Dream (3 page)

“Whatever. What we don’t have is much missile fire or money,” Shad gestured to the small pile of coins on the stump. “One gold coin, seven silver coins, and nine brass coins. Marks, shillings, pence. Twenty shillings to the Mark, twenty pence to the shilling, so we’ve got less than one and a half Marks. Anyone remember what the price list looked like? That might tell us what this is worth.”

No one did.

“OK. Derek, you hold on to the dossiers. Fred, divide up the food-that’s a day and a half per man, so make it count. Everyone take two pennies for pocket money, and Derek you hold the rest. Put it someplace very safe.”

“Pouch around my neck,” Derek shoveled the coins into a small velvet drawstring pouch. “Found it in my pack- for a second I thought it was a dice bag.”

“Good. Now, this is just a strip map, but it looks like we are in the Direwoods-naturally we couldn’t come through in the Happy Sunny Meadows. We head south-southwest and we should hit the South Way, which is a road. Follow it north and we come to a city-state.” Shad passed the map to Fred. “Lacking any other options, I figure we head to the city-state and see what we can see. Hopefully Yorrian is a good example and we can speak to the locals. Any objections? OK, Fred, you’re the wilderness guy, so lead us out of here.”

“You know, this could turn out to be pretty cool,” Derek ventured.

“That’s what you said about that bar in Dubai,” Jeff reminded him. “And we ended up having to fight our way out in order to retain our rectal virginity.”

“I thought we agreed never to talk about that?” Shad snapped.

“I still don’t think that guy you hit with the chair died,” Derek reassured the Jinxman.

“For the hundredth time, his survival wasn’t what I am concerned with, but rather getting charged with murder in that freaking armpit.”

“They don’t have an extradition treaty with us, and in any case they were foreign workers-the city leaders care less about them than they do about litter in the street,” Jeff shrugged. “And besides, the whole thing was Derek’s fault.”

“Why are we still talking about it? Ruck up and let’s get some distance behind us.” Shad shook his head disgustedly.

Chapter Two

Fred held up a hand and the group froze; after listening carefully, he swept a finger in a circle and held up all five fingers: take a break.

Sitting on his pack, Shad took a drink and passed his canteen to Derek. “Here.”

“Thanks.” The slender Radio Shack Assistant Manager turned Shadowmancer took a long drink. “That hit it.” He handed the canteen back. “I took the robes because they always look cool in fantasy art, but first money I get I’m spending on real clothes. The robes suck.”

“Heh,” Shad stowed his canteen and raked his foot across the ground, bending to pick up two lengths of branch. After examining both critically, he discarded one and stowed the other in his pack..

“Last break you were picking up junk. You take a level in pack rat?” Derek kept his voice low.

“Jinxman. I make charms out of ordinary stuff. Only thing I have to buy is ribbon, thread, and twine, and I started with a lot of those.” He drew a charm from a drawstring bag. “I got some to start with.”

Derek examined the charm, which was three pieces of twig each two inches long fastened in a triangle, with a wisp of red ribbon attached to one twig. Frowning, he leaned in to study it closely. “Wait-there’s nothing holding it together. The ribbon…is it glued on?”

“No, apparently I use the bits and pieces to trap a little knot of magic, a specific knot. Say the word and touch the target and the knot unties into the effect, which also consumes the physical material. See all the tiny nicks on the twigs? Those aren’t accidental-I’ve got a bunch of little picks, knives that look like scalpels, all sorts of tools. If I mark with twigs right they trap the magic, and the magic holds the pieces together like iron filings to a magnet.” He carefully stowed the charm in the bag. “Different shapes, different nicks, different combinations of twig, twine, ribbon, and string, and you get different effects. Not as aggressive as your stuff, but the only limit on how many I can have is how many I’ve made.”   

“Cool. Damn, that sky is blue.”

“Yeah, I think we’re at a much more northern latitude than Texas. From the looks of things its early summer here, but it can’t be much more than seventy degrees, seventy-five tops. You recognize any of the trees?”

“Sure. Pines, a few cedar, some white oak.”

“Normal stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway.”

“We’re really here, aren’t we?”

“You mean in an alternate dimension or world or place where all the beasties and bad boys of Earth got bumped? Yeah. I don’t like to think about it, but we are.”

“This shouldn’t happen to a good Baptist.”

“This is
exactly
what should happen to Baptists; why a pretty good Catholic got dragged in is what perplexes me.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, Derek staring at the trees while Shad chose bits of forest litter.

“We’re stuck in a fantasy game,” Derek observed somberly.

“Yeah, for all intents and purposes.”

“I’m close to freaking out.”

“This is just like Iraq: one day we’re living the garrison life in Kuwait, the next we’re in Iraq rolling fast, locked and loaded, and having a literal license to kill and destroy. Same-same, GI.”

“That freaked me out at times, too.”

“That’s why you’re still here, alive I mean: we were sufficiently freaked out to take it seriously. The dipshits who kept thinking they weren’t really going to kill anyone or that bad things wouldn’t happen to them are the ones who bought it, or clipped themselves when they got home. We knew it was going to suck, prepared for it to suck, and functioned well when the suck really got deep. It’s the same thing here: this is going to suck out loud. Its going to be the worst thing ever, and we are going to have to kill stuff and get hurt before we see home again. Maybe we’ll have to kill more people, too, I can’t really say. What we have to do is to think, stay cool, keep it together, and be willing to do what it takes to get through, same as Iraq. Any local who gets between me and going home isn’t going to live to tell the tale, I can assure you.”

“Same as Iraq.”

“There it is.”

“Iraq wasn’t all bad.”

“Nothing ever is. And this little outing into insanity might turn out to be not as bad as Iraq, but I wouldn’t put money on it.”  

“I’m hoping to see a dragon.”

Shad shook his head. “At a far, far distance, I hope.”

“Road up ahead,” Fred hissed to the others. “Break.”

“How far have we come?” Derek asked Jeff, keeping his voice low.

“Three miles, give or take a little. Hour and a half.”

Shad glanced at the sun. “Close to noon. If that map is to scale, ten miles by road to the city. Four hours or less. Not a big margin if they button up at night, but doable. Jeff, when do you figure sundown is?”

Jeff reflexively glanced as his wrist and swore. “No earlier than eight. If this is summer, figure nine or so. It all depends on how far north we are-this definitely is quite a few degrees up the curve from Texas. Nebraska, maybe into the Dakotas is my guess, given the color of the sky.”

“Yeah, that’s how I figure it. We need to nail down out what time of year it is.”

“Shouldn’t be hard if we get into farmland.”

“True. Listen, everyone play it cool when we run into locals. Don’t volunteer anything, and keep the tats covered.” Shad examined the contents of his food bag. “Jerky, hardtack, and dried fruit. Man, I miss MREs already.”

“What’s our cover story?” Jeff asked. “Derek?”

“Outlanders,” the Shadowmancer dragged a twig from within his hood. “Man, these robes suck. We’re mercenaries heading to the big city to look for work and excitement. First time here.”

The four ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. “We’ll need money,” Derek finally broke the silence. “We need a lot of gear.”

“We should try to find work of some sort,” Jeff nodded. “Although what, I dunno. Depends on how stable this place is. Given that we’re headed for a city-state, I’m guessing that things aren’t all that centralized.”

“Especially with five intruders screwing things up,” Fred pointed out.

“Shad, what you doing?” Jeff asked.

Shad looked up from the black drawstring bag he was digging in. “I got some completed charms as part of the class gear. I’m trying to get a feel for them, and to figure out a way to carry them so I can get to them easily. There were some Jinxman belts and harnesses in the price list, but apparently my starting money roll was low.”

“What can you do with them?”

“Right now, a couple variations of heal, bug repellant, and cure poison.”

“I never saw you as a medic,” Jeff grinned.

“Needs must when the devil drives,” Shad positioned the charm bag behind his dagger. “Not the best. Like Derek said, we need to raise some cash.”

“Speaking of that, maybe we should get some names,” Derek observed. “If we’re going to be worried about being watched for, we might want names that blend.”

“Point,” Jeff conceded. “Until we know better, why not just old English ‘em up? Joffre, Frederick, Chadwick…what does Derek work as?”

“Devon,” Fred stood and heaved his pack into place. “And call me Frostmere. A barbarian wouldn’t be a Frederick.”

The road was graveled and had drainage ditches, but was also deeply rutted. The four picked up the pace, veteran hikers all.

“Been a while since they pulled maintenance,” Jeff observed.

“Cow pats are fresh,” Fred pointed out as he avoided a pattern of them. “Traffic seems to be pretty regular.”

“In more ways than one,” Jeff grinned, avoiding a pile of horse dung.

A scream made all four jump. “Around the curve, sounds like a woman,” Fred had his hands on his pack straps as more shouts and cries rang out ahead.

“Keep your packs,” Shad was already moving. “Double time, drop ‘em once we know what’s up ahead.”

Just around the curve a battered wagon drawn by a tall mule was tangled in a freshly-fallen tree, the mule loudly braying its displeasure. A small cluster of people were backed up against the wagon side as a group of short humanoids menaced them.

“Sonofa
bitch
,” Jeff yelped. “Those…are...”

“Goblins,” Fred grunted as he dropped his pack.

The humanoids were just that: scrawny, just shy of five feet in height, olive skinned and hairless, with bat ears that swooped up the side of their skulls and narrow, pinched features that radiated malice.

Fred bellowed something none of the others understood, a cry that tapered off into a wordless snarl that sounding like nothing Human as he rushed the enemy.

Free of his pack, Shad followed, drawing his short sword and dragging his buckler from its hook on his belt. A bolt of silver-blue light flashed past him and struck a Goblin, burning through its thin leather armor like a hot knife through butter. It didn’t kill the creature, but it drove the Goblin to its knees.

Fred was roaring through the Goblin ranks like a tank crashing through bamboo, axe wreaking havoc, Jeff covering his back. Shad found himself squaring off with a Goblin wearing a rusty iron cap that was stuffed with moss to make it fit, and armor that looked to be made from raccoon-sized pieces of leather with bits of chain tied on as added protection. There was nothing slapdash about the spear it had, however: five feet of seasoned ash topped with a rusty but sharp-looking iron leaf blade.

No armor and a buckler a foot across made Shad’s skin crawl, but when the Goblin thrust he automatically slapped the point aside with his buckler, the impact producing a metal shriek as the spear point ground across the iron boss, and stepped forward in a lunging thrust that ran the point of his short sword through the Goblin’s neck. The creature spun away, blood leaping in arterial gouts of bluish fluid.

As he stepped back from his dying foe he could see that the fight was over: Fred was stalking amongst the fallen checking for signs of life, and Jeff was stabbing a Goblin in the back as Derek parried its club with his quarterstaff.

A quick count put eight Goblins down, two with smoking craters in their torsos. There were three Humans clustered against the wagon, all wearing simple clothing: an older man with the look of hard labor in the sun, and a younger man and woman whom Shad guessed were his children, now in their early twenties and already showing the scars of hard work. The wagon itself was filled with bundles of what looked like cat-tails. “Are you all right?” he asked politely, only to realize he was holding a bloody sword. Both men were holding axes of the sort you used to cut wood, although Shad had no illusions as to their ability to do damage to flesh.

“Yes, sir, thanks to you and yours,” the older man bobbed his head, but he did not fully lower his axe. Either he spoke English or their indoctrination for this place included a language. To Shad’s ears the man sounded as if he had a bit of a Minnesota twang to his words.