Lucky magic shop clerk, p.19
Lucky Magic Shop Clerk, page 19
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The next morning, Dieter contacted them in the aircar on their way to the arena. Without preamble, he said, “The video of Wayne and Mort is out. It is just now reaching the news feed, and causing quite a stir. I have been speaking with government representatives who are very curious about Mort. They have lots of questions.” He wiped a light sheen of sweat from his brow, then frowned at his damp hand. “I have forestalled their inquiry for now. I think we will have answers to the big picture, soon enough. The mysterious disappearance of two nuclear missiles can hopefully be forgotten in the aftermath.” Dieter’s smile was tired. “Best of luck in the arena today. We’re all watching and rooting for you.”
As they flew over the arena, they could see the crowd already massing at the front gate. There were long, red banners hanging to either side, depicting Susie in a fighting pose, and declaring “Susie Repel Returns!” in flashy graphics. The car landed in back, near the staff entrance. Before they exited, Susie said, “Wayne, keep your Blur on. Now that the video is out, it’s best not to let anyone see who you are until the last possible moment.”
Wayne concurred. “Yes, friend Susie. I will remain incognito.”
Being by far the least infamous of his party, Milo left his Blur off. They approached the guards at the staff entrance, who wore tactical armor and carried nasty-looking bullpup slug throwers. The guards both nodded respectfully at Susie and ignored the large blur that was Wayne. As Milo passed, he noticed the guard closest to him had her face altered to resemble a panther’s. She caught Milo’s look and purred, “I love the deer work, young man. Very subtle. Who’s your surgeon?”
She had to know who he was, that he was fae. They confirmed this, when both guards laughed at his back like he was already dead.
Susie took them to a staging area. Dungeon Arena staff stood waiting at a long table with their rented equipment. More attitude awaited Milo there, as well.
“What the fuck is this?” said the large fellow across the table from him, holding up a cheap-looking pink plastic fife. The man was altered and equipped to look like an orc warrior, including the awkward tusks, but he lacked an orc’s palpable savagery. A human costumed as a monster. Milo paid him no mind, and collected the rest of his purchases from the table.
When it came time to hand over the Fife, the unconvincing orc decided to fuck around, raising it up out of Milo’s reach and waving it at him. Milo waited, unsure what to do, but he knew this lackey didn’t have the clout to hold up the show. There was no way he was leaving without the Magic Fife. He didn’t want to attract attention to it, though.
Susie came to his rescue. She leapt over the table and walked up to the orc, who grinned at her, still waving the Fife in the air. When he made a show of licking it, she kicked him in the balls. He dropped the Fife. Susie caught it as it fell, then handed it across the table to Milo. They were led away to their dressing rooms, while the fake orc was left writhing on the floor, making high-pitched keening sounds.
58
They geared up. Then they reconvened in the entry room, facing the wall that would open onto the dungeon.
The room was an empty sandstone box. Milo and Wayne stood to one side, Susie to the other. They had planned their route through Cavendish Hills in two teams. Milo was confident they’d make it to the end of the second level without difficulty.
A viewscreen came to life on the wall near Susie. It was Hairy Fox, speaking into his personal comm. He must be in the arena, as Milo could hear the crowd around him getting worked up.
“Hey Sus, checking in from my luxury box. Got some news for you. You’ll be happy to hear that you won’t be delving Cavendish today. To honor your friends from Magic, we’ve whipped up a new scenario at the last minute. But that doesn’t mean we skimped on the details, so get ready for some surprises! Crazy stuff, Sus!
“And check it out—I brought some new friends to watch with me.” He held up his comm to show the rest of the box. Behind him, two men were seated in club chairs, looking uncomfortable. “You recognize these two gentlemen from the University, yes?” Hairy gave his best shit-eating grin. “Anyway, Sus, you go out there and give us a show, okay? Make your corporate sponsors proud!” He twiddled his fingers. “Bye!”
“Hey, wait, you asshole!” Milo yelled. “I protest! You can’t just switch scenarios on us! At least give us a chance to purchase new equipment! If you don’t, we’ll just stand here, and your ratings will suck!”
The screen stayed dark and nothing happened. Milo turned to Susie, who was looking at the ground, lost in thought.
“Who were those two University guys, Susie?”
Susie looked up. “That was Professor Kirkland, the department chair for Computer Science. And the bald guy was Professor Green, Magic Studies, also head of his department. Fuuuck.”
Milo did not like the sound of that “fuuuck.” “Those were names you weren’t supposed to say out loud, weren’t they? We’ve seen them, so now they also need us dead, huh?” Milo looked at the ceiling. “Point to you, Hairy Fox, for sealing the conspiracy with murder.”
“Ah, ah!” Wayne barked. “They will have to kill us first!”
Then the wall lowered. Even without any expectations, the dungeon was strange.
Milo saw a pine forest. Snow was heaped on the trees and blanketed the ground. It was dusk, and snowflakes fell lazily from a bleak, midwinter sky. They stood there and watched. A cold breeze blew in the room, carrying a dusting of sparkly flakes and the acrid smell of pine needles. The snowfall muffled sound, but as Milo listened, he couldn’t hear anything. The hush felt peaceful.
“We can’t stay here, Milo. We’ve got to go inside, or we’ll be cornered in this room. It’s a death trap.”
Milo saw the sense in that. At least the extra layers he had on, worn to prevent ghoul scratches, would keep him warm.
“Trees are my domain,” Wayne said. He was briskly removing his plate armor; Milo moved to help him with the buckles. Once unburdened, Wayne nodded with determination. “I will go first.” He went to stand at the room’s borderline. Then he knelt down and leapt halfway up the nearest large tree. It swayed alarmingly and dumped most of its snow, but held.
“Ah, ah!” Wayne barked from his perch. “Out of the room, quickly! Take cover!”
Neither of them needed to be told twice. Milo scurried to take shelter at the base of Wayne’s tree, while Susie, staying low, started working her way forward, moving from tree to tree.
Milo almost missed the Fireball that flew past. His head whipped around, to watch it explode in the room they’d just vacated. His eyes closed reflexively against the blast of superheated air.
Then a Lightning Bolt hit the tree trunk, right below where Wayne was clinging. There was a flash of light, and it exploded into flinders.
Milo dove for a nearby snowbank. A finger-sized piece of shrapnel passed through the top of his left boot and sank deep into his calf. He tried to muffle his yelps of pain while pulling it out. Then he groaned, as he remembered he wasn’t in a real dungeon and had no Healing potions. He watched queasily as his blood pooled on the snow. The air smelled of ozone and burning sap. He took a clean handful of snow and packed it onto the wound, holding it tight.
There appeared to be no visible limit to the forest he was seeing. But he knew it was bounded by the walls of the arena. Susie’s dark armor was easy to spot against the monochromatic landscape, and she was making progress. As was Wayne, whom he spied deftly leaping from treetop to treetop. Milo had to follow in support, or he’d let his friends down. And get left behind, probably to die.
He checked under his hand. The blood had lessened to a trickle. He couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he tore a strip from his shirtsleeve and tied it over the wound. He got up and began limping into the dungeon.
As he weaved through the trees, each step sank knee-deep in the snow. It quickly filled his boots. Soon his calf was numb to the pain, and he was more worried about his toes.
After a two-minute slog, he saw light through the trees. He came to a treeline and looked out over a large clearing. In the center, surrounded by snow, was a faerie circle of six-foot-high mushrooms, about fifty yards wide. The caps were red with white dots.
The mushrooms were packed solid, so he couldn’t see through them. But he could see over them, because of the light. Inside the circle, a sunny patch of blue sky shone down, on a verdant hill of grasses and wildflowers. At its summit, a giant oak tree spread its limbs like a living fortress.
To his right, Milo spotted Wayne at the top of a forty-foot pine, also watching the clearing. He was quite the sight, in his strapped-leather outfit, clinging to the trunk with his legs and one hand while holding his sword in the other. Wayne caught his eye and gave him a nod, then pointed out Susie, farther down the treeline. She was also in position, hunkered down and ready. They’d been waiting for him.
There was a flash from the oak’s canopy. Wayne pointing with his sword must’ve attracted too much attention.
Instead of leaping away, Wayne spun around and presented his back, where his shield was strapped. He gripped the trunk tightly with both arms. The Ice Bolt nailed the shield, dead-center.
With a bang, chunks of ice flew. The pine creaked dangerously, as it bent from the impact, until Wayne was almost parallel to the ground. Then he turned around to face forward, while crouching down against the trunk’s leading edge. This made the tree bend worse, until it stopped. There was a moment when Milo thought it might snap in half.
Then Wayne stood and pointed his sword at the sky. The tree catapulted him into the air. Milo imagined the front rows of the arena crowd, looking up open-mouthed as Wayne flew past them like an arrow. That must’ve been the signal, as Susie burst from her concealment and charged the faerie circle.
Milo watched, as Wayne sailed over the circle and crash-landed in the oak tree’s canopy. It seemed farther than was possible. Arboreal Barbarian stuff.
Milo sighed, then pulled the wand of Fireball. He shot at the nearest giant mushroom, hoping to create an opening. Because there was no way he was climbing over it. He emerged from cover as he fired, and started hop-limping across the snow.
The Fireball exploded against the mushroom stalks. Because of the smoke, he couldn’t immediately gauge the results. As he limped forward, he presented an easy target, so he tried to keep the smoke between him and the tree.
On the off-chance it might grant him some protection, he replaced the wand of Fireball with the Magic Fife. He started banging out a march, as he limped. His fingers were cold and stiff, so it didn’t sound so good at first. But once he got warmed up, the music made him feel a bit better. He could tell it wasn’t doing anything special, though, so he stopped and put the Fife away.
He could see and hear sounds of combat from inside the oak canopy—flashes of magic and Wayne’s shouts—but he couldn’t make out who Wayne was fighting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susie leap atop a mushroom cap, sword and shield in hand. Only to have her momentum stopped midway, when she tried to jump down the other side. She banged the pommel of her sword repeatedly against some invisible barrier.
Milo reached the faerie circle, and was relieved to see his Fireball had opened a way through. It wasn’t quite big enough, but he was in a rush, so he threw himself at it, shoulder first. He hit the spot squarely and stopped, caught in a viscous substance the consistency of honey. Then he popped through. He landed on warm grass, in a shower of burnt mushroom bits.
He lay there for a moment, remembering how good it felt to be warm. Was that all? He hadn’t felt this good since leaving Magic.
“Milo! Get up and go help Wayne! Fuck!” Susie yelled, while banging her pommel against the unseen barrier for emphasis.
Milo stood and took a deep breath. Then he realized what was different. “There’s mana here!” he yelled in astonishment. He cast Identify on the oak tree, and it came back as an ancient dryad oak. The knowledge seemed a mixed blessing. An ancient dryad was an unfairly formidable first-level opponent.
Wayne was in the oak’s canopy, fighting everybody. Wand of Fireball would be effective but inappropriate, once again. Milo scurried up the hill towards the base of the tree, wand of Magic Missile in hand. As he passed under the branches he looked up, and saw Wayne facing off against a trio of sprites: blue, orange, and white. The Squirrelman was having a hard time closing on them. He leapt from branch to branch when he could, but he was mostly forced to crouch behind his shield, to absorb the incoming elemental blasts.
If his ersatz wand of Magic Missile worked like the real thing, it should hit every time. He aimed it at the fire sprite and let loose with all seven charges.
Give the Tech designers credit, the wand even had the light recoil, as each bolt of plasma flew on its way. Also, the sprites were acting credibly like sprites, by being scatterbrained and ignoring him, intent solely on tormenting Wayne. Milo was close enough to hear their tiny shouts of glee.
Their fun ended when the Magic Missiles hit the fire sprite, who shrieked once and fell to the ground, dragonfly wings shriveled and crisped. Milo drew his rapier and limped over to where the creature lay sprawled, then stabbed the little fucker through. Did it a few extra times, just to make sure. Tiny flying monsters should not be allowed to throw Fireballs.
Watching him dodge and defend, Milo had briefly wondered if Wayne had some issue with killing other fae. Apparently not, as once the odds got better, he went on the offensive. The lightning sprite shrieked in terror as it weaved through the branches. Wayne pursued it with supernatural grace.
Why is there mana here? How is that possible?
The ice sprite had seen the fate of its compatriot and was glaring hatefully at Milo. Its hands began to conjure an Ice Bolt for him. Left without an appropriate weapon to defend himself, Milo pointed the empty wand of Magic Missile at his foe, who cringed and fumbled the spell. In the few seconds that gave Milo, he untied the Bag of Winds from his belt, and gave the ice sprite a blast.
With a whoosh, all the oak branches in the Bag of Winds’ path swung upward, scattering leaves and acorns everywhere. The ice sprite was projected violently out the top of the tree. Twenty feet up, it hit the invisible dungeon ceiling with a wet thwack. As it peeled off and fell, it left a red smear of fluids behind, to mar the pure blue of the fake sky.
The lightning sprite panicked. It left the security of the canopy for open spaces. Despairing, Milo watched as it zipped away from the tree. He envisioned a long, frustrating chase through the freezing pines, while it sniped at them with Lightning Bolts.
Wayne had other plans. The Squirrelman leapt to a branch clearly too thin to bear his weight, then springboarded off it into the air, sword raised. The sprite never saw him coming. It never occurred to it not to fly in a straight line.
At the last second, the sprite must’ve sensed its impending doom, as it put on a final burst of speed. It wasn’t enough, though. Wayne’s arm stretched out on the downswing, and he neatly bisected the sprite with his sword tip, right between the wings. Then he landed in the grass in a three-point stance. His pommel slammed down in a patch of bluebells.
When the lightning sprite died, Milo heard a weary female sigh come from the tree. He could’ve sworn the branches drooped in sadness. Not wanting anything to do with autonomous branches, Milo took off limping towards Wayne, at his best possible speed. It was difficult negotiating the downhill, so he didn’t see the ancient oak dryad emerge from the tree. He did see a look of determination harden on Wayne’s face.
Milo didn’t stop until he’d limped past Wayne, and put him between Milo and the oak. Still only the dungeon’s first level, and he was tired. He’d already had enough.
“Hello, Squirrelman Wayne. Hello, Milo Hart.”
Despite being “ancient,” the dryad was youthful and pretty, wearing a dress of oak leaves that accentuated her curves. She in no way resembled Sasha, the ancient pine dryad, despite the alleged similarity in age. She stood in the grass underneath the edge of the canopy. Her voice was friendly.
“Ah, ah!” Wayne barked. “Hello, Fake-dryad!”
The dryad was seemingly confused by Wayne’s response, as her face went blank for a moment. The pause reminded Milo that the world around him was scripted.
Then she remembered her lines. “We don’t need to fight. We have all the mana you want here. It feels good, doesn’t it? I invite you to join us.” She spread her arms wide in a welcoming gesture. It didn’t look very sincere.
“Join you?” Milo called back. “Didn’t you just try to kill us?”
The dryad pouted. “The sprites? They are silly creatures, as you know, who thrive on conflict. And so envious! They can’t resist attacking large, handsome men, such as yourselves.” She gave them a disingenuous smile. “I apologize for their savage behavior. I hope neither of you were badly hurt.”
Milo wondered how much of this solicitation the audience was hearing. Or were they hearing something else entirely, like how the “wrath of the sacred tree was going to smite them,” or how she’d “raised those sprites from spritlings.” It all felt like a setup.
“Lady, a good friend of mine is a sprite, and he’s a consummate professional. Those creatures weren’t sprites—they were weaponized vat-trash.” Milo was getting worked up about this. “Badly injured,” my ass. “And quit acting. You’re not ‘ancient’—you’re a hollow shell, decanted no more than a few days ago. There’s a personality robot where your brain should be, stuffed with information about dryads. But none of you have ever met, or even seen a real dryad. I don’t know where this mana is coming from, and I confess I’m curious. But it’s not enough to get me to join you.”
The dryad’s face had gone from pout to angry pout, or maybe that was her look of concentration. Fake monster faces were hard to read. The real message was in the magic black outline Milo saw snaking towards them underground, from where the dryad stood.
