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

  The thief gave a pathetic bleat of fright. “No! Stay! Just get it off me! Get it off!”

  “Sure! Fine!” The weasel clicked its fingers again, and the snarling backpack subsided. The magic wishing weasel leaped onto the thief’s frozen arm and inspected the backpacks hairy tongue.

  “Hmm. All right. Simple to fix. You’ve got one hand free, right?”

  “You want me to cut the bag?” The thief groped hastily for a knife. “Fine!”

  “No!”The weasel hurriedly waved its paws. “You’ll enrage it! No, in a case like this, you have to make use of natural strategy.”

  “Natural strategy?”

  “Trust me, kid. I’m a weasel.”

  Traveling in a sinuous round-about route, the weasel ended up upon the thief’s shoulder. It tapped its paws together and gave a brief flip of its tail.

  “All right, kid. We have to make nature work for you, not against you.”

  The bag shifted its grip, trembling as if about to break its restraining spell, and the thief swallowed in fright. “Magic weasel, help me!”

  “All right, kid, now listen.” The weasel looked down at the thief’s bulging purse then stood aside. “I’ve got it held for a while. To escape the bag, you have to trigger its gag reflex, but not by putting a hand or a tool in there! Oh no. That thing senses anything big in there, and it’ll rip your arm right outta its socket!” Drawing a brief sketch in the dust, the weasel chattered on. “There’s one patch at the back of its throat that can trigger the gag reflex. You have to hit it with something heavy—something small, dense, and solid—to make it spit out your arm.”

  The thief immediately threw an empty beer stein into the backpack. The magic weasel gave a tired sigh. “No. Something small and heavy. Very small, very dense.” The weasel rapped on the thief’s head. “You understand dense, yeah?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You want brains, don’t come to the Flanaess.” Sketching out a diagram in midair, the weasel tried to educate the thief. “Look. There’s a little tiny slot at the bottom of the bag. All you do is drop little heavy things in there in the hope they’ll go through the slot. Little flat heavy things—small, flat, round, heavy things.”

  The thief blinked cluelessly, and the weasel gave a snarl. “Look! Just drop coins into the bag, or it’ll nibble your knuckles off!”

  Fumbling in haste, the thief grabbed for his purse, undid the drawstrings with his teeth, and sent a tumble of gold coins spilling down into the backpack’s toothy mouth. The carnivorous backpack scowled, mumbled, then suddenly gave a great cough. Feeling his arm held in a briefly loosened grip, the thief jerked his hand free. He immediately threw himself as far away from the backpack as possible.

  Frustrated, the backpack gnashed its fangs and grumbled. Meanwhile, the wishing weasel slapped the panting thief on the back in congratulations.

  “There you are! Free as a bird!” Grinning, the weasel began to prod the thief out from under the table. “Now go on. Scram! Off you go. Borrow some money, have a drink to celebrate, and maybe consider a change in career.”

  Pale with fright, the thief still had eyes only for the gnashing backpack.

  “Th-thank you, magic wishing weasel!” The man withdrew into the tavern light. “How can I repay you?”

  “All in a day’s work, kid! No need to thank me. Just naff off!” The weasel suddenly bit its lip and scuttled closer. “But if anyone was to ask—say, just for arguments sake, if a really big shaven headed guy in black armor wearing a hell hound skin—if a guy like that asked what happened to your money, you’d say that you chose to put it in the backpack, right?”

  The thief rubbed his bruised wrist in fright and said, “Right!”

  “Great, kid. Now scram!” The weasel crept onto the table beside an incredulous Polk. “Nice kid, but a brain the size of a peppercorn.”

  Polk looked at Escalla the weasel in confusion and asked, “Was that boy a thief?”

  “Nah. He came to make a donation. I think we must have made about fifty gold pieces outta him.” Escalla dropped her illusion spell from the backpack, which returned to being a plain old leather pack. The “tongue” of the beast—a disreputable length of chord—was stuffed back into the darkness of the pack. Escalla shifted back into her usual form and rummaged about inside the backpack to find her discarded clothes.

  She was tugging her leggings into place when a heavy presence made itself known outside her sanctuary.

  “Escalla?”

  “It was an unsolicited gift!” Escalla jammed her head out of the bag to face the Justicar. “Ask him! He gave it to us on his own initiative!”

  Jus squatted on his heels beside the backpack and scowled. “What?”

  “Oh. Nothing.” The faerie saw Jus’ look of confusion and gave a nervous twiddle of her wings. “Nothing at all! Did you get any information?”

  “Enough to know we don’t want to eat whatever that is cooking over the fire.” Jus slowly cracked the knuckles of his left fist. “This town needs justice.”

  “Well, I’ve been redressing the balance and doing my bit.” Escalla finished tugging her long leggings onto her feet and wriggled her elegant bare toes. “So, are we staying or going?”

  “Going.” Jus tried not to breathe the tavern stink. “These are lower level predators. The disaster in the valley’s giving them the chance to prey on these refugees.” The man’s face was a shadow beneath the jet black hell hound skin. “Kill the head, and the body has to die.”

  The Justicar swung the pack onto his back, and Escalla stayed inside for the ride. Above her, Cinders’ tall ears stood proud. With her hands folded behind her head, Escalla wriggled on her bed of misappropriated gold and sighed.

  “That’s the man!”

  Walking heavily through the tavern, Jus heard the excited yell from the door ahead. He stopped and saw a skinny, pimple-smothered man backed up by four huge half-orcs dressed in rusted armor. The leader of the armored brutes seemed strangely hunched and bestial. Part bugbear or part ogre, he had a skin covered in scabs.

  The smaller man swelled in righteous fury and roared, “That man there! He has a carnivorous backpack! He uses it to extort people!” The thief waved his hand. “He’s in league with the Takers! He’s here to scout for the pale lady!”

  The four half-orcs instantly started forward. Polk immediately took a big step to one side, carrying himself away from the Justicar as he opened up his chronicles and dug out a fresh pen. Behind him, the whole tavern crowd arose. At least twenty thugs, mercenaries, brigands, and rogues surged to their feet.

  Jus walked toward the huge, misshapen figure of the senior guard. The big ranger scratched his stubbled chin and scowled. “Who’s the pale lady?”

  “She runs the Takers! She clears the valleys.” The half-orc hissed and flexed its claws. Yelling to his men, the guard began to draw a scimitar. “They’re Takers! Hang ’em!”

  Jus felled the beast with a lightning fast left jab. The half-orc flew backward into his men, sending weapons flying and armor clattering.

  Another soldier grabbed his comrades by the shoulder and hurled them to the floor.

  “Down!”

  The half-orcs threw themselves flat. Behind them stood two more bestial soldiers, each leveling a crossbow straight toward the Justicar. Fangs spread into grins as the men swung their weapons onto target.

  Cinders’ huge teeth gleamed.

  Hello!

  Flame blasted through the doorway, slamming the crossbowmen back into the street. Cinders’ flames sheeted across the half-orcs on the floor. The hell hound screeched in happy bloodlust as screams filled the air.

  Burn! Burn!

  A sword hissed toward Jus’ head. The big man ducked and landed a massive kick into the swordsman’s guts, folding him in two.

  Inside the tavern, men scattered aside in terror as Cinders’ nostrils trailed little flames. One man hammered a spell at the Justicar, a charm spell that twisted aside from the shielding influ
ence of the ranger’s magic ring. Jus strode forward with a roar, and tavern goers scattered and fled out the back door.

  Escalla popped her head out of Jus’ backpack, looking toward the open street. She paused for one thoughtful moment, then opened up her hands and molded an arc of sizzling electricity between her palms. She sped the spell through the door. A lightning bolt flashed into being just outside the doorway, sizzling perpendicularly left and right. Unseen voices screamed and wailed. Escalla dusted off her hands, having eliminated an ambush party waiting just outside the doors.

  Flattened against one tavern wall was the thief. The man quaked in terror as he stared at Escalla and the Justicar. He took one long look at Escalla, shook his head in absolute terror, and slid to the ground with his eyes rolling upward in a faint.

  Unused to her beauty being so sadly reviled, Escalla dusted off the smoking palms of her hands and said, “Next time, just listen to your friendly neighborhood weasel!”

  The tavern seemed deserted. Escalla flew out of the backpack and went to search her victims for loose change.

  “Are we done yet? I hate taverns like this!”

  Jus shook his stinging left hand. The half-orc’s jaw had felt like it had been drop-forged out of steel.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Sure. Just a bit!” Escalla surfaced from amidst a pile of smoking half-orcs. “Hey! A gold tooth! You got any pliers?”

  “Escalla…”

  “Your dagger will do in a pinch.”

  “Escalla!”

  “Just kidding!” The faerie waved her hands in innocence. “Lighten up! We came, we saw, he toasted butt—just another typical day.”

  Jus snared her by the wings and dragged the girl outside.

  “Let’s get moving before their pale lady takes an interest.” The ranger shot a look at Polk, who was taking a hasty body count. “Polk, move.”

  Jus strode onto a street that now seemed deserted. A last few people were fleeing into their homes. Jus threw Polk into the wagon and wrenched the mule into motion, whacking the creature into a trot and running heavily alongside.

  Still busy with his books, Polk totted up numbers and beamed in delight. “Not bad, son! Not bad!” Polk tried to make a note in his ledger. “I make it sixteen at least!”

  Jus clung onto the mule’s mane as he lumbered down the road. “Shut up and drive the cart.”

  Polk closed his book with a loud bang. “One punched, one kicked, six burned, and eight fried.”

  Escalla clung onto the sides of the cart, her hair streaming in the breeze. “And one just kinda fainted!”

  “So that’s seventeen!”

  Jus looked back over his shoulder and said, “Polk, what are you doing now?”

  “Keeping score! Every group of heroes has to have a score!”

  A side trail led off the main track. Forced to slow down, the Justicar cursed the mule and cart for the thousandth time as he swung them onto the new route. Hanging back as the cart blundered onward, Jus swept the new trail with a severed branch and retreated away from the main track.

  Escalla sat atop the cart counting a little pile of gold. She smiled at Jus, holding up one of her glittering trophies. The Justicar growled under his breath, swept the trail clean of cart tracks, then walked irritably along at the wagons tail.

  A mile down the track, Jus allowed the mule cart to slow to a halt. Wheezing like broken bellows, the mule staggered forward to a little stream where it stood hock-deep in water. Polk took the chance to uncork his whiskey bottle. The little man took a swig, sighed, sealed his bottle, and then sat up in his seat.

  “When do we go back to town? Your ruse must have worked, boy! The soldiers will be out searchin’, so now’s the time to head back and face down their leader with cold, hard steel!”

  Annoyed, Jus glared at the little man, half tempted to harness him next to his own mule. “Polk, we are not fighting anyone!”

  “But they said they knew a pale lady! Were she good, she’d be the ‘fair lady’, but ‘pale lady’… she just has to be evil!”

  “They thought we worked for her, Polk. Shut up and drink.”

  The glade seemed peaceful, deserted, and quiet. Little birds twittered amidst the brilliant red autumn leaves while the cups of fallen acorns shone twinkling in the sun. Water flashed and sunken leaves lined the streambed with red and gold.

  The Justicar stood, feet planted wide apart, and his gaze speared Escalla. The little faerie raised one brow and pointed at herself in inquiry. Jus answered by crooking a finger in her direction.

  “Escalla. A word.”

  Deliberately innocent, Escalla drifted into the air and kept pace with Jus as he stalked beside the stream. Already guessing virtually everything he needed to know, the Justicar turned toward Escalla.

  “The tavern… ?”

  Rubbing her hands together and looking a tad embarrassed, Escalla shook her head in wonder. “Yeah, some place, huh? Sad how some people just take an instant dislike to you for no reason at all!”

  Unamused, Jus held her in place with a scowl. “You promised not to cause any more trouble.”

  “Aw, but it’s an endearing kind of trouble!” Escalla made a sheepish grin, then pranced in midair in front of the Justicar. “It’s lively! It’s fun! You’d miss it if it wasn’t there every day of your life! How’s your hand, by the way?”

  “Hurts.”

  Escalla took his hand and gave it a little faerie kiss, light as a feather and strangely warm. “Well, it was a good punch.”

  Jus flexed his hand and winced—then remembered that he was supposed to be cowing Escalla beneath the weight of his indignation.

  “You promised no more scams! You lied to me!”

  Escalla sighed miserably and suddenly seemed the heart and soul of guilt. Her long antennae wilted, and her pointed ears fell. “I’m sorry, because you know, when you think about it, when we lie, we murder the truth.”

  “Yes.” Puffing up with righteousness, Jus gave a dire nod. “Well put. I agree.”

  Escalla put on her most gentle, wise, and sorrowful face. She laid one hand on the Justicar’s shoulder and used her other hand to show him the glory of the trees.

  “Autumn leaves falling, branches stark and withering, and within it all, the acorns send green shoots into the soil. Beautiful, aren’t they?” The girl floated like a spirit of the wilds, while overhead tall oak trees soared. “Each new green shoot springs from the loam, but do you know where that loam comes from?”

  Jus stood his ground and folded up his arms. “Do tell.”

  “It comes from the dead leaves and trees that have gone before.” Escalla seemed full of an infinite, quiet motherly love as she floated amidst natures timeless wonder. “New life springs from the death of old, and ideas are the same! Truths are just preconceptions, ideas trapped and put into a box! Sure, lies murder the truth, but when we kill truths, it allows new ideas to spring up in their place! A glorious profusion of nature. Intellectual freedom! Art and science and light and love!” The avatar of a glorious future, Escalla turned a pirouette up in the sky. “Jus, we owe it to future generations. They deserve that intellectual freedom! And it’s all in our hands, Jus! I say we owe it to the future to lie through our teeth right now!”

  He stopped and stood there, arms folded, and watched her patiently. Escalla hovered in front of him, coyly biting one finger.

  “Not buying it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Still… pretty hoopy speech, huh?”

  A warrior for justice should not be amused at falsity. Jus sniffed and kept a straight face. “One of your better ones.”

  “Ha! Sorry, man. I drive you nuts.” Escalla flipped a finger as though tipping an imaginary cap. “If you didn’t love me, you’d never put up with me.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jus’ face cracked into a fond smile despite itself. Suddenly Escalla met his eyes and matched his expression. The girl suddenly blushed, then paled and hastily whirred backward
, thoroughly flustered. Aware that his ears were glowing an uncomfortable red, Jus cleared his throat, scowled, and turned to look along the stream.

  Escalla cleared her throat and sped off to the wagon, busying herself by tidying an already neat pile of coins. Jus decided to walk along the stream and look for nonexistent tracks.

  From his perch atop Jus’ head, Cinders sniggered and hissed smoke. Funny!

  Choosing not to comment, Jus tugged his armor straight and went about the serious business of being the Justicar.

  * * *

  Back at the wagon, Escalla meandered in midair like a hummingbird surveying her domain. With a sly, self-satisfied little smile, she blew a strand of hair from her eyes, pushing her long cornsilk locks behind her pointed ears. Remembering a hand mirror tucked into dark recesses of her baggage, the faerie fluttered down to pull at the satchels stored upon the cart, spilling her embarrassing collection of lingerie, old scrolls, and stale faerie cakes into the sun.

  Gold sparkled amidst the bric-a-brac. Busily propping up the mirror against the baggage, Escalla flicked the gold a single annoyed glance. She stood before the mirror and turned sideways to admire her little figure, tidied her hair… and then frowned as the golden glimmer caught her eye once more.

  There, lying amidst a colorful scatter of underwear, was a tiny little necklace on which a single clear stone shone and glittered in the sunlight. Escalla approached it, looking at it in startled disbelief. She touched it. The gold work was impossibly fine and fashioned perfectly for the scale and delicacy of a faerie.

  Incredulous, Escalla lifted up the jewel and watched it sparkle. With the prettiest of little blushes, Escalla quietly put the necklace on. She admired it in awe, unable to believe just what was happening.

  The gold was a dark, rich orange that showed her hair to be of a far more precious hue. The clear stone hung between her breasts and seemed to shimmer and flow with all the colors of the forest sky. It caught the green of her eyes and turned it from a sly glimmer to a shade innocent as forest grass. Escalla turned and gazed at her reflection in the mirror, looking at herself in blank astonishment.