Chapter 4: The Fine Young Fellow Has His Chance

Afternoon. From the roof of a house opposite the temple Milo gives me a long look. I would speak cat if I could. Black and white fur might serve him well in evening’s shadows but currently there must surely be a negative check on his Stealth skill while he walks daintily over sunlit roof slates of reddish hue. I can tell Milo doesn’t care; he is probably just looking for a place to nap.

The floor of the temple needs washing and it is while wielding the mop and waiting for Belle to come past the temple doors on her way back from the castle that my own Stealth skill levels up again.

Skill Success: Stealth

Skill increase! Your Stealth score is now 5. You have reached your cap. To continue to increase this skill, you must become a Level 2 rogue.

Still downcast by the high priest, I do not celebrate this achievement as I might. Truly, though, Stealth 5 is a shadow’s glide. A leaf barely stirring in the wind. A fox in the undergrowth. A silent fall of snow. A quiver of the spider’s web. I am as stealthy as stealth can be for a rapscallion like me.

What skill do I raise next?

Name: Crow

Class: Rogue

Level: 1 (Rapscallion)

Exp: 21/100

Skills

Stealth 2

Pick Lock 1

Animal Friend 1

Cooking 1

Climb 1

Wield Dagger 1

Find Traps 1

Swim 1

Set Traps 1

Read Magic Runes 1

Listen 1

Knowledge (Streets) 1

Spot Hidden 1

Knowledge (Religion) 1

All other skills 0

There were mysteries to our world that perhaps even the gods had not penetrated. Skills were known to mesh and twist around each other, to flourish in combination. Thus, Climb and Spot Hidden, both at 3, would let you raid a seabird’s cliff sanctuary. Either alone, even if more than 3, and eggless would your efforts be.

Wouldn’t it be delicious to improve Cooking? Perhaps I could enter the castle as a chef’s assistant? Mistress Wither and Cathaldus would be pleased were their daily meals prepared with the skill that even a royal chef might not have acquired. At once, I feel happy again, because with my AFK levelling boon, one day this will be true and perhaps one day soon.

What skill will most assist me meet the Necromancer? Secret ways in and out there must be, ways that Spot Hidden might allow me to see. More certain though is that there are locked doors between me and the man whose support I needed. Pick Lock is the choice for me.

Thrice cleaned is the floor before Belle walks past the temple doors. Quick as a pouncing cat (faster than a crow hop) I am on the cobbles outside.

‘O Belle, ‘tis Crow, as you know.’

‘Hi Crow,’ she quickly turns away from me to look down the street for her mother. Yet her feet no longer move.

‘I must seek the Necromancer and perhaps as you’re a dancer, you can help me see him faster?’

‘I mostly clean, and prepare routines,’ Belle laughs, dark eyes catching mine for a moment. Two blazing stars that stir the heart. ‘You’ve got me speaking in rhyme too, clever Crow. But it’s not very often the Necromancer attends the court’s entertainment in person.’

‘Bring me past the guards as a guest? Then Crow’s stealth can do the rest?’

She is thoughtful; still looking along the crooked cobbled carriageway. ‘Not as a guest. But you could carry some clothes and ornaments as my servant.’

Mistress Aria! A long way down the street, a small woman has stepped from her home; her eyes are angry, I can tell, even from this distance. Forward march! Belle hurries towards her mother. Without looking back she mutters, ‘Tomorrow morning, follow me to the castle.’

‘Until then, fare well, Belle,’ but my whisper is too quiet for her to hear.

***

With a scolding or three – where is your mind at Crow? Leaving the robes out all night in the rain. I never took you for a fool before now. What has gotten into you? – and a skill increase in Pick Lock, I pass the hours until morning all impatience. Even asleep. My dream won’t let me light the stove fire, no matter how often and effectively I strike the flint. Awake before the sun, all frustration and anxiety dissolves when Belle at last steps from her home to the street. All? Not all, for a suspicious Mistress Aria has joined her daughter and even hitches up her skirts to stand on a barrel and watch Belle go past the temple. The place of danger, Crow’s nest.

When alongside the temple doors, Belle frowns but does not slow her stride. She cannot see me inside, for with Stealth 5, in the shadow of the doorway I hide. ‘Bring a bundle,’ she announces to the sky. And I understand why.

Hastily returning to the temple, I roll bronze lamps, tin plates, and even a chipped statue of Lord Scrithax as a snake, into an old cloak and hurry after Belle, catching her in time for us to cross Eastgate Street together. Or rather, with she two steps ahead, as befits a dancer with her hired porter. Crow the porter. A jaunt not a saunter. Bow to you good lady of silk. To you good sir of candles. What could be more natural than a youth of Crumblin doing the awkward carrying?

Nor do I falter at the gate, heaving my bundle to my right shoulder as if the left were sore from the work.

‘Morning men,’ says Belle, ‘and for me another day of trying to raise our city’s Happiness score. Starting with you fine soldiers.’ And laughing she blows kisses. After the captain bangs on the door and – clank, clonk, clunk – it is swung open, she turns to me. ‘Hurry up you! Stay close and don’t speak to anyone.’

That easily, we are inside. And outside again. For after a short walk beneath murder holes and above trapped floors we pass grooves in the wall (for a raised portcullis, whose sharp points I spot in the dark above my head) and out into a courtyard.

I am at the edge of a large circle of pounded earth, suitable for carriages and horses. Inside the circle is a green with purple grass and one huge, dark tree at its centre. A bloodoak. Grim and sentient. Fed on the bodies of the Necromancer’s enemies.

Following Belle around the edge of the carriageway, I listen as her low (yet ever sweet) voice explains the scene. ‘Servants to the left, guests to the right. The solar is ahead, see it?’

‘I see. Beyond the bloodoak tree.’

‘Go over there; the ground floor is for business and balls. It’s the upper solar where you are most likely to find the Necromancer, with his council. Above that is the royal quarters. He could be there too. Let me take those things.’

We are close to a dark-bricked building with criss-crossed windows whose glass is steamed over on the inside and from which comes the appealing scent of fresh bread. With surprising strength, Belle takes my bundle and her parting look is more amused than afraid. I’m filled with confidence.

Wind blow. Sun shine. Shadow and light. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Alert to the sounds of the castle as I go. A carriage arriving is just what I need. All four guards descend from the entrance to the keep to form an escort to the new arrival. Light on my toes, yet with urgent speed I slip inside. I’m underneath a wooden balcony. To my right is a large hall, busy with servants. Doors ahead and left. Ahead is quieter and there is less light. It is a wise choice for beyond the door a tightly wound stone stairwell leads up and down. Up so, goes the crow, to the level of the balcony, from where I can look down into the hall and appreciate the huge fireplace, the enormous tapestries of red and black.

The people from the carriage are on the stairs. Continue on up? Ahead of them? Or wait. I wait, sat in the corner of the balcony and they tramp tramp, clatter and bang past.

‘Lord Ergald,’ says a loud, officious voice somewhere above me. And tramp, tramp but less of a stamp as only the guards come back down. While they are still troubling the stones of the stairwell on their descent I move again, up and to a corridor with carpet and a closed door. The stairs continue on past this level, onwards to the royal quarters? This lord Ergald though, was surely announced to someone important. So I walk to the door and put my ear to it, even though an arched window at the end of the corridor deprives me of all shadow.

How many people are talking? At least four.

In what manner are they talking? Polite, yet nothing earnest. Desultory. Still waiting for another arrival. Passing the time with safe subjects. Crow’s list of safe subjects is empty. Crow’s list of unsafe subjects is headed AFK Levelling.

Below, more clatter. Coming up the stairs. A choice. Quick. Trusting my intuition, I grasp the black metal ring that is the handle of the door, twist and push it open. Faces. And as I had hoped, one of them is the Necromancer. That was my guess. Now I am the guest. I do not care about the rest.

‘Who are you?’ asks a frown-faced man.

Looking into the demanding blue eyes of the Necromancer I say: ‘Lord Scanthax bids me say, “you gentlefolk, my lord, my loyal minds; to this youth of mine be kind. For to him I have granted a boon; beside the command to depart the realm soon. To solve the Epico Draco Missio is his task; to return with the dragon army at the last. So listen to what he has to say and help the lad upon his way.”’

No one speaks and five faces look from me to the Necromancer and back. I step further into the room, made anxious by the increasing volume of sound from the stairwell behind me. A crow between two approaching foxes would feel as boxed in. Yet despite the fear I feel at the time a thrill, an excitement, the fine young fellow has his chance.

‘Lord Scanthax?’ The Necromancer stands, two black-gloved hands leaning on the table. There is an ominous tone to his words and a threat in the ripple of fingers that drum upon the polished teak. Those fingers have drawn lethal magic from the arcane realms. ‘You saw Lord Scanthax. He gave you a boon and a task?’

I nod. A nod is as good as a speech from a jumblemouth.

‘Our god is very weak. Too weak to grant a boon that could assist a hero to complete the epic dragon quest.’

‘If I may speak; not too weak.’

More interested now, the Necromancer studies me. I study him. Again, five faces look from me to the Necromancer and back.

A large, older woman arrives, dressed in a blue silk robe on which beautiful stars and crescent moons have been embroidered in silver. ‘Excuse me young man.’

I bow and let her past to the remaining empty seat. She sighs as she settles by the table and pours herself a glass of water from a jug. She looks at a bowl of ruddy apples as though considering taking one. I would, if I could. Porridge may keep hunger away but my body yearns for a sweet and moist fruit.

‘Those stairs are too narrow. One of these days I’m going to take a tumble.’ When no one replies, the new arrival looks up curiously. I like her face, wide and obviously used to smiling. ‘What’s going on? Who is this?’

‘What’s your name lad?’ asks the Necromancer.

‘Crow. That’s all. Crow.’

‘This is Crow.’ Amusement in his voice, the Necromancer sits again. ‘He says that our god visited him, tasked him with achieving the epic dragon quest, and gave him a boon.’

The woman in silk looks more closely at me; two merry, green eyes sparkle in a great sun of a face. ‘Quite some boon, obviously.’

Now everyone appears expectant and I understand they wish to hear me explain the nature of the god’s award. I’m sorry to have to disappoint them. ‘His gift I promised never to reveal, to keep it tight, under seal. Even here before you, my lord, I cannot describe Lord Scanthax’s reward.’

‘Odd, the way you speak,’ the Necromancer gives me a long stare but I say nothing until at last he leans back, the wood of his chair creaking. ‘A youth from the poorest parts of my city has managed to find his way to interrupt our council. He claims our god has given him a mighty boon. He wants my help. Should I give it?’

‘Of course not, sire. You should throw him in prison for impudence.’

‘Perhaps. Is there some way of verifying his story?’

‘We have urgent business to attend to. Send him away.’

‘Four giant wolves will come down from the north when the moon enters the sign of the two lovers next week.’

‘It’s hopeless but give him a bag of silver.’

Having elicited a response from each of those present by merely glancing at them – what relevance the wolves have is a mystery to me – the Necromancer turns to the lady who was last to arrive.

‘Can you see his character sheet?’ she says.

‘Good suggestion.’ A blank expression. It interests me to see the lord of the Kingdom of Lost Souls at work. Only he has access to the menus that plan the goals for the land and he is gazing into the air nearby at something outside of this realm of existence. ‘I have found him. Crow. Rapscallion. Quite unremarkable. No magic items. Just twenty-one experience. He has at least capped his Stealth skill, which perhaps explains how he has arrived here. Though how he got through the gatehouse deserves investigation. Nothing, however, on this character sheet allows me to confirm his story.’

‘I say we should believe him all the same,’ said the woman. ‘Who would invent such a story?’

‘A rogue trying to deceive us into giving him wealth and magic,’ said the man who had wanted me imprisoned.

‘One last chance, rogue,’ said the Necromancer. ‘Convince me.’

‘What loss to the kingdom of some small help to a fine fellow? When longships prevent our trade by sea; when our fields are land for enemy tents not crops; when prices rise and soldiers die? Picture my return with dragons on the wing, their flight becomes the flight of our enemies.’

A long silence. Then the Necromancer smiles. A rictus smile in a thin face. The mind shapes his expression, not the heart. It is a smile after which a king could pronounce a death sentence or a commendation. It is the commendation. ‘Well spoken. We have little hope. Our strategy is to cling on, limiting our losses and eeking out what resources we have until our enemies fall out among themselves. Yet it is almost certain they will not do so until after we are all dead and Nekis has been looted. We need hope. Young man, you have my support.’

Two sulky faces, two neutral, two smiles.

‘You may have ten gold coins to equip yourself and to sustain you in your travels. You can have your choice of equipment from the armoury. And you can have a companion from my council.’

Consternation. Panic even.

The Necromancer points, one after the other. ‘Level four bard; level three assassin; level four warrior; level three sorceress; level three anti-paladin; level three ranger.’

I can’t help the grin that comes with my delight. ‘And the high priest?’

The Necromancer shakes his head. ‘We need him too much here.’

Shame, for I would relish bringing the bitter old man the order to leave the city and assist me.

There was much travel ahead of me and for this a ranger companion would ease the way. Shelter and food; tracking and hiding in the woods. Such skills would be to the good. Yet unknown opponents I would have to best in order to complete the epic quest. Magic has always appealed to me. And though she was only level three, I felt that the sorceress brought the best chance of success.

‘Her.’

‘I knew it. I just knew it. Young man, I won’t take against you for this but damn your knowing eyes.’ The lady who had previously been inclined to smile at me is serious now. She turns to the Necromancer. ‘We aren’t walking. I want a carriage and two servants to manage the horses.’

‘How will you get past enemy patrols?’ asks one of the relieved-looking men.

‘Our resourceful rogue will help with that I’m sure.’

I am not so sure. But I am happy. A fortune; a carriage; a sorceress at my side. I had not presumed to embark on my journey with such a start.

‘Very well. If there’s nothing else, please report to the armoury. Tell the quartermaster I sent you.’ The Necromancer was curt. Nevertheless, the cheeky crow within my soul cannot help but speak again.

‘Just one last request. Could I have an apple?’

A gasp.

‘What impertinence!’

A thunderstorm gathers on the brows of the Necromancer. And then he laughs, a genuine laugh. ‘I like you, Crow, but no, Southway have taken our orchards. These are the last of our apples and I should be reluctant to lose even one of them. As, I’m sure, would my, I’m sure. But take this, it will be of more use to you than to me.’ He is untying the thongs of a black leather bracer with serpentine design. When loose enough to pull it past his glove, the Necromancer throws the bracer to me.

‘Go on, put it on.’

I do and my joy, which I thought was at its height, rises even further.

Bracers of Raise Zombie

Once per week you may raise a zombie from the recently dead. It will obey you for an hour, after which it will become a corpse once more.

The corpse must be that of a humanoid no larger than an orc and be no more than twenty-four hours old.

Zombie

Level 3 warrior. Hit points 24. Armour class 8.

Attacks: grapple, bite.

Special: a successful bite requires the person attacked to save against disease or be turned into a zombie after twenty-four hours. Cure Disease negates.

Undead immunities.

~~~

Apologies for the delay with this chapter. I had a lot of creative writing and editing work pile up this last two weeks. As a bonus, here are some cover ideas my friends are helping me with. Comments about them very welcome!