A Thousand Drunken Monkeys: Book 2 in the Hero of Thera series Read online

  “I be the first-level, one-armed, dwarven wizard who just beat the living snot out ’o you.” He tapped the side of Grimhalt’s head with his staff. “If you’d like to avoid more ’o the same, you’ll sit there, nod and smile at the nice people, then I’ll be telling you exactly what to do next.”

  “I’m not taking orders from a gimp dwar—”

  Elmac prodded his staff into Grimhalt’s groin.

  And then once more for good measure.

  And… a third time, because it’s what the twerp deserved.

  Grimhalt replied, “—”

  “Any more questions ’bout who be in charge?”

  “No,” Grimhalt squeaked.

  The crowd gathered about us.

  Oswald buzzed over Grimhalt and circled me. He stopped, hovering, and took off his rose-colored sunglasses. “So? Who won?”

  “It be a tie,” Elmac declared. “Right?” He looked knowingly at me.

  “A complete draw, folks,” I said. “Sorry. Better luck next time.”

  Grimhalt wisely said nothing and nodded.

  A disappointed “aww” rippled through the spectators and then they pushed about Oswald for a refund of their wagers.

  “Wait, everyone,” Oswald sputtered. “There’s going to be a rematch, right? Right?”

  “No rematch,” Morgana said, raising her hands. “Show’s over, folks. Thanks for watching.” Under her breath, she added, “Bloodthirsty pack of dingos…”

  As the crowd wandered back to the inn, I whispered to Elmac, “You’re going to have to explain how you just did what you did.”

  “I will,” he said and nodded at Grimhalt, “but we best deal with this sack of rabid squirrels first.”

  Grimhalt glanced around then demanded like a petulant child, “Where’s my mace?”

  “That mace’ll be one of the things we be talking about,” Elmac told him. “You just sit tight right there or I be breaking your kneecaps.”

  Grimhalt looked Elmac up and down, considered, reconsidered, and then did as he was told.

  “Now we discuss the terms of your surrender,” Elmac said. “All gentlemen-like.”

  “And lady-like,” Morgana added.

  “Surrender?!” Grimhalt turned to me and his hands clenched. “I’d rather die than surrender to the likes of him.”

  “Hektor,” Elmac said, “would you mind digging a hole for this fellow? It be in poor taste to make a man dig his own grave.”

  I wasn’t sure if Elmac was serious or not (and at this point, I really didn’t care).

  “Did you want one big hole?” Morgana asked and drew her daggers, “or a bunch of little ones for the pieces?”

  “…Perhaps,” Grimhalt muttered, “I was hasty. Let’s hear these terms.”

  “Smart lad.” Elmac leaned closer to him. “First thing: you’re going to be forfeiting that mace of yours.”

  “Never!” He tried to stand.

  Elmac smacked his shin. I heard bone crack.

  Grimhalt clutched his leg and rocked back and forth.

  “Now, if we kill you,” Elmac continued in an even tone, “we be taking all your gear anyway.” He cocked his head, and it looked like he thought this might be the better option.

  Elmac sat on his haunches and went on in a conspiratorial whisper, “As I be understanding it when a worshiper ’o the Wild Hunt dies in some ignominious manner, their souls become one ’o the Hunt’s undead hounds. Rumor has it the Hunt be eating those poor beasties from time to time. And after the meal… they bring ’em back for another go.”

  Grimhalt paled. He swallowed.

  “So then,” Elmac said, “death and doggy afterlife? Or you be giving up the mace?”

  Grimhalt replied with a strangled sound, “Fine. What else?”

  “You never lay a finger on any Hero of Thera or Trickster for the rest of your days, either instigating an attack or being the means of others attacking us—’cept, I suppose in the case of us attacking you. That be only fair.”

  I wanted to ask Elmac why he thought this guy would honor any deal not backed by the Game’s rules. They both looked dead serious, though, so there had to be more to this than mere words.

  Grimhalt twitched, which might have been a microscopic nod of agreement.

  “In exchange,” Elmac told him, “you get to walk away, and we never be telling that you were beaten by a first-level wizard.”

  He chewed this over for three heartbeats. “Yeah…” He concentrated until it looked like something was about to snap inside his thick skull. “Just one thing,” he told Elmac. “If you get the chance, you should melt that damned mace down and drop what’s left in the ocean.”

  Elmac’s eyebrows raised. “I’ll consider it. But no promises.”

  That was a strange request. It was as if Grimhalt wanted his mace back—and wanted it gone—at the same time.

  I glanced over to Morgana, but she shrugged, just as baffled.

  Elmac coughed up a wad of spit into his palm and offered it to Grimhalt. He did the same and clasped the dwarf’s outstretched hand.

  In a ceremonial tone, Elmac said, “And so you do swear by the unwavering and unending fury ’o the generals ’o the Wild Hunt in all their incarnations, may they trample your soul should you go back on your word.”

  “I do so swear,” Grimhalt said in a low whisper.

  The temperature dropped twenty degrees, the air stilled, and from every direction came the bays of distant dogs, galloping hooves, and cries in an ancient tongue that made my blood run cold.

  Then it was all gone.

  A breeze kicked up and the crickets resumed their dusk symphony.

  An oath to one’s gods apparently was taken seriously in this universe. Good to know.

  Grimhalt gave Elmac a half smile. “Maybe a rematch one day, dwarf?”

  “Maybe,” Elmac mused. “But not today.”

  Grimhalt shot one last glance my way.

  The look on his face? Something between rage and icy calculation.

  I had no doubt he was already thinking of ways to try and wriggle out of that oath he’d sworn.

  I also had no doubt that one day I’d see Grimhalt again.

  He got up, turned, and limped back to the inn.

  “We’re just letting him go?” I asked Elmac.

  “If I could’ve gotten away with it,” he muttered, “I’d have done it with my first strike. The Wild Hunt gods have, though, what’s called an ‘Adamant Pact ’o Vengeance.’ Off one of them, the rest come after you. A messy business. All in all, I think we made out okay.”

  “Fine. Let’s table that then for the moment,” I said. “What happened to you? How’d you beat him?”

  “Oi,” Morgana interrupted. “First things first.”

  She went to Elmac, and for a moment I thought she was going to plant another kiss on him. Instead, she crossed her arms and glowered—then uncrossed her arms and gently touched his cheek, his one arm, the shoulder by the amputation—as if she couldn’t decide whether to be angry, concerned, frustrated, or relieved.

  Morgana took a breath and composed herself. “How’d you get through the Free Trial so quick? And get back here, in what? Less than six hours? And your arm…” Her features pinched with sympathetic pain. “We’ll figure a way to regrow that.”

  “We’ll get to all that,” Elmac told her and held up his one hand. “More important, on my way here I ran ’cross a squad that looked like city guard, but weren’t. Asked ’bout three travelers who just left the city.”

  “Silent Syndicate?” Morgana asked.

  “Didn’t stick ’round to find out,” he said.

  “Three travelers?” I said and cupped my chin, thinking. “Could have been looking for us, or after Grimhalt and his two pals for all we know. We should find a way to cover our tracks, though, just in case. Hmm.”

  I looked around. “Oswald? Where are you?”

  There was a rustle and the fairy stepped out of the grass. He hitched up his leather pants
, obviously having had just taken care of business.

  “I have a task uniquely suited for you.”

  “Oh?” His voice was thick with wariness.

  “Fairies can make illusions, yes?”

  He puffed out his chest. “I am a full adept at the art of phantasmancy.”

  “So you could, say, produce three figures that look like El—uh, my new dwarven friend here, the Lady Morgana, and me?”

  He snapped his fingers. Poof!

  We stood facing decent copies of ourselves. My double, however, had a lazy eye, and I was sure this wasn’t from Oswald’s lack of skill.

  “Uh, perfect. I guess. Okay, Oswald, I want you to keep these illusions up and head south. Make sure anyone you see gets a good look at our copies.”

  “As you wish.” Oswald gave me a short bow and made it somehow look condescending.

  “Keep hiking south for, give it, three weeks. After that, I’ll consider your debt paid in full.”

  Oswald froze and stared at nothing as if he was playing back my words to make sure he’d heard them right. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Good luck. Live long and prosper.”

  He jumped, clicked his boot heels, and remained in the air, fluttering his dragonfly wings. “Yippie! See you around, suckers.” He bowed to Morgana, nodded at Elmac, and then flew over and offered me his tiny hand.

  I extended a finger and we shook.

  Friends? Not really.

  But maybe not enemies anymore.

  He waved once more, then he and our doppelgängers started their trek south.

  Morgana rubbed her jaw. “That was your call,” she said, “but the little blighter might have come in handy later.”

  “The whole master-slave thing—just not me.”

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  I sank to the ground and massaged my recently broken and mended leg.

  Magical healing had always looked easy and painless in video games. Don’t get me wrong, it was nothing short of a miracle, but it was not painless. Or perfect.

  I ran my fingers over tiny achy misalignments in the bones, bumps, and gristle in previously smooth muscles. My ribs had been mended as well, but they popped every time I inhaled.

  I wondered if there was a decent chiropractor in High Hill?

  “Well…” I stood. “We better get walking too.”

  “Walk?” Elmac scoffed.

  With his one hand, he made a series of sharp, quick gestures that could have been the sleight of hand skill. Along with these motions, however, he chanted, “Venit Servi Animalibus.”

  Elmac then stood on his tippy toes to see over the tall grass. “Aye, just wait for it.”

  I heard, then felt it, before I spotted them: Six of those super-sized buffalo I’d seen before thundered our way.

  “What are…” I remarked, but then my brain stopped trying to make words, and shifted priorities to figuring how fast I’d have to move to avoid being trampled by the monsters.

  Elmac chuckled and faced the stampede.

  The beasts slowed and halted before him with a chorus of snorts.

  He reached up to the biggest one.

  She sniffed and bowed her gigantic woolly head.

  Elmac scratched behind her ears.

  “I be a wizard now, lad,” he told me. “And wizards don’t be walking anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 25

  We rode the buffalo back toward the inn so Elmac could get the experience points from fighting Grimhalt. As soon as we crossed the imaginary line that ran through the outer wall (the Game boundary), Elmac blinked and smiled.

  “Fireworks?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Says I be second level. All from the one fight?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A first-level wizard defeating a ninth-level cleric?” I whistled. “Pretty impressive.”

  It actually sounded impossible.

  “How many points?” Morgana asked.

  “Oh…” he told her and squinted at the invisible numbers. “Still a good way to go ’till third.”

  An achievement icon appeared on his placard. Within a circle was a silver silhouette of a tiny figure, fist raised in victory, and one boot set on the head of a slain giant.

  I looked it up.

  The “Underdog” achievement was awarded for fighting another player more than five times your level. And winning. Obviously, your best chance to get this achievement would be at first level. Still, no minor feat. Any player seeing it would think long and hard about challenging Elmac.

  Oh, and if you’re curious, I received zero experience for the beating I took.

  We turned the buffalo around and rode away.

  “So, Elmac,” I said. “These buffalo…?”

  “Aye, summoned them with the spell, Call Creature. The description says, ‘compels the nearest non-hostile animal to come to you. Said beast might perform a small task and then depart, but there is no guarantee.’” He looked up from his interface. “It be lasting an hour. We best part ways with them, though, well before that.”

  “Hold up a tick,” Morgana told us. Without any visible command, her buffalo halted, as did the rest. “Let me have a word with them.”

  We dismounted and Morgana shooed us off.

  The buffalo gathered about her and Morgana “spoke” to them in grunts and spits and stomps. They grumbled and replied in kind.

  After a minute of this, Morgana came over to us. “Okay, chatted up these nice ladies,” she said. “Just like you described those barbarians with the gold threads in their beards, Hektor, they know where that tribe makes camp this time of year. Two days’ ride north. They’ll take us in exchange for” —she lowered her voice to a whisper— “it’s a bit of a delicate subject with them.” She glanced over to the buffalo to make sure they weren’t listening. “I’ve got this little Destroy Parasite ritual these poor things are in dire need of.”

  Morgana did the ritual (the details of which I shall omit here for everyone’s benefit), and we had a ride.

  I’d been impressed when I’d first seen the buffalo of this world at a distance. Up close? They were demigods among lesser herd animals. They were BIG—ten feet tall at the shoulder. I’d had to climb up by grabbing handfuls of their thick mane (which had the texture of 14 gauge wire).

  They were all muscle that felt more like seasoned hickory than flesh and blood. At a slow trot, they tore up the sod like a mechanized rototiller. I’d guess they weighed in at three tons.

  Oh… and the horns.

  Those on the side were five feet long each and had sturdy points. Judging by the scratches and scuffs, they’d seen a lot of use. The center horn was a foot in diameter at the base and gleamed like blackened steel. It followed the downward curve of the buffalo’s skull. I imagined with their head lowered in a charge, that horn would be at the perfect angle to skewer whatever was dumb enough to be in their way.

  I was never more grateful to be in the company of a druid who could make nice with the natives.

  Nor did I regret my earlier investment of points in the Ride skill.

  What a forbidding mount to take into combat…

  Out of curiosity, I re-read the Ride skill’s description to see how many non-combat skill points it would take to do such a thing. From what I could gather from the text—lots. Well, probably for the best I wasn’t seriously tempted, considering how much it had to cost to keep such a large creature well fed, cared for, and happy.

  These buffalo did leave a little to be desired in the odor department, but hey, I’d known Marines who’d smelled worse.

  I turned to Elmac. “Thanks again for back there.”

  “’Tis what any true Hero of Thera would have done, coming to the rescue of the weak and oppressed.”

  I winced. I had that coming.

  Compared to Grimhalt, I was weak. I’d been arrogant as well to have accepted his challenge. Maybe my luck wasn’t so bad after all, considering I’d lived to regret it.

  I noticed the clan name in Elmac’s pla
card read “Heroes of Thera,” not “Hero of Thera.” That lifted my spirits a bit. I was no longer alone. We were a very tiny army of two.

  Morgana maneuvered her buffalo between us. “Time to fess up,” she said to Elmac. “I was bloody going out of my mind with worry. Tell us about the Free Trial. And your arm.”

  “The Free Trial—that be a funny story,” he said. “Best save it, though, for when we all have a good long stretch ’o time and a few ales to be telling it right.” He smirked as if he was keeping a dirty joke to himself. “Now me character creation, gods! Good thing you helped me plan most ’o that, Morgana.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “go on.”

  “Course there be only one choice for race.” He thumped his chest. “Prime dwarven flesh. Spent far too long fiddling with my features.” Elmac smoothed his only hand over his face. “Decided to look like I was when I was a lad. Hard to improve on perfection, you know. I did fix a few ’o my old nose breaks and such.”

  “I thought your broken nose was adorable,” Morgana said.

  Now that he mentioned it, his nose was straighter. His brow a tad higher. And his eyes were no longer dark, but rather amethyst, a mix of quartz grey and royal purple.

  Dwarven beauty. Who was I to judge? He still looked like Elmac to me… or maybe his grandson.

  “Got a wee complicated when it came to the sub-racial choices,” Elmac went on. “Did I stick with mountain dwarf? Or get a bit fancy with mithril dwarf nobility? Settled on half and half. Apparently, my birth ’twas quite the scandal.”

  “And the arm?” Morgana asked once more, not letting him sidetrack her.

  “Oh, uh… that.” He looked away. “That be in character creation too.”

  The color drained from her face. “Thought so. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

  I felt the heat of her words, and steered my buffalo a foot or two away, expecting incoming fire.

  Elmac held up his one hand, thought better of that particular gesture, and dropped it. “I hadn’t set out to be doing it. Not exactly.” He glanced my way as if to say—help! “Maybe we best take a rest here, so I can get all my bits together?”

  Morgana growled something that might have been agreement.