Death by Cliché (19 page)

“Is it just me, or are the descriptions in this place getting more detailed?” he asked.

“Its just you,” Gorthander said.

They stood over a valley of flowing green grass and red-berried bushes. Along the bottom, a stream snaked, dark and brilliant white in the contrast of the reflecting sunlight, waving and shimmering as it flowed. Damico shook his head.

“I tell you, these descriptions are getting better.”

“Stop flattering yourself.”

They thought he was Carl fishing for compliments again. Oh, well. Maybe Carl had gone on a nature hike or something.

“My dear comrades. We still don’t know what we’re going to do. What shall be the next leg of this grand adventure?” Arithian said.

“Find something,” Omar said. “Kill it. Repeat as necessary.”

“Until what?” Gorthander asked.

“I don’t understand the question,” Omar said.

Damico flopped down on the crest of the hill, the grass soft, the earth loamy. He pulled up his knees and rested his wrists on them. The winds blew, and the smell of green flowed on the air.

“I think we should start asking around,” Damico said.

“For what?” Gorthander asked.

He flopped down next to Damico with a rattling sound. Arithian walked down the hill a bit in front of him. Lotianna folded up gracefully opposite the dwarf.

“I don’t know,” Damico said.

The gusts whistled gently along the top of the hill, blowing across the sweat and blood that caked Damico. So this was what “blowing the stink off you” meant.

A roar sounded in the distance, and a half dozen orcs appeared in the middle of the open hillside, already in a charge. They didn’t step out of hiding places, they just appeared.

“Carl needs to study the
spirit
of the Encounter Distance rules,” Damico said.

“I didn’t catch that,” Gorthander said.

“Never mind,” Damico said, scrambling to his feet as the orcs charged.

Omar blasted past, his ax out as he roared down the hill. Arithian backpedaled, and Gorthander rushed in with a shrug. Damico charged.

Omar crashed into the first two and Gorthander the next two, each parrying blows and shouting. Damico sprinted toward the last one, his sword still in it’s scabbard. The orc’s great green head tilted to one side, perplexed as it sucked on it’s tusks. It drew back it’s sword for a hack at his midriff.

Damico leaped, placing a hand on each of it’s shoulders, flipping into the air, and tucking into a ball. The orc’s sword swung through where he’d been a moment before, the rotation of his shoulders adding a twist to Damico’s flip.

He landed with an easy movement, facing the orc’s back, and drew his sword. He hacked the thing down before it could react. It gurgled in a spray of blood.

Gorthander’s first orc dropped next to the body of Omar’s. A pulse of three white lights shot over Omar’s shoulder, dropping an orc at the same time a dagger appeared in the throat of the last one.

Damico relaxed and cleaned his sword. Arithian collected his dagger. Lotianna lowered her hands, the light from her spell still fading.

“The wandering monsters aren’t very difficult,” Gorthander said.

Damico shrugged and decided not to try to explain the demographics that went into random encounter charts. Carl probably wouldn’t pass the information along anyway.

“What were we talking about?” Gorthander asked as Omar tossed the orcs for treasure.

They thumped when they landed. Obviously, Brian hadn’t gotten his intention across to Carl.

“That was a nice little flip you did there,” Gorthander said.

“I’ve been putting ranks in Tumble,” Damico said, assuming it was true.

Then a thought hit him. It had nothing to do with the matters at hand.

“Brian,” Gorthander said to Omar. “Do you have Ranks in Tumble?”

“I don’t know,” Omar said.

Gorthander sounded puzzled. “Check your character sheet.”

Damico ignored the two as the thought took hold and blossomed into an idea.

“I spilled a Mountain Dew on it,” Omar said.

“So, you’re in a state of flux,” Gorthander said.

Damico smiled.

“I’ll respend my points before next week,” Omar said.

No, Damico was sure about it. He studied his new idea from every angle. It made sense.

“I know what we ask,” Damico said.

Everyone looked at him.

“Huh?” Omar said.

“When we ask around,” Damico said. “We ask where Hraldolf went, and if he has the Artifact, where he might have carried it.”

Omar and Gorthander exchanged glances. Arithian tilted his head to one side. Lotianna smiled as if she understood.

“Hraldolf’s dead,” Gorthander said.

“No.”

“And how do you know that?” Gorthander asked.

“Because I don’t feel any tougher.”

Gorthander and Omar exchanged glances again.

“I don’t understand,” Omar said.

“If we’d killed Hraldolf and destroyed the Artifact, for good or bad, the adventure would be over, right?” Damico asked.

“How do you know it isn’t?” Omar asked.

“Because when the adventure ends, we get experience points to spend,” Damico said with a smile. “I haven’t gone up a skill level.”

Omar nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I haven’t leveled either.”

Gorthander smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Chapter
Thirty-Two

“This page intentionally left blank.”

—Bob Defendi

he inn had a
large central room with a huge fire pit
in the center, producing smoke that flowed up through the round hole in the roof. Torches lined the walls. Heavy wooden tables sat throughout, shimmering with spilled beer and dust. On the benches, patrons laughed, shouted, generally stunk up the joint. Barmaids with low-cut Swiss-Miss dresses worked the crowd, smiling in their pigtails and dodging the grabs and the gooses.

Gorthander snored quietly on his bench, no doubt frightening entire ecosystems of beard lice. Arithian had already vanished with a barmaid on each arm. Omar had gone to bed. Damico sat staring into his beer. Lotianna next to him. Actually next to him. She wasn’t even hunching over.

“That was pretty amazing,” she said.

Damico smiled at her. She met his eyes for the first time since the “evil Lotianna,” as he thought of her, had shown up. They were lovely eyes. Expressive.

“What was?” he asked.

“The whole escape-from-the-dungeon thing.”

He shrugged. “It was pretty old fare.”

“Now you’re just being humble.”

“Omar did most of it,” he said.

“Yeah.” She smiled slyly. “That’s how I remember it.”

She was talking to Carl in the real world. Was she buttering him up, or was this really in character? Maybe she wanted a new staff.

The silence drew out between them, and Damico decided it was too early to tell. Instead, he watched the barmaids and the tavern patrons, and marveled at how alive they were. He wanted to talk to Lotianna about it, wanted to talk to
anyone
about it. But the only one with whom he could have a real conversation without Carl interfering had been Jurkand. He felt alone. His chest tightened until his heart ached.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He held her gaze until she broke it. “I don’t know what to do next,” he said. “I mean, ask around, yes, but beyond that, I have no idea.”

“You’ll figure something out,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

They sat there in silence for a time longer.

Lotianna stood. “I’m going to bed.” She cast one smile at him over her shoulder and walked away from the table.

“Wait,” he said.

She stopped. She didn’t face him. Damico stood behind her and approached. She swayed back toward him slightly, and he turned her around. She stared up into his eyes, her own full of implied promises.

He leaned over and kissed her.

He pulled away reluctantly then reached up and cupped her face with both hands. When she looked away, he turned her back and gave her a gentle nudge. She walked up the stairs to her room.

He didn’t follow her.

Instead, he went back to the table and sipped at his ale. He wouldn’t follow her tonight. He didn’t know what happened last time, but he was afraid he’d pushed her too fast, that the abrupt mood changes were his fault. He would move slowly this time. Back to the kiss and no further. Give her time to get used to it, make sure she didn’t regret each step along the way.

The fact she was willing to role-play this with Carl was amazing enough as it was. He still hadn’t figured out quite how that worked. Did this scene play out at the table like Gorthander had hinted at earlier with his comment about Carl being charming, or did Carl just say something like “Damico makes a pass at you,” and she replied with, “Okay. I catch it.” Was this all just a game reflection of an abstract conversation, or was this something more?

Would he ever really know?

He watched the tavern patrons, three men played a game with bones, laughing and slapping the table with every throw. Two barmaids giggled by the door, leaning in and pointing at a big, grizzled man who drank in silence, until one of them pushed the other toward him. A dog worried a rat in one corner. These people were
alive,
and it was because of him. In the face of that, did he really
need
anything more?

He still felt weaker, but was it so much to sacrifice for this? He had Lotianna, in her own way, and Gorthander and Arithian. God help him, he even had Omar.

He might have died in the real world. He might be in ICU at the U of U hospital. He might even have been in some hole in Carl’s basement. At least he couldn’t put the lotion in the basket. That would show the bastard.

No. None of that mattered. He was
here
, and for the first time since he’d come here, he was happy. Too happy to worry that he was probably killing himself with every person he brought to life.

He watched them, and he smiled.

Chapter
Thirty
-Three

“This chapter contains 5 percent post-consumer recycled material.”

—Bob Defendi

amico and the party left the inn the next morning,
walking out onto streets of earth and straw. A four year old girl in a dirty brown smock led an ox down the road, forcing them to stand to one side. They pressed against the splintering lumber of one of the houses, and when the ox passed, stepped out into the throngs of people and beasts. They headed toward the edge of the city until they passed the last house.