by Elliott Kay
WANDERING MONSTERS
BOOK TWO:
NOWHERE TO RUN
BY
ELLIOTT KAY
© Copyright 2019 Elliott Kay
Cover Illustration Copyright 2019 Julie Dillon
Line Design by Lee Moyer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Also by Elliott Kay:
Wandering Monsters, vol. 1: Run Like Hell
Poor Man’s Fight
Rich Man’s War
Dead Man’s Debt
No Medals for Secrets
Last Man Out
Good Intentions
Natural Consequences
Life In Shadows
Personal Demons
Days of High Adventure
To Brian T.
Contents
WARNING
Cast of Characters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Author
WARNING
NOWHERE TO RUN contains explicit violence, racial violence, religious violence, personal and general violence, profanity, inter-species oppression, mayoral misconduct, murder, impalement, dismemberment, multiple defenestrations, threats, torture, awkward friendship, mature reactions to sexual rejection, covert operations, revenge, sacrilege, kidnapping, bounty hunting, transdimensional incursions, temptation, possessions, disappointment, knives in the dark, knives in the head, so much knives, questionable theology, questionable economics, arson, treason, resisted arrest, obstructionist debate tactics, destruction of religious sites, unauthorized construction, unauthorized highway demolition, soul harvesting, prejudice, tentacles, bad candy, aiding and abetting of a known fugitive, sexual objectification of elves via pyrotechnics, cavalry warfare, banditry, robbery, negligent urban planning, wholesale theft of military supplies and too much information about mom and dad’s sex lives.
Cast of Characters
The Crew
Scars of No-Clan, a young half-orc warrior with a talent for
leadership and business sense
War Cloud, a gnoll paladin in service to Dastia, the hearth
goddess
Yargol, a magician constructed from parts of goblin folk
stitched together through magic
DigDig, a goblin spelunker with a dwarven shovel of great
power
Shady Tooth, a bugbear scout and assassin
Teryn, a human bandit on the run from family troubles
Orcs and Goblin Folk
Karana, a hobgoblin and de facto mayor of Zition
Ruck, a bugbear tough and local leader
Zana and Fregg
Libri, Ebrim, and Cambri, a goblin family
Ralgo, a hobgoblin captive
Humans
King Dostin, monarch of Theralda
Dunning, mayor of Eastford
Barret, a bandit chief
Earl Chadwalt, commander of the Greyfalls Garrison
Brok, Rosile, and Oscal, bounty hunters
The Druid Circle
Willowbark, an elf, moderator of the circle
Glendale, a half-elf with an adventuring past
Brookwater, Treeleaf, Windbreeze, Dewfrost, members of the circle
Snowflake, a sensitive soul
Nemeses of the Past
Olen Zuck, a wizard and fugitive. Recently deceased.
Mierrek, a self-styled goblin king. Recently deceased.
Chatter, a troll’s troll
Chapter One
“I’m not here to dispense random rumors to travelers at the jingle of coins,” said the barkeep. His long-receded hairline left the wrinkles of his irritated brow all the more prominent. “I serve up drinks. I track payments. I mind the floor.” He gestured to the tables and chairs of the tavern, some small, others built as long benches. Several dozen villagers sat hunched over food and drinks. “I’m not the town crier.”
“Do you have a town crier?” asked Teryn. She leaned in at the bar, her head still covered by the hood of her cloak.
“No. Too noisy.”
“So where else am I to go for rumors? I already tried eavesdropping. That didn’t work.”
The barkeep’s wrinkles grew darker.
“I’m just saying.” She tipped the gold piece up on its side, rolling it under her finger. “You really don’t have anything to share?”
“No. I’m not a cheap cliché.”
An arm reached past her, brown and well-muscled with a leather bracer over the wrist. Two more gold coins fell from the strong hand.
The barkeep sighed. “Elven scouts have been seen in the lowlands, but they seem to share their business only with their own kind.”
Her head tilted up, showing a smile on her pretty face and a glimmer in her eyes. “See, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Uh-huh.” The barkeep slid the two coins off the bar. He nodded at her hand. “And that one.”
“Wait, three gold for a rumor?”
“That’s my rate.”
“That’s highway robbery!”
“Times are hard on everyone. It’s three more gold to hear about the robbers on the highway.”
“We can afford it,” grumbled Scars. She could feel his muscles and chain mail looming close behind her. He stood with his back to hers, watching the door with a barely casual manner.
“Yeah, but how much of it?” she asked.
“They’ve usually got ten or twelve,” said Scars. “Half will be false, but that’s how it goes.”
“Hey, how would you know?” the barkeep shot back.
“I grew up in a place like this, but busier.” He nodded toward one corner. “The pig farmer over there has had enough already. Probably should’ve been cut off by now.”
“I don’t need you telling me my job. Having your kind here at all is bad for my business.” He seemed to regret it almost as soon as he said it, and not because of the tilt of the customer’s head or the glimpse of his tusks. “Sorry,” he said, quieter than before. “Nothing against orcs. Or half-orcs or…whatever. Just the way it is lately.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
The crash of a mug against the stone floor drew their attention to the corner. “Bring me anovver zrink!” slurred the pig farmer.
With a sigh, the barkeep caught the eye of one of the barmaids and tilted his head toward the pig farmer. He returned his attention to Teryn. “Three gold. Take it or leave it, princess.”
Her head jerked back up again, brown eyes blinking in surprise. “Oh. Oh, you mean that as a figure of speech,” she realized. “You’re not literally calling me a princess.”
“No,” said the barkeep. “Sorry to deflate your ego.”
“Hey, my mother made me clean and cook and carry water from the well like any other kid. And I had to learn four languages and heraldry and…uh…” Discretion caught up with her tongue as the barkeep’s head tilted curiously. She fished three more gold from the pouch on her hip and dropped them on the bar to change the subject.
“There are robbers on the highway,” said the barkeep.
“Damn it,” she sighed, dropping three more.
“The caves under Mount Stonebeard are still full of undead from the First Darkness.”
“We know about that stuff already,” she said. “Can I just pay you
for the rumors that aren’t about the mountain and the wizard?”
“That’s not how this works,” said the barkeep.
“Why not?”
Scars rolled his eyes. “So he can still charge us for randomly repeating a particular rumor he’s already told.”
“I’m not paying for that,” she said.
“Fine,” said the barkeep. He shrugged, waiting. She plunked down another three gold. “You know all those posters promising a reward for finding the missing princess? She’s not missing. She ran away after stabbing her betrothed and the king. It’s not a reward, it’s a bounty.”
Her eyes narrowed as her mood soured. “Thanks.”
The bartender turned away to stow some mugs. Scars tilted his head back to her. “Wait, both of them?”
“Alright, fine. So technically it was attempted regicide,” she muttered. “And the sketch on those wanted posters is terrible.” As soon as the bartender looked back, her fingers tightened the strings to close her pouch. “We’re done now.”
A loud bang from across the tavern drew everyone’s attention. The front door flew open and slammed against the adjoining wall. “Good, because the job just got here,” said Scars. Stepping behind him, Teryn pulled her bandana up over her nose and mouth.
The newcomers walked tall with vigilant eyes and predatory grins, six men in all, every one of them human. The wear and tear of their clothes spoke of rough living. Armor of leather and chain sent a different message, along with the blades at their hips. Aside from Scars and Teryn, both partly hidden by the bar, no one else in the tavern came visibly dressed for a fight.
The pair of men in front peeled off to either side of the tavern. The last two lingered at the door. The remaining pair, both tall and broad-shouldered, held everyone’s attention even before they spoke.
“Evening, Eastford,” said the apparent leader, marked by weathered eyes and dark stubble. “Nice of so many of you to be in one place tonight. Almost like a proper village meeting. That’s good. We’ve got business to discuss.” He glanced left and right, affecting a casual manner. “I don’t suppose your mayor is around here?”
“I’m here, Barret,” said a middle-aged man. Mayor Dunning slipped out from one of the crowded bench tables, absently fussing with his jerkin—though to his credit, he met the lead newcomer’s gaze. “I’ve been waiting for you all week.”
“Ah. That’s good. Can’t really make an appointment, all things considered. The roads can be slow sometimes. But we’d never forget about Eastford. My men think of it as another word for ‘payday.’” At that, several of his companions chuckled—except for the one who’d noticed the half-orc near the bar. He watched Scars without cracking a smile.
“You don’t say,” replied Mayor Dunning.
“A little coarse humor, I’ll concede, but I think it’s well-earned,” said Barret. “Protection isn’t a business for a gentle touch. Particularly when your clients send nasty letters about you to the king.” Barret’s eyes hardened. “You know I was a captain in the king’s guard, Dunning. And you know we had a falling out. Why would you go sending him letters about me?”
Dunning let out a tense, frustrated breath. “Is the boy alive?”
“Of course. He’s with my men outside. The journey may have been a little bumpy. Little bleedy, too. But we’re happy to accept a finder’s fee for his return on top of the regular payment.”
The mayor turned to look back toward the bar, his eyebrows arcing with an unspoken question. Scars stepped out from around the corner, walking calmly to join the conversation holding everyone’s attention. To either side of the tavern, Barret’s men straightened as they noticed him.
“Barret, I’d like you to meet Scars of No-Clan,” said Dunning. “He and a few friends have helped us with local difficulties over the past week.”
“Can’t say I know the name.” Barret looked Scars up and down. “What ‘matters’ are you talking about?”
“Protection for the village,” said Scars, undeterred by Barret’s scowl. “Honest protection. We cleared out the bog-howlers to the north. Opened up the old tomb and cleansed it of the undead sealed in there since the First Darkness. Even cleaned up an outbreak of green itches.”
“Do we have to talk about that?” sighed a farmer amid the crowd of patrons.
“You did all that in a week, eh lad?” Barret chuckled.
“Yes. You don’t do anything but roll into town and throw your weight around once a month. It’s over. Release the messenger without further harm. Get on your horses. Leave and never come back. Eastford doesn’t need your protection.”
Barret leaned in, smirking. “You understand the protection money is really paid as protection from us, right? You get how that works, half-orc?”
“I’m familiar with bandits, yes.”
“And you understand it’s not just me and my friends here, right?” Barret gestured with his arms wide to either end of the tavern. “It’s not just a couple more of us out front, either.”
Behind him, the door opened silently. A goblin walked in clad in hardened leather and a few piecemeal bits of chain. DigDig held his shovel in one hand, low and ready to use as a weapon. Behind him walked a battered, bloodied, and nervous human youth in filthy and ragged clothes. Though a pair of Barret’s men stood close by, both had their backs to the doorway to watch their boss in his conversation. They only turned when he noticed the breeze.
“What the—who cut him loose?” Barret snapped. “Is that a goblin? And hey, grab that—!”
“Help!” wailed a voice rushing into the tavern. Its owner flew upside-down through the doorway. He crashed through the bodies in the doorway, turning two bandits watching the entrance into three bandits in a tangled mess on the floor.
To Barret’s left, the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard was interrupted by a whistle and a cry of pain. His companion staggered to the wall, clutching an arm now impaled by an arrow. Teryn stayed behind the corner of the bar, her face still concealed by the bandana and hood. She had another arrow nocked before attention turned to her, drawing down on the man at the other side of the tavern. “Don’t,” she warned before he had his blade fully unsheathed. The bandit froze in place. Only Barret and his remaining bodyguard had their weapons drawn, and even they hesitated.
Another newcomer loomed through the doorway, taller than any man in the tavern and every bit as muscular and imposing as Scars. The hyena-like shape of his head gave him a far greater aura of menace than anyone present. He used it to deliberate effect, leering down at the bandits at his feet.
“What the hell?” their leader breathed. “A gnoll? That’s a gnoll! Dunning, what the fuck have you done?”
“He found help suited to his problem,” said the newcomer. He winked at Barret. “The name is War Cloud, by the way.”
“It’s a fucking gnoll!” Barret repeated, clutching his blade.
War Cloud’s shoulders sank with annoyance as he looked to Scars. “Listen to this shit. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as a person.”
“Did it to me, too,” said the goblin. He tapped his chest. “Name’s DigDig.”
“You should ask yourself more important questions, Barret,” said Scars. “Maybe try, ‘Where is everyone else?’ Shouldn’t you have back-up by now?”
“I can tell you’ve done something to them, monster!” Barret shot back.
“Oh. Sorry. You seem a little slow. I didn’t know if we should keep doing euphemisms and veiling our threats anymore.” Scars waited for the seething bandit leader to face him again. “Don’t worry, they’re alive.” He paused, looking to War Cloud. “Right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it worked out,” said the gnoll.
“No, I mean…?”
“Oh. You want me to go back out there and watch her?” War Cloud asked.
“Never mind. It’s fine.”
“We’re good if he wants to go out and check,” said one of the bandits at War Cloud’s feet. “All good here, y’know?”
“You’d best stay there, too,” said Scars. “Don’t want to get within biting distance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” War Cloud complained. “They aren’t even cooked yet.”
“Oh gods,” whimpered another bandit.
“Enough,” said Barret. He locked eyes with Scars. “You’ve made your point. We’ll go.”
“And stay gone,” Scars reiterated.
“Sure.”
“Not good enough,” said War Cloud.
“Wait, what?” Barret blinked.
“He’s right. You’re not scared enough to buckle this easily,” said Scars.
“Are you serious? You have us pinned down in here and I don’t know what you’ve done to my riders outside! How is this buckling easily?”
“It’s tactically wise for you to walk out of here without a fight. You’re annoyed, but still keeping a level head.”
“And?” Barret snapped. “What more do you want?”
“Shady Tooth!” Scars called through the open doorway into the night.
“Gods, now what? What the hell is a Shady Tooth?” Barret turned to face whatever came next.
Like War Cloud, the bugbear had to duck her head at the doorway. A sleek coat of short, dark fur covered her brawny muscles wherever she didn’t have hardened leather armor. Her face and especially her ears gave her a feline and predatory look. She carried a blackened knife in each hand. “What’s wrong? He hasn’t agreed to go yet?”
“Oh, he’s agreed, but he thinks he’s got a plan,” Scars replied.
“No plan,” said Barret. “Your point is made. The village is yours now.”
“Not ours. It’s theirs,” War Cloud corrected, gesturing to the silent, wide-eyed patrons of the tavern at the benches and the bar.
