“Beautiful, isn't it?" Zinkle said, sweeping toward him. Robes swirling, pompadour back in full glory, adding its usual three inches to his height. "A grand day, wouldn't you say? You stand on the edge of history itself, about to take part in plans far beyond your understanding. The world will sing of this expedition, and of my genius in orchestrating it, of course. And for your small part, we'll see about a solution to your... little condition. Otho, see that he's properly equipped."
Otho grunted and motioned Harry along to the far end of the first row of tents where there was a small stone building. Inside, Otho led him to a rack of weapons. "You know how to use any of these?"
"I do not."
Otho's shoulders rose and fell in what might have been a sigh. "You need a spear. Best weapon there is for ground fighting." He pulled one from the rack and set it aside. "Up to you, but for close work, take an axe or mace. For you I'd say a mace."
"Why a mace?"
"Less chance you cut yourself."
Harry studied the big man. "I'm confused. I thought all you did was grunt."
"If someone wants to talk, I talk. If someone wants a grunt, I grunt."
"Otho, that's the most efficient life philosophy I've ever heard."
"So mace then?"
"Yes, please."
Otho showed Harry the armor choices. He ended up wearing a heavy wool shirt and trousers, wool hose, and leather boots. Over that went a quilted jacket and a knee-length chainmail shirt, leather bracers, greaves, and an iron kettle helmet. Finally, Otho handed him a small round shield. Everything that could be was painted in Zinkle's colors of bright purple and black.
Harry had to be shown how to attach the two-piece hose. He insisted on a second pair, and Otho gave in quickly, apparently surprised that Harry knew how important dry feet were to a soldier.
He was also given a belt dagger and a backpack containing a blanket, crude medical supplies, and camping gear. A short length of rope hung from the side, and a bedroll was strapped on top. Harry debated what to do with the ragged clothes he'd worn when he appeared in the vault. Not sure why, he finally stuffed them into the backpack.
Once Harry was armed, armored and had his pack firmly in place on his back, Otho led him to where two others waited near the portal, a man and a woman, both with travel packs resting at their feet. Harry's heart sank. They were younger than he'd expected. He'd be surprised if either was over eighteen.
The woman was dressed head to toe in worn green and brown leather, patched in places. Sun-bronzed skin, dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail with flyaways haloing her face in the light of the portal. The end of a bow rose over one shoulder, and a quiver hung from a strap at her side. Another bundle of similar size and shape was lashed to her pack on top of the bedroll, probably more arrows. Hazel-green eyes tracked Harry's approach with the kind of watchful stillness that reminded him of a barn cat deciding whether to bolt or stay.
The boy wore a mix of chainmail and bright purple leather like Harry, but where Harry imagined he looked rugged, maybe a bit dashing, like Clint Eastwood in Braveheart, the kid looked like a toddler trying on his father's suit. Nothing fit right. Sandy hair fell across his forehead, and his face still carried the soft, round-cheeked look of someone who hadn't quite finished growing into himself. But he leaned on a spear that looked like it had seen use, and a sword hung at his hip.
Both also had daggers at their belts, and up close Harry saw that the woman had a small axe strapped to the side of her pack beneath the rope.
Otho pointed to the ground. “Wait here.”
Harry gave him a wide grin. “Right here in this spot? Not here, or here, or here?” He pointed to three random patches of dirt around him.
Otho grunted and walked off.
The boy stared, eyes wide, apparently shocked that anyone would talk to Otho that way.
Harry stepped closer and held out his hand to each, “Hello there, I’m Harold Blackstone, but please call me Harry.”
The woman watched Otho walk away, then looked at Harry with one raised eyebrow. She gave him a small nod and took his hand. “Jomila Winters. Friends call me Jojo. You can call me Jo.”
When the boy took his hand, Harry was surprised by the toughness of it, calluses on top of calluses.
“It’s a good evening, isn’t it? I’m Toby. Toby Reed. My folks have a farm outside of… Are you the one we were waiting for, sir?”
“I’m afraid so. Zinkle was very persuasive. Have you been waiting out here long?” Harry planted the butt of his spear and tried to adopt the same casual pose Toby made look easy.
“No sir, we just came out a few minutes ago. Or did you mean out here in the mountains… I’ve been here a few days.” He gestured at the woman. “Jojo’s been here longer.”
She looked at Toby with a scowl. “It’s Jo.”
Toby gave an embarrassed smile and nodded.
“Toby, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
“Do I mind your asking? No, sir. I’m nineteen, but folks say I look younger. Don’t they, Jojo… I mean Jo.”
Jo rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He acts younger too.”
It was hard to tell in the light of the portal, but Harry thought he saw Toby blush.
Harry gestured at Toby’s spear and the sword on his hip. “Toby, you look comfortable with those. Have you had training?”
“Did I have training? Yes, sir. In the Brookhaven militia. All the farm boys have to go in for drilling every month. Been going since I turned twelve, the winter old man Burnard slipped on the ice and broke his arm and lost three teeth.”
Harry glanced at Jo, but she just shrugged. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Burnard, but glad to hear you’ve had so much training. If we get a chance tomorrow,” he grabbed his spear with both hands, “do you think you’d give me some pointers on how to use this thing?”
A look of pure confusion crossed Toby’s face. “But aren’t you a nobleman, sir?”
Harry made a shooing motion. “Theoretically, yes.”
“Theo who, sir?” Toby scratched the back of his neck and looked to Jo for help.
From behind Harry came a new voice. “He means in concept, boy. Whereas the actuality of the situation may be something entirely different.”
Harry turned around. Another youth. Funny him calling Toby ‘boy.’ But this one was very different. He looked very comfortable in his armor. It fit perfectly, and even Harry could tell it was much higher quality. Also, it wasn't purple. He was tall, six-two at least, the tallest person Harry had seen so far. Golden blonde hair, classically handsome features, and the kind of posture that suggested formal training. A sword and dagger hung at his hip, and one of Zinkle's soldiers trailed behind him, awkwardly carrying a spear, helmet, shield, and backpack. This must be the knight.
Before Harry could speak the newcomer continued.
“I find myself in much the same situation.” He stopped in front of them and stood staring at Toby.
“Well, go on then. Introduce me.”
“Me, sir? Yes. Alright.” Toby turned to Harry. “Sir Harry, may I present Sir Cedric Whitehall, son of Baron Whitehall.” He turned back to Cedric. “Sir Cedric, may I present Lord Harold Blackstone.”
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Harry held out his hand but instead of shaking it, Cedric grasped his forearm. "Blackstone? I don't believe I've heard the name."
Harry grasped Cedric's forearm in return. "No, we’re from very far away."
Harry noticed Cedric glance down and frown at the mace hanging from his belt. But the scowl disappeared without a trace as he dropped his arm and turned to the soldier behind him, pointing next to the tent. "Place my gear here."
Cedric was standing slightly apart from the rest so Harry took a step to the side and turned his body to bring him more into the group. "We're just missing one more then?"
Cedric's scowl returned, this time like it intended to stay and set up camp. "Sir Garrett Ashford. Formerly of Ashford Manor." With that he walked to where his gear had been left and started looking through his pack.
At mention of Ashford's name, Jo and Toby exchanged looks of disgust before following Cedric's lead and opening their packs. Jo pulled out a dark gray cloak and gloves. Toby sat down with a letter.
Harry was saved from having to appear busy when a message popped up.
:: You have been invited to a party by Salvatrix Carnailis.
:: Accept Party Invite: (Y/N)
Harry immediately accepted.
:: You have joined a party.
:: Party Leader: Salvatrix Carnailis (Class: Courier, Level: 5)
:: No other party members at present.
- Harry: Hi there.
- Sally: Hello, Harry. I guess it’s too late to back out now.
- Harry: I’m starting to think you’ve had some bad relationship experiences. Last boyfriend couldn’t commit?
Sally laughed over the link.
- Sally: Is that who you are now, my boyfriend?
Harry’s reply came as a stage whisper, which was kind of impressive. How do you whisper when you are talking mind to mind?
- Harry: Just don’t tell Martha. She’d skin me alive.
- Sally: Oh no. If I can find her, she’ll have to fight me for you. I can’t let a hero get away just because he’s married.
- Harry: Thanks again for agreeing to look.
- Sally: Thank me when I find her.
Otho emerged from the tent followed by Zinkle, who swept out with a grin and his arms spread wide.
- Harry: Our little friend has appeared. Any last minute tips?
- Sally: Be careful. Hide behind the knight.
“I see we’ve all met,” Zinkle said, looking each of them over. He paused as if waiting for applause. “Otho are we missing someone?”
Otho grunted and started toward the row of tents.
“Is everyone all set? Have everything you need? I have high hopes for this group. High hopes indeed,” Zinkle said, voice dancing with pleasure.
Jo’s eyes stayed on Zinkle, hard and steady. Toby looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Cedric paid no attention at all.
“We’re going in now?” Harry asked.
“The sooner you shove your hand into the fire, the sooner the scabbing can begin,” Zinkle replied, smiling.
“Or you could just stay away from the fire,” Jo said flatly.
Zinkle’s smile widened. “Jomila Winters, how delightful. I assume you’ve enjoyed your stay up here in the clean mountain air. Much better than the dungeon, I’m sure.”
Jo looked away.
A shout cut across the camp. Otho came out of one of the tents dragging a man by the neck of his chainmail. The man fought every step, heels scraping at the ground, but Otho moved without slowing. Behind them the guard who had carried Cedric’s gear hauled another bundle. It was Garrett’s.
Up close Harry saw a swollen bruise along the man’s cheek. The man’s voice was raw.
“This is outrageous. I’ve been cheated!”
He spotted Zinkle and spat the name. “Doomcaller. This is your doing. When the Duke hears about this he’ll have your head.”
Zinkle turned and addressed the rest of them with a flourish. “Sir Harold, may I present Lord Garrett Ashford, a nobleman caught avoiding taxes and plotting treason. A true gem.”
“It’s not too late, Zinkle. We can work something out,” Garrett said, breathless, pleading.
Harry glanced at Garrett and felt a low certainty.
If we die in there, he’ll be the first.
Zinkle stopped abruptly in front of Harry. “I almost forgot. Will you need to… freshen up before starting?”
Harry glanced at his meters. He’d managed to recover a single point of vitae while resting, and discovered that lying in the cart talking in party chat, while not exactly uninterrupted rest, at least didn’t drain him further.
V: 97 | TM: 3%
“No,” Harry said. “If there are resources in the dungeon, I’ll be fine. If not, what I do now won’t matter.”
Zinkle’s smile thinned. “Well, no matter. I had a special surprise prepared for you, but it can wait.”
He turned back and addressed everyone. “There you have it, never before has such a fine group attempted the Chambers of Attrition.”
He stepped up next to the portal and stood pointing like he was welcoming them onto a cruise ship. “Well, go on then. Get moving.”
Cedric was the first to step forward, crossing into the portal without a second glance. Jo followed, her movements quick and smooth. Toby hesitated, looked one more time at the stars and stepped in.
As he watched the others enter and disappear, Sally spoke again, soft and hesitant.
- Sally: Good luck, Harry… and thank you.
- Harry: You’re welcome, Sally. Stay out of dark alleys until I get back.
With that, he stepped into the portal. A sharp, tingling sensation rippled through him, like static. The air hummed, and his stomach dropped as the world around him shifted.
When the feeling passed, he found himself standing in a large antechamber. Several messages appeared but slid down and out of the way. The portal glowed behind him, casting the room in brightly dancing purple. In front of him, a large set of double doors stood about twenty feet away. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of stone, cold, rough, and imposing. He was in a room, about twenty feet square with two torches on the walls to the left and right.
His three companions waited by the doors, shifting slightly as they noticed his arrival.
Cedric shrugged, “Help me open these doors.”
Without hesitation, Harry stepped to one side with Toby, while Jo and Cedric took positions on the other. Together, they grabbed the handles of the heavy doors and pulled. With a groan, the doors creaked open and revealed a wide staircase descending into darkness. As they swung fully open, torches mounted along the walls at ten-foot intervals heading down flared to life, casting flickering light down the steps.
Cedric gestured toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
Toby hesitated. “Follow? What about Lord Garrett?”
Cedric paused, “He’s no lord in here. He can catch up.”
Harry glanced back at the portal. “Is he really that bad?”
Jo smirked, “I once heard Toby’s Maw-Maw say, a three-legged heifer might give milk, but in the long run, she just slows down the herd.”
Harry nodded. “Alright, but I’ll wait for him. He only has five minutes, right?”
Cedric shot him a glance, his expression tight with impatience. “Probably a sound idea. Else he is likely to remain right here calling for the Duke to save him. Catch us up, we won’t be far.”
He turned, heading down the stairs with a quick pace. Jo and Toby followed behind, leaving Harry alone at the top.
He didn’t have to wait long. He could still hear the others going down when Lord Garrett came flying through the portal and hit the ground with a sickening crunch. He slid a short distance across the stone floor before coming to a halt. He gave a soft groan, started to push himself up, collapsed and went limp.
Harry moved toward him, when a backpack came flying through the portal, hitting the floor with a sharp thump. Harry sidestepped quickly, narrowly avoiding it as it slid and tumbled down the stairs. The pack was followed by a spear and shield, but instead of flying across the room, they landed with a rattle right in front of the portal.
Harry rushed to Garrett and knelt, but even as he put a hand to the man’s neck, checking for a pulse, he died. A dagger was driven into his back, straight through the chainmail.
That had to have been Otho.
The smell of blood hit him like a wave. Anger flared, his vision blurred, going red.
Zinkle had gone too far. This was nothing but wasteful murder. He was surprised when a hiss escaped his lips and without a thought, his fangs slid out. He turned back to the portal, still open. He moved quickly toward it.
Just as he reached it, someone else came flying through.
Harry got his shield up but they crashed together, driving him backward. He hit the ground hard, half on top of Garrett's body. His spear clattered away across the stone. He rolled clear and scrambled after it. Weapon in hand, he sprang up and leveled the point at his attacker.
It wasn't an attacker though. Stretched out on their stomach was another man, bound hand and foot, squirming to try and turn over. Harry rushed to help, flipped him onto his back, and almost fell over again in shock.
“Stan?” The thug from the inn looked up in equal shock and made angry grunts around the gag he was wearing.
Before Harry could fully process what he was seeing, he heard a loud commotion. Something, or someone, was running up the stairs toward him. Either his party was running from something or they were already dead and whatever killed them was coming for him.
He stood and faced the stairs, leveling his spear at the approaching noise. At the same time, two things happened. The portal shifted to a dull muted gray, leaving the torches as the only illumination, and a message blinked into view.
:: Salvatrix Carnailis has left the party.
:: You are now the party leader.
:: Party contains one member. Party interface closing.
***
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