own state or what have you. The city has excellent exports, so a fair amount of coin to toss about and keep control. But about five years, I think, or less — I lose track of the seasons up here — Osterstadt became unable to handle its monster problem. They believed they were going to be overrun, and so they reached out to the emperor for help. The emperor, of course, wanted more empire, so he asked Osterstadt to bend the knee. When they did, the emperor did what the emperor does — protected what is his. He sent the Legion and they thumped the monsters and drove them back into the Emerald Sea from whence they came.

  So, even though Osterstadt made no claims on these lands, none else had either. So the emperor felt it was his, and made known that everything from this small town of Saumiers to the shores of the Emerald Sea were his. Mark my word, the emperor will be trying to take the Emerald Sea next.”

  I laughed and popped a potato into my mouth. They were delicious, and I told Owen as much.

  “The missus will be happy,” he replied with a smile. “Her recipe.”

  “How long has the Empire been—”

  “Here? My great-grandfather fought this city as a Legionnaire. He spilled blood on this spot. They took the city, and they conquered its people. After the war, when he retired, he returned and bought this tavern.” Owen pointed over my shoulder to a sword
and shield mounted above the fireplace. “As a whole, the Empire has been around a thousand years. Sometimes growing. Sometimes shrinking. The Gods alone know who will be a good leader, and who will guide us to ruin. But still, the Empire remains.”

  He snatched a mug from below the bar, pulled on a spigot to get a frothy mug of ale, then took a long drink. He sucked the foam from his mustache, and leaned back against the wall.

  “You,” he said, gesturing with the mug and spilling just the slightest drop, “might want to do a better job hiding who you really are.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The Empire, as a general rule, is most fond of, well, the Empire. Now I know you are with Cleeve Dye. I know the man. Actually know him, not just of him, and I wager if he trusts you, you are a good sort. But you are either of the Empire or not. So take a second name, and start referring to ‘us.’ Not ‘you.’ Especially once you get around those Legion boys and girls. They are quick with the blade and hot blooded, the lot of them. Always eager for a fight and eager to prove their worth to the Empire. If you are not an Imperial citizen, there are many laws you are not protected by.”

  “Not yet an outlaw, not yet a citizen?”

  He gave a rueful smile. “Something along those lines.”

  “I mean, I guess I was, in a way, born here, so doesn’t that make me a citizen? Or, maybe you could just adopt me? Then I’d be a citizen, right?”

  Owen blinked a moment, definitely caught off-guard. Then he laughed, a sharp bark and a guffaw.

  “Oh,” he said, dragging the word out long, “it would be all manner of interesting to have you as part of the family. But I have to decline, sadly. You come into this family, and the missus will have you helping out the family business. Afore long you will find yourself stuck in the ruts of this dump.”

  “It’s no dump.”

  “Oh, you have yet to see the capital, have you.”

  “Haven’t seen much of anything,” I replied. “Basically just the road between here and Arenberg.”