by Rachel Ford
The boar beast was another matter altogether. Having been momentarily thwarted, the terrible creature hadn’t remained down long. It rose a second after Jack. Now it stomped its feet and snorted with red-eyed rage.
Jack fished around his pack desperately for potions. Like the other marble monsters, the blade would do little damage without some manner of enchantment or poison. Finally, he settled on one that promised, “Fifty extra damage against enchanted creatures. Lasts for three strikes.”
The monster charged, and Jack doused his blade. Then he swung, as hard as he could. The hit barely fazed his opponent. But it staggered as the potion worked its magic. Spindly green veins wove up his side near the injury, stretching toward his face.
Jack didn’t wait to watch what would happen: he struck again, and again. The beast crashed to its knees with the second strike and fell to the floor at the third. It didn’t die – that took another three regular swings to accomplish. But it did take him out of the fight long enough for Jack to finish the monster off once and for all.
Jack’s elation was short-lived, though. His victory had been but a drop in a very large bucket. The fight raged all around him, and there were plenty more boar men, and demonic marble tigers, and wicked satyrs left. And Krampus kept on attacking as they fought.
More than once, Jack had to duck behind cover long enough to heal. More than once, he had to come to the aid of Er’c, or Ceinwen, or even Shimmerfax; and more than once, they came to his aid.
Migli seemed less inclined to fight. When they saw him at all, it was because he’d been spotted running from one hiding spot to another. Arath was better. He fought, at least. But at the first sign that the battle would head his way, he fled too.
But eventually, they destroyed the second round of monsters. As before, they focused their fight on Krampus when it was done. But unlike the first time, the goat monster rolled out a new attack. Every thirty seconds, he would raise his hands heavenward and chant something in a dark, guttural language. Great boulders would tumble down from the ceiling.
And woe to anyone who stood underneath them. Migli found that out the hard way when one of the huge chunks of stone landed at the base of the pillar where he had hidden – directly on top of him.
An alert flashed through Jack’s mind.
Your companion Migli has died. One of your party will need to resurrect him, or you will fail the mission.
“Ceinwen,” Jack called. He didn’t have the requisite spell, and anyway, he was trading blows with the goat demon at the moment. “Can you –”
But Er’c interrupted, “On it, boss.”
He left the orc to it, then. And a moment later, the game told him,
Your companion has been resurrected.
Hint: a good leader looks out for his companions. If your party dies, you will fail your quest.
The fight raged on. Slowly but surely, they whittled away Krampus’s hit points. And then his health meter dropped to five hundred points. They were three-quarters of the way to finishing him off. Jack cackled with delight. The end was within sight. He could taste victory.
And then the last round of marble monsters broke away from their pillars. Horrible horned beasts, great, monstrous gargoyles, and repulsive stone serpents joined the fray. The gargoyles were stronger and faster than any they’d fought so far. The demons far outmatched the worst they’d faced. In comparison, the others seemed like child’s play now.
These new ones hunted in packs and could dodge and duck and outrun anyone. They dealt more damage, too.
Er’c pulled out his blunderbuss, burning through the last of his shots in record timing. Arath complained that he was almost out of arrows. Ceinwen worried that her strength would fail before they finished.
For his part, Jack spent the first two minutes of the fight clinging to life. He ran out of healing potions in the first fifteen seconds. Then, it was a struggle to keep his health meter replenished via spells without expending all of his magicka. And, despite his best efforts, he had to cast the spell so frequently that his magicka meter rarely had time to recharge on its own.
So Jack was down to one magicka potion, and a handful of poisons. He had the sinking feeling now that all of this had been for nothing. He’d misallocated his resources early on, he told himself. He should have held on to more potions, somehow.
A stone snake slithered past, and then came back again for a strike. At the same time, a terrible gargoyle thundered over. Jack retreated, trying to keep the pair of them in front of him. But the serpent moved too swiftly, and before he knew what had happened it was behind him again. A thick coil of cold stone wrapped around his leg, and yanked hard. At the same time, the gargoyle leaped up, beating its stone wings to lift it higher. Jack careened to the ground. The gargoyle flew until it was over Jack’s head and dropped.
Jack would have been a dead man in that moment, had not Shimmerfax intercepted the falling monster. The battlecorn leaped over its prone leader, colliding with the gargoyle before it hit. The knitting needle shattered into a hundred pieces, and metal shards rained down on Jack.
The monster shrieked in rage. And no wonder: Shimmerfax’s actual horn had pierced through the marble, deep into its side. The pair landed heavily, the clatter of stone and hooves ringing out through the hall.
Jack didn’t see what happened next, though. The serpent yanked him further, dragging him across the uneven stones of the floor. “Sssssleep,” it hissed out, opening its great mouth and revealing two terrible fangs. The white marble teeth glistened, and a drop of venom gathered at the point of one. “Ssssleep now, and forever.”
He raised a hand to shield his face just as the serpent struck. This was the end. He felt it in his bones, and he braced for impact.
But nothing happened. He waited for a full second. Then, he lowered his arm and peered into – nothingness.
The serpent had vanished.
It hadn’t really vanished. Rather, it had crumbled into dust. He saw the powdery remains as soon as he glanced downward. They curled over his leg, where the snake had seized him. They littered the floor, where the serpent had lain.
“What the…?”
But a terrible shriek pulled him from his curious reflection, and he glanced up in the direction of the noise.
And for the second time in half a minute, he found himself utterly astonished. The noise was coming from Krampus, which explained the hellish nature of it, of course. But the reason for his scream explained the panicked notes.
Karag had appeared out of nowhere and seized the demon. He was swinging him about like a club. He smashed him into one of the pillars, and the remaining stone – what the demons had left behind – shattered into a million fragments. He likewise pulverized the throne of skulls, and then a section of the dais itself. Piece by piece, he demolished the room with Krampus.
And with each hit, one or another of the stone demons would disappear in a cloud of dust – the same kind of dust Jack found.
But even more encouragingly, Krampus’s health plummeted with each strike. He could barely get in a response. Not that Karag let up, even when he did. He shrugged the fireballs off and laughed at the sword strikes.
Krampus’s health hit fifty points. All the stone demons had vanished by now. Jack had risen and joined his companions. They were all clustered together, watching and cheering.
Karag swung the goat demon a final time. And then the game world vanished, and Jack’s mind entered the strange, dreamlike world of game cinematics. He saw Krampus crumple to the ground – quite free, and far more dignified than he looked hanging battered from the giant’s hand.
“Curse you,” the goat creature spat out. “Curse you and the Winters. Would that you all choked on your wretched holiday cheer.”
Jack’s character drew his blade and raised it above the monster. “Maybe we will,” he said. “But you won’t be around to see it, Monster.”
In a flash, he brought the sword down, and Krampus’s head rolled from his shoul
ders. At the same time, the far door burst open and the Ladies Winter marched in, clad in the shimmering, frosty blues he’d seen on the field. But, somehow, in the cinematic, they looked more magical, and a little more regal. On their heels, a host of troops followed, wearing the rather garish reds and greens of the Christmas village.
Mother Winter surveyed the scene before her and nodded. “You have done well, Jack. Better than I could have hoped.”
“Your courage has saved many lives,” Estelle said.
“Your efforts honor my husband’s memory,” Mother Winter said. “You have at last brought peace to the island. These good tidings will bring joy to the hearts of a hundred generations.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The cinematic ended, and the Ladies Winter milled around for a bit. Estelle informed Jack that, as a token of their appreciation, the spoils of victory would be his. “Krampus’s chambers are just past that door,” she said, pointing to a door beyond the now destroyed throne. “Whatever you find in there, you may keep.”
“We will finish securing the castle,” Mother Winter told him. “Take whatever time you need. But when you are finished collecting your reward, see me. I will grant you the use of my sleigh, so that you may be on your way.”
“If you so desire,” Estelle added. “We could always use a hero like you around these parts, Jack.”
Jack did desire, of course. He wanted very much to be on his merry way. But not before he looted Krampus’s chambers. So he thanked the two women, then turned for the far door.
His companions were off to the side, waiting for him – waiting, and conversing.
Migli asked Arath how he’d survived. The ranger was responding, “I don’t know. To be honest, I thought my luck had finally run out. The plate was bearing down on me, and those cowards had abandoned me to death.
“And then the floor opened up underneath me. I fell into the coldest water you’ve ever felt – some kind of river.”
Jack rolled his eyes, remembering the other man’s panicked refusal to cooperate. He moved on.
Karag and Ceinwen were standing together. The giant was saying, “There’d been a way out all that time. He had only to stand up, and he would have felt the ladder.
“Which I did, and I followed it through a maze of passages; and then I came out in Krampus’s chambers.”
Here, he produced a pile of shining metal, molded into bits of a humanoid form. It was, Jack saw, armor, all gleaming with magical energy. “And I believe I finally found something there that might be worthy of you.”
She surveyed the armor curiously. “It’s elven.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “It is. I imagine that’s why he wasn’t wearing it: I doubt he could. Elf magic would burn a creature like that.”
“But why are you giving it to me?”
He shrugged. “I’m a little too big for it, myself. Anyway, I told you, I had not found anything that would be useful to you before. Well, now I have.”
Jack walked past them, too. Karag’s redemption arc from bloodthirsty assassin to gift-giving Christmas celebrant really didn’t interest him. He had a demon’s lair to loot. But he did say over his shoulder, “Impeccable timing earlier, Karag. I was pretty sure I was a dead man.”
“My pleasure, Jack. Although, I can’t take much credit for it. I happened upon the fight at precisely the right moment, is all.”
“Well, let’s go. I have a demon to rob.” His companions followed him toward Krampus’s inner sanctum. They passed the ruined dais, and the smashed throne.
“Remind me not to anger you, Mister Karag,” Er’c whistled.
“I suppose that’s another trick they taught you in wine merchant school? How to kill dark lords?”
“Believe it or not, that was a first. But, the life of a merchant is never without surprises.”
Jack laughed, but too soon. Because he was about to see for himself just how full of surprises life could be.
Krampus’s personal chambers consisted of three rooms. The outer room seemed to be for receiving visitors as it was furnished with a comfortable set of seats on one end and more torture equipment on the other. Which would be used on his guests, Jack imagined, depended on the nature of the visit, or the mood of the host. Here, Jack did find a few trinkets and baubles to sell, but nothing particularly remarkable.
The next chamber looked like a personal study, and here Jack’s luck got both better and worse: better, in that there was more to pillage, and worse, in that someone had beat him to the punch.
Specifically, Karag. The giant ambled over to a bookcase on the far wall. Taking hold of the topmost corner, he pulled it out. And to Jack’s surprise, it didn’t topple or crash to the ground. Instead, it pivoted open on a set of hinges. Behind it lay a dark, empty tunnel. “This is where I came out,” Karag explained.
Jack shook his head. Of course he understood why Krampus would want passages leading down to the river, and to his means of escape. But the fact that his traps and pits for unwelcome guests also led to those same passages – right into the heart of the monster’s domain – seemed like very poor planning indeed.
But he soon forgot such considerations. His eye was drawn to the many items on display: swords and scimitars in weapon racks, a morning star that gleamed with murderous magic on a far wall, and, in the center of the room, an armor display.
Except, this particular exhibit was – empty. Jack walked up to the wooden mannequin and frowned. He didn’t understand. It was too centrally located, too prominent, to be empty. This, whatever it was, had been the prize piece in Krampus’s collection. Except, there was nothing there.
Jack reached out a hand to the exhibit. He could still feel the residue of magic on the mannequin. It felt light and pure. It perked him up, the way coffee did in the early hours of the morning.
Then, his jaw dropped, and he spun around. He remembered what he’d heard Karag saying on the way in. “Elven magic.” He’d been talking about armor – armor he’d given to Ceinwen – and the elven magic that enchanted it. Jack was no magic expert, but he figured any magic that could make him feel as good as that had to be from the elves.
His companions stared back at him. Er’c asked, “Sir Jack? Is all well?”
He guessed he must have looked very surprised, because, of course, he was. Ceinwen stood not five feet away wearing the most beautiful set of armor he’d ever seen. It radiated magical energies – the same kind of energy he’d felt on the surface of the mannequin. “Karag…where did you get that armor?”
The giant pointed at the mannequin. “I told you: Krampus had it.”
“You mean…it was on display here?”
Karag nodded.
“And you took it?”
“That’s right.” Then he added, as if the reminder explained everything, “I owed Ceinwen, for I found no worthy weapon in the Vale.”
“It is a most handsome gift,” the elf woman said. “I am in your debt, Karag.”
Jack stood rooted to the spot for a long moment. The Winters had told him that he could loot Krampus’s lair, which made that armor his by rights. Then again, he didn’t know what the repercussions would be if he order Ceinwen to hand it over. “How handsome?” he asked at last.
“Very,” she said. “It provides higher levels of protection than my old armor, but it also enhances healing and magicka regeneration, and protects against attacks from unholy creatures.”
“Which explains why the demon didn’t dare don it,” Karag nodded.
Jack, of course, wasn’t interested in Krampus’s reasons. He was interested in getting his armor back. “Wow…that sounds like it would be very useful.”
“I’m certain it will be.”
He frowned as she missed his hint. He wanted to order her to hand it over. He wanted to assert his right of ownership over everything in these quarters, per the Winters. But he remembered too what his inadvertent mentions of Jordan had done to the equilibrium of his team. He remembered what she’d said about hi
s team’s evolving social dynamic. So Jack said, “Speak to supervisor.”
The game paused, and then Migli turned from examining a rack of weapons. “Jack,” he said, “thank goodness. I was just getting ready to ping you myself if I didn’t hear anything.”
His frown eased a little. He’d got Jordan, not Richard. “Hey,” he said.
“What’s up? Oh! I talked to Dr. Roberts. He’s going to be talking to you later this morning.”
Jack nodded and said that this was good news. Then, he got down to the problem at hand. He explained what had happened. “I want that armor.”
She listened in puzzlement and turned to examine Ceinwen. “Wow. Okay, that’s never happened before. I don’t think it’s supposed to even be able to happen. That’s supposed to go to the player. It’s very elite armor, one of the best sets in the game.”
None of which, of course, helped Jack particularly. “Okay, but how do I get it back?”
She scratched her head. “Honestly, Jack? I don’t know. It’s definitely a bug – your companions shouldn’t be able to pick it up. Did you try asking for it?”
“No,” he admitted. “I was afraid – well, it might mess up the team dynamic.”
She nodded. “Good point. But Karag gave it to Ceinwen, eh? That’s so strange.”
“I know. The fatherless dog didn’t get anything for me. Instead, he steals from me, and gives it to her.” He’d meant, of course, to say bastard, but the game’s profanity filter had translated it into this weird hybrid of the literal translation of both bastard and bitch.
She laughed. “I didn’t mean that. Just, those two start out hating each other. Don’t get me wrong: this is good. The team dynamic is definitely evolving, and they’re getting along. Just, I haven’t seen it play out like this before.”
“That is interesting,” he conceded. “But do you have any ideas about how I get it back?”
“Honestly? No. I’d let her have it.”
“Jordan…you can’t be serious?”
