Deadline Read online

  The three witches converged on their cauldron and turned their backs to me.

  "We give you nothing," snapped Crowlat.

  "It is you who owes," scraped Havlat.

  "Our gift for our kin," finished Somlat.

  My voice and demeanor grew increasingly agitated with each retort. "And what gift is it you're giving them?"

  Crowlat sighed. "It is you who gives it, Talon of Stronghold. Your word and your might are now pledged to the pagans. As holy guides, we will pass along your message. What comes of it," she warned, empty eye sockets stretching wide, "remains to be seen."

  I scowled against the darkness. As much as I wanted to stand my ground and argue some sense into them, their position was clear. I stomped away from the witches and out of their cave. The authority for what I wanted lay with the goblin general Azzyrk. Besides, I was approaching ten minutes left on Bandit's dragon form. I hurried away from the waterfall and up the rocks.

  "I thought you'd taken the plunge," said Izzy.

  "Would've been a more pleasant experience," I muttered.

  "What did the old hags have to say?"

  "A whole lot about freedom and death." I frowned at the horizon. "My legendary ability is almost up. I'll fly you to lower ground where we can split up. I wish I could take you all the way to the wildkins, but I need to get back to the city."

  There was no way I could make it to Stronghold in ten minutes, of course, but I'd found I could extend the dragon form by keeping high in the sky. The power thankfully didn't expire and leave me stranded in the clouds on a flailing mountain bongo. If we got too close to the ground or tried to drop Izzy off at the Blackwood, however, Bandit would revert.

  "No worries," said Izzy. "You're not the only one with a mount. I'm a frostcaller now, you know."

  The mage clenched her fist and activated her new legendary ability. A chunk of ice grew from the ground with enchanted blue light. A flash, a roar, and a forty-foot-tall frost giant stood beside the mountain's edge. He had long orange hair, a braided beard, and wore impossibly large furs. The giant cradled his hands and lifted Izzy to his shoulder where she sat cross-legged and smirking.

  "See you, twerp," said the five-foot pixie.

  The giant nodded and his voice boomed. "See you, little man." He turned and stomped toward the heart of wildkin country.

  I grinned. Izzy had planned that well. While it wasn't snowy up here, the frost giant's large stride would easily navigate the mountain terrain. The massive fists and matching scowl more than guaranteed her safety.

  With that taken care of, I climbed onto Bandit with minutes to spare and disappeared into the clouds.

  1850 Vagrant Story

  The Heartcutter dragged in the unseen surf. Shorehome's rough tidal waters proved dangerous at night when it was hidden beneath a layer of marine mist. The fog was especially thick tonight. To add to the ghostly surroundings, the horizon was pitch black.

  Errol squinted on deck and grumbled. "She's near," he said. "I can smell me city even if I can't see it."

  Grug frowned. "The guide lamps ain't on. When's the last time thems been turned off?"

  "They ain't never been turned off," growled Errol.

  The frigate shook on the waves, creaking louder than usual. The poor girl was still mid repair. Errol hadn't had the heart nor the humility to admit it to Talon, but he was frankly surprised they made it to their destination at all.

  "I'm taking us seaward a bit t' avoid hittin' the crags. Even if the lamps be off, we'll see activity in town."

  The captain moved to the helm and piloted the Cutter a safe distance off shore, driven only by instinct and starlight. But even those dependable stars winked out as a growing mass of black dominated their path, first a shadow, then a silhouette of a boat, then the looming breadth of Papa Brugo's flagship, the Void.

  "Ship ho!" cried Grom, pulling up his pants as a busty wench scampered away. Errol wasn't sure which was more impressive: that Grom had taken that long to notice a destroyer-class cruiser, or that he'd somehow managed to smuggle a busty wench aboard beneath the notice of his crew of twenty.

  Errol slowed the Cutter, hooked his hands in his belt, and approached the bulwark to greet his friends.

  "Ahoy!" he called. " 'Tis a fine place fer a pirate parley, an' I could use a tankard o' ale an' yer finest pickled sturgeon!"

  The black Void hung idle in the water as its gun ports opened.

  "Speaking o' sturgeon," continued Errol, turning to Grom, "did I ever tell ye o' the time Mistress Sally at the Derelict Dagger swallowed—"

  "Ar!" cried his pirate companion. "Ahoy and avast! She be readyin' her guns!"

  "Now Grom," chided Errol, "that ain't no reason t' spoil a perfectly humorous sturgeon anecdote."

  The quadruple cannons of the black ship opened fire, tearing into the Heartcutter along its length. The pirates on deck scrambled away from danger.

  Errol caught his hat as it flew off his head. "Battle stations!" He sprinted to the down hatch and stuck his head in. "Wake up ye sorry excuses fer chum! Get them cannons ready!"

  "Sir!" rushed an underling from below. "The cannons are offline awaitin' repairs!"

  Errol retracted his head from the hatch. "I see." He turned to Grom. "Then unfurl the turbo sail!"

  "Cap'n," replied Grom, "the sail is still disabled."

  Another barrage of cannon balls splintered the frigate's hull. The Cutter groaned as she listed and took in water.

  Errol ran to the port side to assess the damage. "Plug those holes or we're done fer!" He opened the ship controls and blanched when he saw the remaining structural points.

  SP: 140/500

  Errol grabbed the wheel, but the ship began to roll with the waves. Before he could retake control, the Void fired again.

  Critical hit!

  Mast Break!

  [Heartcutter] is wrecked

  "Woe be us, patriots!" cried Errol at the top of his lungs. "T' brave the depths o' the North Sea only t' be done in by traitors!"

  By now the Cutter was half sunk and breaking apart. Pirates scampered from below deck, weapons in hand. "Ev'ry man fer themselves!" one screamed.

  Errol drew his rapier. "Nay I say! Be we not admirals o' the sea, each an' ev'ry one? Are we not loyal t' this ol' girl in her dyin' throes?" The crew of twenty gathered round the charismatic captain with solemn faces. "Nay, I say! Fie to that! T' the bitter end, we'll hold strong. We'll hold until the Cutter holds no more an' we're washed out t' greet Davy Jones himself."

  The captain raised his sword high. "Scandalous rogues one an' all, if ye have any honor in yer mangy hides, ye'll die here like meself. We be goin' down with the ship!"

  Glorious cheers bathed the pirate crew as their frigate buckled and broke apart. Men tumbled off the slanted deck, were swept up in a crashing wave, and landed on the beach unharmed. Errol lifted his face and spat out a mouthful of sand. They must have been much closer to shore—and Shorehome—than he'd figured.

  "I see," he muttered gloomily.

  The crew collected themselves and moved inland, away from the crashing waves and broken timbers of their old ship. They were on Shorehome's rocky beach, beside one of the feeder tunnels to the Narrows.

  "The captain's a genius!" cried Grug. "Sailed us right past the Black Fleet and into the city!"

  Errol quickly nodded away the compliment and looked over his men. "Who'd we lose, boys?"

  "Not a butt cheek unaccounted fer," reported Grom as he idly slapped his wench's behind.

  Amazing. Despite the disaster of a shipwreck, they'd made it to their destination with nary a scratch. Errol had always figured he led a charmed life. The pirates turned toward the flood channel that hid Underkeep.

  Forty cutthroats filed out wielding all manner of sharp objects. Swords, knives, claws, axes. One fat man even brandished a campfire spit. The roughneck marauders fanned out and quickly had the harried crew outnumbered two to one.

  "Hold!" ordered a firm woman's voice. A dark f
igure pushed through the line.

  Errol's eyes widened as he stared drop-jawed at the approaching bouncing bust popping from a red corset. "I'm seein' double," he murmured.

  Avisa slapped him. "Still as lewd as ever, my friend."

  Errol's eyes begrudgingly rose to the pirate sergeant's face. "Would I do this with a friend?" He leaned in to give her a smooch.

  She slapped him again with the opposite hand.

  With tears streaking from his eyes and his stomach in knots, Errol finally burst out laughing. Grug did the same, followed by the rest of the pirate band.

  "I don't get it," said Grom.

  Avisa was a sight for sore eyes. Milk-chocolate skin, toned and weathered arms but soft and supple in the right places, she was sharper and sexier than anyone in the city, including Mistress Sally. Avisa had captivating yellow-green eyes, like seaweed. Errol admired her long brown eyebrows, high cheekbones, and the large gold hoops that dangled against her neck. Only too late he noticed his gaze was wandering down to—

  Avisa attempted to adjust the silky cloth covering her cleavage, but the tantalizing tugging just squeezed her breasts in other directions. She huffed and released them back to the pull of gravity. "I'm still not sure why I like you," she said with a glower.

  Errol smiled heartily. "If I cared, me dear, then you surely wouldn't." He turned to his crew, studied the surrounding cutthroats, and sighed heavily. "I do confess, it warms me heart t' run into ye here. Somethin' tells me we ain't wanted in town."

  "Something, huh? You always were perceptive." The sergeant turned to the flood channel they'd emerged from and waved them in. Once off the shoreline, she crouched on her haunches and spoke in a low voice. "Shorehome be in the midst of a civil war."

  "What's the mist gotta do with it?" asked Grom.

  She ignored him. "After Papa Brugo respawned, Hadrian's men turned on him. The Brothers in Black ruptured. It's been days, and we still don't know who to trust."

  Errol glanced nervously at the forty blades escorting them.

  "This is my personal guard," she said. They eyed the fat man with the pig spit. "And Corpulent Cass. They fight for Brugo. For Shorehome."

  "Ar. What kind o' fightin' are we talkin'?"

  "Underkeep has been seized by Hadrian's loyalists. The occupation means we don't have a base of operations. The good news is it keeps most of the bad guys inside. They don't have the numbers to root us out and overtake the city. The bad news is they've taken the Papa prisoner on the Void. They control the port and prevent any supplies from reaching the docks."

  "With Brugo out o' commission," said Errol, "that can't spell anythin' good in the streets."

  Avisa shook her head. "The gangs have splintered and engaged in bloody turf wars, each fighting for dominance of fuzzy borders. They used to be happy with splitting the neighborhoods."

  "Until the Papa o' all Papas proved one man can take it all." Errol growled. "We came here for an audience with Brugo."

  "That's great."

  "No it ain't. How do we make an alliance with a man imprisoned on the most powerful and only ship in port?"

  "Easy," said Avisa, green eyes sparkling as she flashed a healthy set of teeth. "We go get him."

  1860 Hexplore

  Bandit adjusted her flight path over the mountain range.

  Talon: Kyle, what's your status in Oakengard?

  Even though everyone had an open line on brigade chat, and we now had a place for command-level discussion on captain chat, banter like this was handled on party chat. That was me, Kyle, Izzy, Trafford, and Errol.

  Kyle: Status? Bro, there is no status. That dumb thief locked us in the mines.

  Talon: See what you can figure out. If you can unlock the fast travel on Oakengard's end, I can have you back in a jiffy.

  The dragon sagged in the sky. I pulled up on the reins, but Bandit was fighting me.

  Kyle: None of it matters unless we find Hex. Bravo Team's not gonna leave her again.

  I grimaced. He was right, of course. I just needed them to hurry so I could get them back and focus on the next stage of the plan. Before I could reply, our steepening descent sent tickles through my stomach. I tightened my grip on the saddle.

  "Bandit, what are you—"

  She jerked in the sky. I thought we'd been hit until her neck and body began to shrink. Oh no. We were too close to the mountain peak. Her transformation was starting prematurely.

  We rushed toward the nearest ledge as flight transitioned to a glide before approaching something more resembling a fall. I landed hard on the back of a mountain bongo.

  "Ouch!"

  Bandit's hooves absorbed most of the rocky impact. She hopped away and I jostled to the ground. After a quick roll and a skid, I lowered to the dirt to rest. Bandit cantered to a patch of grass and started snacking.

  "We really pushed it this time, didn't we?"

  The bongo snorted and farted at the same time.

  Next time I went over the time limit of Bandit's dragon form, I'd remind myself not to fly over mountains. I breathed deep and gazed at the horizon. Stronghold wasn't in sight, but it was there. It was just gonna take a bit of a walk.

  Kyle swiped his chat log closed with a huff. "Talon's wondering what we've accomplished all day." The big guy stomped down the narrow corridor of the mine entrance, the cobwebs long since trampled. "I've been wondering the same thing myself."

  Lash sat against the wall resting her head. She spoke with her eyes closed. "At least the day ticked so our specials are recharged."

  The brewmaster flushed. "Yeah, then maybe I should stockrig a cannon and blow up the reinforced door trapping us in this dungeon."

  The head of Bravo Team sighed, opened her eyes, and turned to him. "You got a problem, frat boy?"

  "Yeah, actually. We hid out until midnight. Talon's waiting to fast travel us outta here. Everyone's keeping up their part of the plan except for that troublemaking thief. I need a drink."

  "Don't think I'm letting you break your clean-and-sober challenge just 'cause Izzy's not around."

  The brewmaster deflated. "She got to you."

  "She didn't need to get to me. We're friends, and I think it's hilarious."

  "Great. Can we just keep the discussion on our situation here?"

  "You mean trash-talking a member of my team?" Lash scoffed.

  "A troublemaking member of your team. You realize he's the one who stirred up havoc the first time we were here, going down corridors on his own private quest, stealing silver, alerting the keepers, and getting us chased out like rats. The whole reason Hex is stone in the first place is—"

  "Don't say it," warned the knight. The dark corridor went quiet for a moment. When Lash spoke again, she was less defensive. "We were all part of that mess. Nobody could've known how it would turn out."

  Kyle blew out a hiss, part frustration and part relief. He hadn't known Lash to be very sensible, but she was obviously trying. As much as Kyle hated to admit it, her position in the faction had improved her mood and critical thinking. Maybe she had newfound perspective now that she was responsible for more than just her party.

  They were heroes, thought Kyle bitterly. It was that same sense of duty that got them stuck in Oakengard in the first place.

  "You're right," he said, hands on hips. "It's just that this all turned into a giant... poo-poo show."

  Lash snickered. "Tell us how you really feel, Kyle. Izzy was right, this is great. But maybe trying to hold in all those bad words is what really has you ready to pop."

  Kyle was about to sample a few of the aforementioned bad words when he turned to scurrying footfalls. Conan and Glinda returned from their dungeon diving.

  The old witch shook her head. "The mapping's not sensible, I'll tell you that. There are so many tunnels and mountainside entrances it took us a while to find our way back."

  Conan clenched a stoic jaw and offered a single nod. "Long walk. Not even any monsters to crush."

  "Try crushing the door,"
muttered Kyle.

  Conan's bare arms and chest went taut as he made a beeline for the entrance.

  "No!" snapped Lash. "We didn't hide out all day only to blow our cover now. There haven't been patrols in hours. Bashing the door down is gonna turn all eyes on us again."

  "I'm gonna try another shot of my corrosive oil," said Kyle.

  "You still have some of that left?" asked Glinda with an arched eyebrow. "I would've thought ten tries was enough."

  Kyle smiled magnanimously as he presented a vial of black liquid. "Maybe that's because the door needs eleven tries."

  Lash snorted so loudly the room turned to her. She climbed to her feet, stretched her neck, and said, "I have a better idea." The white knight pointed to the reinforced access hatch and a loud click resounded.

  Kyle's brow furrowed. "Whoa... How did you... ?"

  The hatch opened. Crux held it, kneeling and peering down at them.

  The brewmaster's face hardened. "Oh." Conan and Glinda chuckled, no doubt having been part of that hilarious coordination over Bravo Team's party chat. Still, as a light breeze wafted past him toward Oakengard's lower floor, Kyle could only be happy the hatch was open. They hurried from the mine and gathered around the entrance.

  "I found something," whispered Crux, "but I need your help."

  Kyle started through his inventory. "How long will it take? The tree form has a one-hour limit."

  "No," said the thief. "We might need your decanter for something else. I can get you there without a fight."

  "How?"

  "A short while ago, a small contingent of crusaders awaiting reclamation escaped the castle. The Violet Order sent most of their resources after them, with Hadrian at their head."

  "Why would they do that?" asked Lash.

  He shrugged with a half-assed smile. "I'm pretty sure they think we fled Oakengard with them."