Monster wrangler 2 a lit.., p.20
Monster Wrangler 2: A LitRPG Fantasy, page 20
“What do we have here?” Wilder asked as he took the larger pieces of firewood from her arms. “That’s not one of our bags, is it?”
“It belonged to the Jackdaws,” Mikla replied. “Mikla found a huge portion of salt pork, onions, and potatoes in this bag at the edge of their camp. Since those souls have been sent on to Artemis, Mikla figured that they had no more use for it. So it shall be our dinner instead.”
“Praise the Sun!” Shafiri enthused. “Sativa and I have been on light rations for the past couple of days. This shall be a welcome change.”
Mikla set the bag aside for the moment. Then she placed the kindling in the improvised fire pit and then pulled out a fire striker from one of her cloak’s pockets.
The little piece of carbon steel had a sharp edge of flint. A couple of strikes, and the resulting sparks caught the kindling. She fed the larger sticks into the resulting blaze until they had a warm, steady fire going.
Wilder dug out the cooking utensils he was going to need from their saddlebags. He halted on the way over to the fire as he spotted a familiar dim red glow in the corner of his vision, indicating that his Tally Sheet had been updated.
He squinted, activating the triple set of questions that acted as the entry screen to his Tally Sheet. Three words hovered in the air before him. He tapped WHO this time and then decided to try something new.
As with the time that he, Zara, and Mikla had linked minds to enlarge the All-Monster Sanctuary, he pictured his fingers moving to zoom the picture out.
In a couple of seconds, he had three separate readouts hovering in mid-air before them.
Name: Jack Wilder, Warden of the All-Monster Sanctuary
Accumulated Building Points: 705
Reputation Points: 148
Name: Mikla Silverbelt, of the Silverbelt Kobold Clan
Accumulated Building Points: 855
Reputation Points: 71
Name: Shafiri Najar
Accumulated Building Points: 525
Reputation Points: 75
Mikla looked up from the fire pit in surprise.
“You can see all of our point gains!” she said, amazed, as Shafiri rejoined them.
“I suspected I could do that, after widening my field of vision during the sanctuary’s expansion,” Wilder said. “Looks like we gained a bunch of Building Points from the battle with the Jackdaws and Sir Draven.”
“And I gained some as well,” Shafiri added. “Likely from the Jackdaws’ defeat, as well as my flight from the Gavalonians.”
“We still gained a few points under Reputation, too,” Mikla sighed. “Tongues must still be wagging back at Kells Town over Idelson’s death.”
“Yeah, you struck in the gold on that one,” Wilder agreed before looking over to Shafiri. “I don’t know if you have that phrase in Damanhur. It comes from archery, you might have heard it before.”
“Praise the Sun, I have heard it before,” came the reply. “I think it’s Astrielian in origin.”
Wilder raised an eyebrow at that as he prepped the food, slicing the salt pork, onions, and potatoes into bite-sized chunks or smaller.
“You’ve used that phrase, ‘Praise the Sun’ a couple of times,” Wilder noted. “I’m not familiar with Damanhur’s religious, ah, stylings. Does that refer to a different God or Goddess than Artemis?”
“No, that’s definitely Artemis!” Shafiri said, surprised. “Every Realm has its own slightly different tale about Navishala’s creation. Ours has it that Artemis created the sun, the sky, and then raised the Hub and Spoke Realms out of the eternal ocean. We believe that Damanhur was the first land raised. That means it was the first to dry out under the Goddess’ sun.”
“Hence the ‘Praise the Sun’,” Mikla concluded. “Interesting. We dragonkin revere Artemis as our god, though we claim descent from Typhon, the Lord of All Dragons.”
Shafiri and Mikla spoke more about the similarity and differences between their two mythologies. Wilder listened in where he could as he took care of dinner prep.
He got some liquid from the waterskins hung next to the horses’ saddles into a small pot and put that over the fire. Then he got to boiling the chunked potatoes. He checked the salt pork and confirmed that any excess salt had already been washed away, probably by the Jackdaw’s camp cook.
When the potatoes were done, he added them to a frying pan along with the chopped salt pork. The fat rendered out in the heat, frying the pork, caramelizing the onions, and crisping the potatoes.
After adding in a couple pinches of spices, Wilder spooned out three good-sized platefuls of what Juma would’ve called ‘rustic’ salt pork hash.
“I know it’s pretty basic,” Wilder said as the women dug in with gusto. “But it’ll stick to your ribs and give you the ballast you need to keep on going.”
Mikla shoveled the food down with abandon. “Basic or not, Mikla likes this!”
“I do not make it a habit to complain about rations,” Shafiri added. “I am grateful just for having them. Plus, this tastes extra sweet given that it comes from the larder of our slain enemies.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Wilder said between bites. “Believe me, in my world it’s a lot more difficult to come to grips with and deal with a man like Sir Draven.”
“Why might that be?” Shafiri asked.
Wilder thought on that for a little bit. His answer might have shocked some of the people he knew. But he’d dealt with too many people like Colonel Azrail over the years.
“Probably because Earth, the world of my birth, is a tad too civilized,” he replied. “When that happens, people do bad things when they shouldn’t. Because they know that they can do evil without getting a blade shoved through their guts in return.”
Just then, a rumble of a moan sounded from Sativa. Her headlamp-sized eyes peered over towards the fire, while her beak snapped tentatively. Bucky wagged his tail and added his two cents with a low woof.
“Of course you would wake up out of a drugged slumber at the smell of food!” Shafiri said as she put her empty plate down and went to stroke the griffin’s feathered head.
Mikla let out a laugh. “Goodman Wilder, it seems that your salt pork hash is a hit with more than just Mikla and Shafiri. Do we have any left for our griffin and bramble dog?”
“Nope, but I’ve got plenty more potatoes, onions, and salt pork to make seconds,” he said. “I can take care of that right now, if someone will volunteer to put out some feed for Greta and Boda. Come to think of it, all of our four-legged friends could use some water for the evening.”
The two women took care of the animals, using clean, shallow depressions in the rocks as makeshift water or feed bowls. Wilder produced a huge helping of hash for Sativa, then brought it under the tarped-over area as the sun began to sink below the western horizon.
The griffin looked at him almost tenderly. Then she leaned in for a scratch on the side of her huge feathered head as he placed the food down for her.
Wilder then brought the remaining member of their group a smaller portion, one he knew that the canine would eat. Bucky sat patiently until his portion of hash was placed before him. He sniffed at it, then looked up at Wilder. He perked up his ears and let out a questioning whine.
“Yeah, Sativa got more than you,” Wilder admitted. “Look, she’s a bigger critter than you. And she’s been on short rations. You, my friend, already got a big helping of sunshine and blood today. You only need this meat and potatoes for whatever the percentage of animal parts you’ve got inside. So go on and eat up, big guy.”
Bucky immediately lowered his snout and did as he was told. Rather appropriately, the canine began to ‘wolf down’ his portion of the food.
A thought occurred to Wilder just as he mentioned the ‘percentage of animal parts’ that made up Bucky and all members of his species. He squinted at Bucky while the bramble wolf ate.
The triple set of questions that acted as the entry screen to his Tally Sheet appeared in the air. Mentally, he touched the WHAT that hovered in mid-air. The Loremaster sheet on Bucky’s species appeared before him.
Species: Bramble Wolf; also known colloquially as a ‘Bramble Dog’ or a ‘Bramble’
Knowledge Class: High Animal Intelligence
Fighting Class: Predatory Magical Animal, Apex Predator
Alignment: Neutral
The bramble wolf is a wild predatory species native to the Realms of Astriel, Tavros, and Gavalon. While they superficially resemble adult canine wolves in form, they are actually a magically animated plant/animal hybrid…
Wilder sat back on his heels and thought about the entry a little bit. Something odd had occurred to him. He’d now interacted with several creatures recorded as having ‘Animal Intelligence’, such as the mosquitofish, the carrion crawler, and the blink sheep.
But he’d also met a bunch of others, usually magical or partly magical in nature, who had a special designation: Knowledge Class: High Animal Intelligence. That included the pegasi, displacer beast, and Sativa the griffin.
He sat up straighter as his brain made an ‘aha!’ connection.
When I used my Individual-Specific Specialty of Beast Empathy, each critter I interacted with that had High Animal Intelligence allowed me into their mind. One time it was to show me what happened to their foal. Another time, it showed what the animal feared. And with Sativa, she let me feel what it was like to fly…and what it meant to lose that gift to a busted-up wing.
“But the only critters I never got to use that Beast Empathy skill on…were your parents, Bucky,” Wilder said aloud. At the sound of his voice, Bucky let out a snort, but he didn’t lift his head away from the food. “Now keep in mind, they were busy trying to eat me. But now I’m wondering. What will I see if I use my skill on you?”
Wilder made a clicking sound with his tongue, a signal for Bucky to pay attention. The bramble dog raised his head, his brown tongue licking around the edges of his mouth to gather up any stray bits. His blood-red eyes focused on his master’s.
He returned the bramble dog’s unblinking stare. The words Beast Empathy, Advanced blinked into sight and then faded away. Wilder mentally braced himself. Ready for a vision from the past, a vision of the future, or a new view from behind the wolf’s eyes.
And then, all of a sudden, he felt…nothing.
He tried once more. Bucky held his gaze for a moment longer, then went back to eating. Wilder got up and scratched his head in puzzlement.
“Well, the world of Navishala continues to surprise me,” he said to the young bramble wolf. “I don’t have a single damned idea why I can’t get anything from you.”
Bucky finished his meal and then looked up at Wilder. His head cocked as if wondering what his human might be up to.
“I don’t have the time to solve that particular mystery right now,” Wilder said with a sigh. “But you do seem to understand me, better than any critter I’ve ever known. So do me a solid, big guy. Help keep watch tonight. Anything that sniffs out the blood from the fight today, give it hell before it comes up to snack on us. Got it?”
The bramble wolf made a deep woof in reply, as if he understood. Bucky then loped off downslope, disappearing into the trees in the twinkling of an eye.
Wilder grinned as he shook his head. He turned to head back towards the makeshift shelter as the sunset light shifted from orange to the purple of the oncoming evening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE TWICE DAILY DEADEYE SHOT
The next two days’ travel went so smoothly that even Wilder began to relax and enjoy himself. Although Sativa couldn’t fly, she bore Shafiri on her back and kept up with the horses without a complaint.
Even the weather seemed eager to cooperate; the sun stayed out to keep the roads dry without scorching them, and the nights remained mild.
For most of the journey, the group fell into the same riding pattern. Bucky would range out ahead of everyone else, usually disappearing into the underbrush for long periods of time. When he did poke his head out from up ahead, he would usually let out a single bark as if to say, well? Are you coming or not?
Wilder stayed at the front, giving Boda a nudge with his heels every now and again. Mikla and Shafiri brought up the rear, their mounts Greta and Sativa matching pace so that the women could chat with each other.
Wilder didn’t hear much of what they spoke about, though once in a while he’d hear his name spoken. When he turned around, Mikla would always look smug, while Shafiri might look a little embarrassed.
He shook his head and kept on moving ahead, calling Bucky back in whenever they stopped for a quick rest break.
It was during one of the rest breaks that Wilder took a better look at the golden bracer that Shafiri wore between her wrist and elbow. It appeared to be either gold or gold plated, and the sigil of a rising sun above an upward-pointing bow had been hammered into the surface.
What’s more, he now saw that Sativa’s bracer was an exact twin to Shafiri’s. After a quick lunch and a swig of liquid from the waterskins, Wilder asked about it.
“I noticed your bracer matches the one on Sativa,” Wilder said as he watched the griffin rider use a brush to smooth out her mount’s golden fur. “Since it’s a rising sun, is it a reference to Artemis?”
She nodded. “Yes, it is. The bow underneath is as well. The Air Cavalry is trained to use that as our main weapon, and I am an expert at its use.”
Wilder’s mind went back to the time he’d seen Shafiri’s Tally Sheet. He’d meant to ask something about what he’d seen on it. And now was as good a time as any.
“I noticed that under your Individual-Specific Specialties, you had something called the ‘Twice-Daily Deadeye Shot’,” he said. “Is that what I think it means?”
“Yes, and it’s rare to be born with such a talent!” Shafiri said, looking pleased. She took her bow off from where it hung by her saddle and held it up. “See, that’s why I paid a master craftsman for this particular weapon.”
Wilder stepped closer to take a good look. The ends of Shafiri’s bow were curved slightly back upon themselves in order to maximize the stored energy when the bowstring was pulled and held.
Additionally, there were at least three different colored layers that comprised the body of the weapon. To Wilder’s eye, that made it a composite bow.
“What goes into the different layers?” he asked, indicating the three different colors of white, brown, and gray. Mikla came over to look as well, while Bucky trailed along to sit in a choice bit of shade.
“The core’s birchwood, which has to be imported from Astriel or Gavalon,” Shafiri informed them. “The ‘belly’ of the bow – that’s the part that faces the archer when she’s shooting – is made of strands of sinew. The back, or far side, is constructed out of animal horn. It’s all held together with a glue made from guts and scales. Specifically, from a cousin of the clary fish.”
“Now I see how you get such good power and range out of a very short weapon,” Wilder said. “Combine that with a magical Deadeye Shot, and you get someone who’s pretty damned lethal.”
“Can you demonstrate that kind of shooting for us?” Mikla asked with a clap of her taloned hands. “We’ll be at the border in the next day or so, I don’t think you’ll need it for combat!”
“Perhaps I could target something for dinner,” Shafiri suggested. She looked up into the sky and spotted a bird’s shape flying so high that it was little more than a long-necked dark shape. “That’s a pavallo, a cross between a Damanhur waterfowl and an Astrielian goose. Hard shot, but it’ll be a good bird for the pot.”
The griffin rider reached across her saddle to find her quiver. She’d done a patch job on the leather so that it could at least hold arrows again. But they’d only retrieved four or five undamaged arrows after the fight with the Jackdaws.
Shafiri selected one, nocked it, and took a few steps out towards the road. She looked up at the black shape overhead, tracking it carefully. But she didn’t raise her bow, or pull back its string.
After several seconds, Mikla called out to her. “What are you waiting for, griffin rider? Mikla wanted to see you shoot!”
“So you shall,” came Shafiri’s reply. “One cannot hold a drawn bow for too long. And I am waiting for the right moment. I could drop the target now, but I must wait for it to be over a spot that it can be retrieved easily.”
Wilder nodded at that. “Makes sense. Shoot when you’re ready.”
Mikla and Wilder waited silently, watching Shafiri as she continued to wait. Perhaps a solid minute went by before she raised her bow, drawing the string back in one smooth motion. She let out a breath, her eyes narrowed and her dark brows knit together in concentration.
Finally, she squinted. A flash of magnesium-white sparks came from the bowstring as Shafiri activated her Deadeye Shot magic. She released the string with a twang.
The arrow flew from its launch point, arcing high into the air.
The Deadeye shot hit true. While too far away for him to hear anything, the shape of the bird flying high overhead went limp and plummeted down in a straight line. It landed nearby in the brush with a faint crackle of snapping branches.
“Bucky!” Shafiri called. “You see where that landed, right? Can you bring that bird back for me, please?”
Bucky got up and made a hearty wuff! before turning and trotting off into the brush. That probably impressed Wilder as much as the Shafiri’s use of Deadshot magic.
And here I thought that Bucky only listened to me, he thought. On one hand, that makes me a tad jealous. On the other, it’s good to know that he understands people other than the Warden of the Zaharina Valley.
The sound of something crashing through the brush jerked Wilder’s attention back to the present. Bucky emerged from the side of the road, no worse for wear. The same couldn’t be said of his burden, which he carried in his mouth.
The pavallo turned out to be a large, long-necked bird vaguely resembling a goose. However, the resemblance ended with the shape.
The creature had a bright green head like a mallard duck, while the rest of the body looked like a whiteboard someone had scribbled on with various colored crayons. Wilder trussed up the bird once Bucky had brought it over and dropped it at his feet.
