[Greyhawk 03] - Descent into the Depths of the Earth Read online

  Escalla primped the roses again, looking about and hoping that everyone noticed the flowers. She then came whirring over to land at Jus’ side. She looked at him with a wry fondness and then chucked him on the chin.

  “Jus, about the rescue thing… that’s… that’s just so sweet. You never thanked me like that before.”

  Jus frowned, wondering why women had to fix upon the most strange little things.

  “I’ve thanked you before.”

  “Yeah, but you never made it so obvious you meant it!” The faerie giggled then chucked him on the chin again. “Well you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

  Jus bit his lip. All he’d said was thank you. He wondered how she would act if he’d given it to her in writing. With a shrug, Jus turned back to his tea, managing to ignore the strange deposits floating on the top.

  Escalla leaned forward and lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “Ah, Jus, I’m aware that I sometimes cause a few… difficulties, so I’m going to try and think a little more about how you feel from now on. I promise.” She crossed her sleek cleavage with a finger. “Partners?”

  Jus looked at her, fond but puzzled. He held up his finger so that the faerie could clasp it in her hands. “Partners.”

  She seemed relieved to be free of the burden of true confessions. Escalla slung her ice wand over her shoulder, dragged her collection of scrolls and spell lists over to Jus’ backpack and stuffed them inside. Her roses were carefully taken outside, where Polk helpfully installed the vase upright between the blanket bundles. Escalla tidied the blooms, clapped her hands and rubbed them together, and seemed eager for another challenging day.

  “Right! So we’re off to look for locals. Should I go invisible and take the point?”

  “No need yet. Just stay close.” Jus intended to walk into town in as non-threatening a manner as possible. “Enid, are you staying here?”

  “I think I might. There are ever so many books to organize.” The sphinx padded over from her work tables with a little rolled papyrus in a tube. She dropped it into Escalla’s lap. “Here. Stun symbol. My last until we get more gems. Sorry that it smells of squirrel!”

  Escalla blinked. “Squirrel?”

  “She means rabbit.” Jus had already hidden all evidence of last night’s feast. “Enid, be careful. Follow the road to catch up.”

  “Have fun in town!” The sphinx waved goodbye as Polk’s wagon rumbled off down the trail. Enid’s freckles shone like stars as she smiled. “I might find you a stirge for dinner!”

  * * *

  Three hours later, the Justicar lay against a tree trunk carefully surveying a crumbling pile of stones. A fountain poured sweet water into a broken moss covered font. A chapel lay half crushed beneath the weight of a fallen tree. With Cinders on his back, Jus lay hidden in the shadows carefully testing the area for any hint of danger. The hell hound’s red eyes gleamed as he thoughtfully sniffed the air.

  Magic. Very recent.

  “Same scent as this morning?”

  Same type. Fancy. Cinders sniffed the air. Gone now.

  Leaves shifted as the Justicar came out of cover. Stealth had long served as his deadliest weapon. Moving to circle the fountain, he scanned carefully for tracks.

  A tiny scuff marked the fountains moss. The moss oozed water. Jus touched it with his fingertips and thoughtfully sniffed before raising his hand up to Cinders’ nose.

  The hell hound thoughtfully savored the air. Elfie-faerie-pixie smell.

  A patch of empty space over the far side of the clearing shimmered as it dropped down through the trees.

  “Hey, guys! You see anything?”

  “Nothing.” Jus shrugged. “Yet.”

  “Hoopy!” Escalla popped into view in midair.

  At a loud summons from Jus, Polk’s wagon came rumbling down the road. Now mostly empty, Polk insisted on dragging the vehicle behind the party in the hope of filling it to the brim with jewels and gold. While the vehicle arrived, Jus spread out his maps at the rim of the fountain and rubbed at the harsh stubble on his chin.

  “All right, according to the milestone, this is Agnes’ Fountain. The map puts that just at the north end of the Dreadwood.” He folded the map away, then uncorked his drinking flask and took a swig of beer. “That smoke we saw is about half a mile away. Escalla?”

  Jus held out his beer flask and swirled it, expecting the girl to take her share. After a minute he frowned and looked at the flask.

  No Escalla.

  The faerie stood on the fountains edge with her hands clasped behind her back, her head tilted and her face in a knowing smile. She walked artlessly on tip toes, making a pair of prancing little steps towards the Justicar.

  “Oh Ju-uus!” Escalla’s voice slyly sung. “Look what I just happened to find over by the fountain!” The girl held out a small package all tied up with ribbons and waved it in the air. “A box of sweets.”

  Puzzled, the Justicar and Cinders recoiled. The hell hound sniffed suspiciously at the package, stiffened his ears, and wagged his tail.

  Sweeties!

  Escalla waggled the box slyly in mid air. “Aren’t I the lucky one? Let’s share them, shall we?”

  Throwing his mule’s reins aside, Polk landed beside the fountain with a thump. “Sweets!” The man instantly took one from the packet. “Best Tegel toffee!”

  The faerie shrugged gaily and said, “I just found them. Guess we might as well share!”

  Jus raised a brow as he inspected the package. “It was just lying there?”

  “Of course it was! How strange it should be right there where I could find it.” Escalla shot a sly, amused look at Jus. “I’m beginning to feel a little spoiled. Or a little pampered.”

  Jus took a morsel and let Cinders sample it. The hell hound smelled no poison or magic in the sweets or on the box. Walking aside to suck on one of the morsels and puzzle over events, Jus found himself pacing back and forth beside the ruined chapel.

  “Cinders, did you see a box there when we arrived?”

  No box! The hell hound grinned his manic grin. Maybe faerie keep as present. Give to friends for treat!

  “Yeah.” Jus rubbed at his bristly scalp. Why was she being so full of gifts and song today? If she’d bought treats all the way back at the last town, why save them for this exact moment? Was she planning something? Had she screwed up again?

  Jus paused.

  Was she going to leave?

  The thought caused an instant hollow pit in Jus’ stomach. He turned, but there sat Escalla, laughing with Polk. Irritably jerking his usual grim persona back into place, Jus marched back to his companions and stood with them by the fountain.

  “Right. We found sweets.”

  Escalla tilted her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Right.”

  “So it’s just lucky.” Jus kept his eyes on the forest. “There’s no reason to read anything into it at all.”

  The faerie steepled sticky fingertips. “Yep. Quite right.” She bit her bottom lip and peered across her shoulder at the Justicar. “Unless someone wanted to say something special?”

  Jus folded his arms. “No.”

  “Fine!” Escalla twiddled her wings. “Fine. Guess there’s nothing to say.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Good.”

  Polk was busily stuffing sticky sweets into his pocket for later. “I’ve got something to say!”

  “Shh!” Escalla shot the little man a glance. “Silence is golden.”

  Grandly dusting herself off, Escalla drifted up into the air. She bowed, ushering Polk, Jus, and Cinders onward, slipping the uneaten treats into the back of the wagon for later use.

  Taking the lead, Jus marched on down the trail, his brows drawn into a heavy frown. He looked back across his shoulder and saw Escalla riding between the ears of the wagon mule. She slyly waved her fingertips at him and gave a very knowing smile.

  Annoyed, Jus hunched forward and kept his eyes searching for trouble
on the road. Above his helm, Cinders contented himself with making sucking sounds and mumbling a strange little tune into the ether.

  Jus cocked an eye toward the dog. “You’re eating one?”

  Scorched almond.

  “It figures.”

  A shabby assortment of heaped stones masquerading as a town sprawled across the forest path. A substantial settlement had apparently been razed to the ground and then rebuilt by people big on enthusiasm but small on engineering skills. There were hundreds of shabby tents and lean-tos in the shelter of the older ruins. The sign outside the village had been painted upon an old, scarred shield. It read: SOUR PATCH. GOOD FOOD AND LICKER.

  The village had been cobbled together out of rotten canvas and old scrap. Bark huts half tumbled into open sewers, and hundreds of dispirited peasants shuffled down the dirty streets. More and more people were arriving, all of them ashen, dressed in rags, and carrying everything they owned upon their backs. Long lines formed at wagons that were dispensing bread and gruel. Children were crying, and the air stank of human misery.

  The streets seemed overcrowded with the hungry and the poor. A gibbet hung empty at the center of the village, attended by two guards with rusted armor and faces redolent of brutal stupidity.

  As the Justicar stood looking at the squalid, crowded camp, a figure bowed down with wood trudged close nearby. Dropping his load, the newcomer looked from Jus to the village and back again.

  “Don’t go, friend!”

  Jus looked at him and asked, “Where?”

  “Sour Patch.” The woodcutter had a donkey, and the donkey carried a hundredweight in fresh cut wood. “Bad luck. Don’t stop. Turn back.”

  “And go into the woods?”

  “No. Turn back to Keoland!” The woodcutter gave Jus a sharp look of panic. “You mean you came through the woods?”

  “From the coast.”

  “Friend, you’re mad.” The man worked solidly to make a pile of timbers. “I’m here because the baron paid me. He paid me because the king paid him. We’re running supplies here to the refugees. If they’re fool enough to settle here, then they have to have a chance.”

  Standing and carefully looking over the crowded shantytown, Jus fingered his sword. “Refugees from what?”

  “Raids. Something’s been clearing out all the villages in the river valley, sweeping them clean. No one left. No warning. No trail. It’s like the gods just up and took ’em.” The woodcutter finished his work and wrenched his donkey around. “Everyone’s fled the valleys. Some merchants offered free land to refugees, but no one thought to ask em where the land might be. But the Dreadwood… !” The man looked at the forest and shook his head. “Even the valley’s better than that! Only a fool goes near the Dreadwood.”

  He made to leave. Jus extended one big hand and held the donkey’s bridle. “What’s wrong with the Dreadwood?”

  “Cursed. Bad luck. Was never meant for mortal man. It’s a haunted wood. People see things in there. People disappear.” Agitated, the woodcutter looked in fear at the trees. “Five, six years ago, giants wiped out all the villages, killed everything that moved! Now it’s happening again, you mark my words! Bad luck in the Dreadwood.” The man wrenched his donkey free from the ranger’s grasp. “Bad luck!”

  The woodcutter left, fleeing down the road at the best speed his little donkey could manage. Emerging from her hiding place in Polk’s cart, Escalla rubbed thoughtfully at her little freckled nose as she watched the woodcutter depart.

  “What was he drinking?”

  “I don’t know.” Jus hitched his belt. “Someone’s running this camp as a scam, maybe trying to repopulate some junk land. Keep a lookout for trouble.”

  Half-orcs and slovenly humans kept watch over the refugees. The guards ate meat and drank wine while refugees lined up for stale bread. Jus took one look at the village and seemed to swell with predatory energy.

  “Cinders?”

  Magic. Cinders’ fur lay low, and his fangs shone evilly. Old food. Raw hides. Smelly stuff. Hot iron. Half-orcs. Bugbears. Ogre-stink. And elfie-pixie.

  “Elves?” The Justicar used his thumb to loosen his sword in its sheath. “Keep your eyes open. There’s work to do.”

  Choosing invisibility as her best option for sneakiness, Escalla hovered in the air nearby. “Keoland looks like a good place to be well away from. What’s that awful smell?”

  Jus shrugged. “Half-orcs, ogres, bugbears, raw hides, hot iron, an open sewer, and some elves or pixies.”

  “Elves?”

  “That’s what Cinders says.”

  The Justicar felt the faerie giving a happy shrug.

  “Hoopy! Well, he should know.” The girl’s wings buzzed. “Any idea where we look to find our shapeshifting spies from this morning?”

  “If they’re here, we can find them.” Huge and brooding, Jus scanned the streets. “Stay invisible. You can rest in the backpack if you need to.” Jus settled the hell hound into place upon his helm. “Are you all right, Cinders?”

  Burn! Burn!

  “Later. Don’t annoy the locals until we have to.”

  Jus turned around, but Polk’s wagon already stood abandoned at the edge of the road. Moving at an astonishing rate, Polk had already mounted the steps of a rubble pile that masqueraded as the local tavern. Ignoring the sounds of a fight from inside, Polk tightened his belt, slapped his hands together, and rubbed his palms in glee.

  Jus gave a heavy ursine growl. “Polk!”

  The teamster turned, incredulous that the others were not following him to the tavern. “Son, it’s a tavern!”

  “Polk, we are not here to drink!”

  “But it’s a den of iniquity, boy!” Appalled, Polk waved his hands in the air like a maddened bird. “We can’t just pass it by! Dens of iniquity are part of being a hero! Here’s where you defend a maid, find a clue, buy a treasure map, start a brawl… ! Think of the possibilities!”

  “Polk, the only adventures that ever start in taverns are usually ones that involve puking or collecting genital lice.” Jus tied the wagon in place and took a long, hard look at passersby, making sure they knew that he would remember their faces. Glowered at by a six foot tall man wearing a hell hound skin, most pedestrians elected to walk hurriedly away. “We are going in for one drink while we skim for information.” Jus sniffed the scent of roasting meat and gave a prim lift of his chin. “And perhaps a bite of something savory.”

  “And then a fight?”

  “One fight per day is enough.”

  Jus shouldered his way in through a door made from an old blanket. As he passed, Polk gave an unhappy sigh. “That boy has no idea of how to be a hero. It just ain’t in him.”

  Escalla’s voice laughed from empty air. “He gets the job done.”

  “I tell him again and again! It ain’t what you do, it’s how.” Polk swept the blanket aside to allow Escalla to pass. “You know, it’s high time that boy took a grip on his responsibilities!”

  * * *

  The Sour Patch tavern sold only two types of food: raw and burned. The beer smelled like old laundry, but Polk drank it nonetheless. Escalla contented herself with lounging inside the Justicar’s backpack as it sat beneath the table. The ranger’s wineskin had yielded a last few drops of decent beer, and there were still sweets aplenty. The girl reclined with her little feet crossed and her arms behind her head, thinking sly, warm little thoughts as she watched the Justicar.

  Jus loomed at the bar, shaking down the locals for information. This was where the guards lived and drank. Teamsters bringing food to the shantytown and sharks keen to fleece refugees of their cash all came here to spend their coin. The crowd was loud, the room smoky, and the jokes were rich with filth.

  A half-orc seemed to be giving Jus trouble—probably not the best choice the half-orc had made in his career. The Justicar’s patience was remarkable but would eventually wear thin. Enjoying the interval between the disappearance of rational, talkative Jus and the appearance of
wrath-of-the-gods Jus, Escalla smiled.

  The ranger had an endearing habit of tugging his grim persona about himself like a cloak. He enjoyed it like an actor living for a good role in a play, but from time to time, Jus could be persuaded to drop the facade, and then a rather interesting man began to emerge. Escalla had rolled onto her belly amidst the warm depths of the backpack, when quite suddenly a hand began groping at her rear.

  Escalla jerked away, whirled about, and scowled.

  A hand had snuck into the backpack. The hand was attached to an arm, and the arm had somehow ended up affixed to a pimple-smothered thief with protruding teeth. The thief groped about in the backpack, looking for anything valuable, and kept himself hidden under the table.

  Escalla gave an amused little smile. She watched the groping hand, cracked her knuckles loudly, and then went to work.

  Working carefully and with his eyes peering under the table toward the Justicar, the thief frowned as something touched his wrist and then jerked tight. He scowled, looked down at the backpack, then almost expired as he saw that the bag now had evil eyes and horribly sharp teeth.

  With a noise like a whip crack, a long, rough, rope-like tongue wrapped around his arm, holding it in place. Talking with its mouth full, the bag gave an evil little roar. “Me magic bag of gnawing! Now me feed! Feed good!”

  Serrated fangs gleamed, the thief screamed, and quite suddenly a flash of magic sparkled in the air. With a bang, a weasel appeared beside the terrified thief. The weasel wrung its paws and pranced in concern.

  “Don’t move! One wrong twitch and pow! It’ll rip your arm off!” The weasel moved to hastily survey the thief’s arm. “It’s all right. I’m the magic wishing weasel. I’ve got the bag held in a spell. Don’t make any sudden moves, and you might get out of this alive.”

  Pale with fright, the thief held his arm rigid, the bag’s tongue holding him trapped. He stared at the backpack’s fangs in fright. “M-magic wishing weasel?”

  “Well, you wished for a way out of this, right?” The weasel opened up its front paws. “So what are you complaining about? I happened to be passing, so I’m on the job… unless you want me to go?” The weasel snapped its fingers, and instantly the backpack roared and yanked the thief’s arm deeper into its maw.