Hidden Depths: Delving into Dwarves and the Darklands

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

There are certain figures within fantasy tales that are immediately recognizable or familiar when they appear in a scene. Wizards... dragons... elves...

Dwarves.

Ask most people to describe a dwarf and they'll likely touch on many similar points: short, gruff, warriors, lovers of gold, gems, and frothy mugs of ale. We see this time and again throughout books, movies, and video games. It's an iconic image, and it might be easy to leave it at that since it's such a familiar representation—as well as one many have come to love.

But just as with a true dwarven city, those surface level identifiers conceal many hidden depths. With Forge of Ashes, I wanted to be true to particular iconic elements while also delving beyond the "typical" and providing greater insight into unique parts of dwarven lore, culture, and passion. Yes, there are still aspects that make dwarves... well... dwarves! Their earthen origins. Their predilection for mining and turning the stones themselves into grand works of art that are equally fantastic and functional. The beards.

But what I love about the world of Golarion and Pathfinder itself is the emphasis on diversity. There's the recognition that even while certain races or species might share baseline characteristics there's going to be infinite opportunity for variety among them. Yes, dwarves can be warriors. But they can also be scholars and artists, commoners and royalty, priests and scoundrels. They can be courageous... brash... broken... greedy... selfless...

The central figure of Forge of Ashes, Akina, holds a questioning perspective about her kin and her place among them. After years fighting abroad, she's lost her way somewhat and is coming home to try and regain a sense of self and purpose (though that hardly goes as well as planned). So her interaction with dwarven culture and environs is both familiar and yet an exploration in itself. That was part of why I had immense fun writing Forge of Ashes! It was an opportunity to go deeper, both literally and figuratively.

Beyond the focus on dwarves, Forge of Ashes held many delights for me as an author. The chance to venture into the Darklands and bring its many strange denizens to life was a great creative challenge and adventure in itself. I loved getting to peek into the enigmatic nature of the dark stalker, Izthuri, and her people, as well as the maddening chaos found within a derro warren. There's a unique discourse with a roper that... well, let's just say it boggled my brain to write. And even the infamous rust monster has a small-yet-vital role in certain scenes!

So, join me in an adventure full of monsters, magic, and mayhem. Where some things are immediately recognizable but then quickly take a turn to devious and deadly ends. It's time to discover deeper levels of dwarven identity...

... and deeper levels of the Darklands, where someone or something is always waiting around the next tunnel corner—most likely to eat you!

Josh Vogt
Pathfinder Tales Author

Josh Vogt's debut Pathfinder Tales novel, Forge of Ashes, just released and is available from paizo.com now!

The Price Paid

by Josh Vogt

Chapter Four: Many Paths to Tread

Akina stood rooted, a peculiar chill dousing the embers in her gut. Could it be possible? Could these creatures truly want to handle things in a civilized manner? Ever since leaving for the war, she'd only ever encountered them on the battlefield, knowing full well they sought her death as much as she theirs. What if Ondorum was right? What if these hobgoblins hadn't participated in the fighting and were just victims of circumstances? Could she damn them for the actions of others?

The job would be done either way, so long as the hobgoblins left and didn't bother anyone in the region again. Nothing compromised the mercenary band's reputation, and Akina guessed Nigarl would let her take a few "trophies" as proof to satisfy the locals.

She studied the desolate chapel as all these doubts whirled through her. Then her gaze rested on Ondorum's guileless expression and a cold flame kindled in her marrow.

"Maybe." She kept her voice as flat as possible. "First, I got a question."

Nigarl bowed her head. "Ask."

"Why didn't you tell Ondorum about the barghest earlier?"

The hobgoblin leader blinked. "What?"

Ondorum looked at Akina askance. "I don't understand."

Akina watched the hobgoblin reactions carefully. "Why leave him in the dark about such a nasty critter if you knew it was lurking?"

The monk frowned. "That would have been helpful, yes. We might've been more prepared."

"The beast came and went as it wished," Nigarl said. "We had no idea it'd be around or if it was off on its village hunts again."

"Hunts?" Akina echoed. "The reason Falcon's Hollow finally scrounged up the funds to hire our band was because of the latest raid you all," she swept her maulaxe at the warband, "made against an outlying settlement. Half the place burnt down, at least ten dead. Far more damage than a single barghest could make."

"There's plenty other than us attacking the countryside these days," Nigarl said. "No proof my band did anything."

"No proof it wasn't you," said Akina.

The hobgoblin leader snarled. "This is pointless. We're blamed for every mishap, and now we have an army of mercenaries set on us."

Ondorum showed the warband leader an open palm. "Not an army. Merely a dozen or so." He looked to Akina. "Unless you have reserves waiting at a distance?"

Akina stared back at him. "Anyone ever mention that you talk too much?"

The monk grimaced. "My old masters occasionally noted that flaw in me, yes."

"So they remain above while just the two of you came to visit?" Nigarl shifted her furred cloak, considering. "How... civilized. Will they send down a couple more if you don't return soon enough?"

Akina tightened her grip on the maulaxe. "Why wouldn't we return? After all, you did want to handle this all nice-like, hm?"

Nigarl grinned toothily while her warriors edged closer.

Ondorum glanced between them. "Is this the point where I admit their intentions may not have been entirely peaceable?" he asked Akina.

She nodded, keeping her eyes on Nigarl. "About time."

Nigarl snatched up her dagger and whip and jumped back. "Kill them."

Akina and Ondorum went back-to-back as the hobgoblins attacked. Three charged Akina. She struck out, sending one reeling. Another cut in with twin axes. She caught them across the maulaxe haft and struggled to throw him back. He leaned all his weight in and roared in her face.

Akina bellowed back with all her might. The hobgoblin lurched as if she'd struck him, and she used the slight opening to kick into the side of his knee. The joint snapped and he staggered. A swipe of her axe-edge slashed his stomach wide.

She jumped over the body and closed the gap between the third. He wielded a broad blade and hacked at her wildly while she beat him back. Her breaths came hot and fast, strength fueled by the furnace in her gut that baked her from the inside out, blood and marrow bubbling.

Images blazed through her mind. Ashen skulls. Leering goblins. Dead dwarves staring at a cloudy sky. Settlements reduced to cinders. Each added fuel to the fury until she fought within a storm of raging flame.

The hobgoblin came in with a desperate two-handed strike. She bashed the sword aside and then whirled around to sweep the axe-edge across, cleaving the creature's hands off at the wrists. The hobgoblin stared at his bloody stumps until another blow sent his head rolling.

Fuming, she turned to find another victim to chop into kindling. Across the chamber, Ondorum fended off four hobgoblins at once while Nigarl watched from the side.

The monk shifted among them as he had with her, twisting this way and that to let mortal blows bypass him. Then his feet rooted and he took their blows with open palms and flicks of his elbows, absorbing and deflecting even the most jarring hit.

One hobgoblin tried to stick him in the side. As the blade slid past, Ondorum clamped onto the hobgoblin's wrist and dragged him along. The warrior stumbled and ended up stabbing the fighter on the opposite side. A club whistled at Ondorum's head, and the monk ducked, letting the blow smash into the chest of another opponent.

Nigarl unspooled her whip and lashed out. The thong coiled around Ondorum's waist. When she yanked, barbs tore across his midsection and upset his balance. A hobgoblin cracked a club across his side. Ondorum tried to right himself, but two warriors grabbed his arms and clung tight. One bit into a bicep, while a third aimed a cleaver at his skull.

Akina cleared the distance in a heartbeat, leading the way with her helm. She took the hobgoblin in the side and his chest crumpled beneath her assault. Heaving the dying creature aside, she spun and swept the maulaxe hammer on the nearest hobgoblin's foot, shattering bone.

Ondorum's fist connected with the back of the hobgoblin's head and the snap of her neck resounded through the chamber. The other two turned to flee. Akina struck one down with a backbreaking hammer blow. Ondorum's kick swept the legs out from under the other, and a stomp crushed the creature's neck.

Shrieking curses, Nigarl raced for the hall. Ondorum leaped into her path, ducked a swipe of her dagger, and thrust a palm into her chest. The blow staggered her back halfway across the chamber. As she shook off the daze, Ondorum stepped aside and bowed to Akina, palms pressed together.

"Yours."

Akina grinned fiercely and lumbered toward the surviving hobgoblin. Nigarl snarled and struck. The whip snapped around the maulaxe handle, but Akina let it be yanked from her grip. Nigarl stumbled, not expecting her to relinquish the weapon so easily. In that instant, Akina sprinted over and plowed into the hobgoblin leader. Icy pain lanced through her shoulder as the dagger plunged in.

The hobgoblin screamed as Akina bore her to the ground. Akina grabbed a fistful of her snarled hair and wrenched. Nigarl's scalp tore loose and she thrashed, but Akina planted a punch that bounced the hobgoblin's skull off the floor.

Then again.

Never trust a hobgoblin who says she comes in peace.

And again.

Fists blurred as she turned Nigarl's face into an unrecognizable mash of bone and flesh. She didn't stop until a hand settled on her shoulder. Still caught up in the frenzy, she turned and struck—but her fist impacted only Ondorum's palm, and the force behind the blow flowed away.

Panting, Akina shook her head, trying to gather herself. Her gauntlets dripped gore. Ondorum watched her, looking concerned.

She rose, then reached back and yanked Nigarl's dagger out from her shoulder, ignoring another wrench of pain. She flung the blade aside and forced herself to square up with the monk.

"I'm... you shouldn't have seen... I mean..."

She stumbled as the last fiery wisp of strength burned out, leaving her with bones made of lead and muscles that couldn't have squashed a fly. Ondorum caught her arm and helped her remain standing.

After retrieving her weapon, it took them several hours to find a way back to the surface, doubling-back from dead-end passages and collapsed chambers. When they emerged into the fading sunlight, the ruins appeared empty at first. Then someone shouted, "They're back!" and mercenaries emerged from around the courtyard.

Durgan and the gang gathered around them, clamoring for answers. Akina sat on a stone and let them bandage her shoulder as she spun out the main thread of events. Ondorum accepted a salve for his wounded arm and waist, but deferred further aid, insisting he'd heal soon enough.

Once she caught everyone up, Akina studied the clearing. "Figure we can camp here and head back tomorrow to collect my pay."

"Your pay?" Durgan echoed.

"I did most of the work, after all." She nodded at the monk. "Some goes to him, though."

Ondorum shook his head. "I leave any share to your companions."

She grinned. "Oh, take a little credit, won't you?"

His shoulders drooped and he smiled sadly before bowing and wandering over to a corner of the ruined courtyard. Akina exchanged looks with the band.

"Give us a few minutes, hm?"

She joined Ondorum where he'd taken up a meditative pose along one wall. Laying her maulaxe down, she tried to imitate the posture but couldn't get her stubbier legs to cooperate. Finally she grunted and just sat back against the wall.

"What's gnawing your gristle? We got out alive, didn't we?"

He spoke without opening his eyes. "I'd hoped to resolve the situation more amicably."

She chuckled. "Funny thing. So did I."

He peeked at her sidelong. "You wanted to spare them?"

"Hell no. Glad to see them gone and glad we were the ones who ended them. But you were so committed. I felt bad seeing all that effort defending them go to waste."

"Nothing is ever wasted," he said. "There's always a lesson to be learned."

"That so? What do you figure's the lesson here?"

"That I have much more to learn about the world and the nature of its people than I'd imagined." He sighed. "It is... disheartening at times to think how far I have yet to go."

They fell silent for a while, watching the band prep a rough campsite and gather firewood. Before weariness could sink too deep into her bones, Akina roused herself.

"Fairingot."

Ondorum's crystalline eyebrows rose. "Pardon?"

She tugged her helm off, letting her coil of braided hair fall loose, her trademark platinum streak shooting through the otherwise dusky blonde strands.

"My family name," she said. "It's Fairingot. We hail from Taggoret."

"Fairingot." He tugged at his chin as he eyed her. A smile teased his lips. "Fitting."

She scoffed and waved him off.

"Isn't Taggoret a bit north of here?" he asked.

"Sure. But we're heading south once we collect our bounty."

"You're not returning home, then."

"Not until I'm good and ready to."

"When will that be?"

Akina studied the head of her maulaxe, thumbing a nonexistent blemish. "When people stop paying us for what we're good at. Rumor says there's plenty of work down near Almas." She glanced over. "Figure you could come with us."

Ondorum crossed his arms. His sleeves tugged back, revealing ridges of purple crystals along his forearms.

"Why would you want a fool of a monk as a companion?"

"I don't think you're fool." She shrugged at his dubious look. "Not a total one, at least. But you've got some fine skill. I don't admit to being impressed too often but... I'm impressed. Besides, our band could use someone who doesn't just jump into every mess without considering other ways to clean it up first." She studied him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his reaction. "And you could use us in return."

"Use you? How?"

"How long you been traveling alone?"

He clasped hands, considering. "A long while."

"Think that's a good thing, being all by yourself? You may have a ways to go, but you don't have to go it alone. You said it yourself earlier. You're looking to learn from new experiences. Get some new perspectives."

"You're offering yours?"

She waved at the others. "Ours. We're not a bad lot. A little scruffy, sure, but earnest. And if you've got something against coin, I'll just hold your share until you figure out what you want to do with it."

He flexed his jaw as if chewing on the idea.

"Tell you what," she said. "I'll throw in a few tales of my home to sweeten the deal."

"True tales?"

"That'd be for you to figure out."

He grinned, an expression Akina realized she quite liked on his stony face. "Will you teach me any dwarven jokes?"

"Most jokes I know aren't fit for proper company—especially for anyone trying to be all polished and perfect."

"If my sense of humor is lacking, perhaps I can fix its faults by rounding it out."

She clapped him on the arm. "Might be hope for you yet."

"There's always hope." He lifted his chin, voice firming. "No matter how far one wanders, you can find your way again. You just have to follow the right path."

"If it's a simple matter of paths..." She pushed up to her feet and offered a hand. "How about we see where this one leads, hm?"

After the briefest consideration, he clasped her hand in his. "I've a feeling it will take us many interesting places."

Coming Next Week: The further adventures of Radovan and Count Jeggare in a sample chapter of Dave Gross's new novel, Lord of Runes!

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel Forge of Ashes, also starring Akina and Ondorum, as well as the web fiction stories "The Weeping Blade" and "Hunter's Folly." His first creator-owned novel, Enter the Janitor, just released, and his short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Marjorie Davis.

The Price Paid

by Josh Vogt

Chapter Three: Beastly Dealings

The goblin's head morphed into a humanoid skull with a piggish nose and enormous, bat-like ears. Milky eyes fixed on Akina as fangs filled a slavering maw. The beast's body expanded and hunched over, bristling with fur until it resembled an enormous wolf with clawed hands instead of forepaws.

Akina recognized the creature for what it truly was. There'd been enough of them fighting alongside the goblinoid hordes, devouring corpses, acting as scouts or battlebeasts.

"Barghest!" she called to the monk, for whatever good it did with him being trapped.

If he replied, she didn't catch it, for the barghest's yowl resounded through the chamber. It lunged. Akina stepped in to meet it head-on, but the beast vanished in midair.

"Behind you!"

At the monk's shout, Akina spun just in time for a claw to smash across her helmet. Vision blurred, and she went to one knee. The barghest gnashed at her, but she lowered her head and surged up, her iron ram horns slamming into its face. She rose, following through with a hammer blow that caught it under the chin and flipped it backward. She planted a hand and shook off the rattling impact.

"I have it!"

She raised her head. Ondorum had reached through the cage bars and caught the barghest around the chest. It scrabbled at him, but the same bars kept it from doing anything more than snagging his robe. Its attempts to tear his grip away with its claws proved equally futile. Ribs crunched and the beast's cries pitched higher.

It vanished again. Ondorum's bear hug collapsed around empty air. Akina turned a circle, expecting another ambush from behind. But the barghest failed to reappear, and the immediate stink of it faded.

"Stones and bones, where'd it go?" She turned her maulaxe to poise the sharp edge. "Cowardly beast."

"A sorcerous creature?" Ondorum turned in the cage to eye the chamber.

"These things are nasty tricksters," she said. "Some think they're a kind of goblin demon."

"I'd not doubt it." He knelt and pressed palms to the cracked floor.

"What're you doing?"

He closed his eyes, face set in concentration. "Listening for the creature." One eye cracked open to peer up at her. "Haven't you ever tracked enemies through the vibrations of their steps on stone?"

"Of course I have! I'm a gods-damned dwarf, aren't I?" Embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it first, Akina stripped off a gauntlet and knelt to put her hand to the floor, keeping her maulaxe ready.

"You needn't bother." Ondorum stood. "I sense nothing. However, I believe I have a solution to my imprisonment."

"Oh?" Akina pointedly kept her hand on the stone, though in truth she didn't feel anything either.

"I shall attempt to rejoin you as quickly as I can. If you encounter any of the hobgoblins before then, please try to remember our bargain."

"Rejoin me?"

Ondorum raised a hand, palm open, then pounded it down onto the floor, dropping smoothly to put all his weight behind it. The cracks in the stones spread. Then he did it again. And again.

All at once, the floor beneath him crumbled. He caught her eye just as the floor fell away, dropping him into darkness.

Akina gaped for half a second before a scraping echoed up from one of the passages leading deeper into the ruins. A choked snarl made her grin.

Weapon ready, she stalked down the passage, brushing aside draping moss and thick spider webs. The barghest's smell strengthened as she went, reinforced by the click of claws on stone and occasional angry rumblings.

She paced through multiple rooms coated thick with dust, with dark niches and ceilings stretching out of sight. Who had the temple's original builders worshiped? Impossible to tell with so many of the original decorations and icons worn away or defaced.

As she crept into a wider room, a fresh wave of stink made her nose hairs bristle. Close. Very close. In fact, with its disappearing trick, the beast could be right on top of—

A weight slammed into her back. Akina hit the ground as the barghest screeched in her ear. Foul breath gusted over her and claws raked armor. Gripping her maulaxe tightly, she rolled as hard as she could, flinging the creature away.

The barghest gave a vile smile as it recovered and leapt at her. She cocked the maulaxe, but it reached out with foreclaws and grabbed the handle to stall the blow. It tried to wrench the weapon away even as it snapped fangs at her face. Akina wrestled the beast back a few steps, its fiendish strength nearly a match for hers.

Nearly.

Barghests may be worshipped by goblins, but they're far from benevolent masters.

Keeping one hand on the haft, she punched out with the other. Her fist connected with the barghest's barrel chest, right where Ondorum had crushed it earlier. Yet where the oread's fists had bruised and battered, the iron edge of her gauntlet just thumped against the creature's flesh and stopped, as ineffective as if she'd punched packed earth.

The barghest snarled and tried to yank the maulaxe away again.

Akina bared teeth in return. "Mine."

She let herself be pulled closer, then grabbed the shaft with both hands, jumped, and planted her feet on the barghest's chest. She kicked off, shoving the barghest away while keeping the maulaxe tight against her chest. Her back struck the stones, and she rolled upright just as the beast lunged in. She dodged and whipped the maulaxe out so the hammer side slammed into the barghest's ribs with a satisfying crackle.

Howling, the barghest fell. Akina leapt over its kicking paws and brought the axe edge down. The beast's writhing threw off her aim, and its unnaturally tough hide turned the blow so that instead of severing an arm, the blade simply gouged a shoulder.

Black blood spurted from the wound. The barghest arched hard enough to throw her off and scrambled free. One moment it stood just within reach. The next, it disappeared and popped back into being across the room, glaring at her from near a dark doorway.

"You are an annoying snack." Baring its teeth, the barghest floated off the floor a few inches, favoring its wounded side. Akina considered this new trick. Must've been how the creature ambushed her from above.

It started to move toward the passage. She hurried after, but knew she wouldn't reach it before it did its vanishing trick again.

The instant it crossed the threshold, however, a pair of clasped fists smashed down atop its skull.

Ondorum stepped into view, dustier than before but little worse for wear. The barghest yowled and scrabbled up at him. The monk evaded the snapping maw with a shift of his weight. A kick swept the beast's leg out from under it, and as it stumbled, Ondorum came down with an elbow that struck its spine with cracking force.

The barghest collapsed. Akina halted her charge to watch as Ondorum laid into the creature. He responded to its wild gnashing and slashes with precise palm strikes and kicks, until the beast's attacks began to slow.

At last, the barghest's twitching paws stilled. Ondorum watched it, fists cocked at odd angles, waiting to ensure it remained down. Then he glanced Akina's way and straightened, tucking arms into opposing sleeves.

Akina scowled. "Damn you to Hell. That was mine."

He eyed the mangled corpse. "If it's any consolation, I left the ears on so you could yank them off."

She stared at him until he smiled.

"That was a joke."

"And a piss-poor one! Don't you know better than to snitch another's kill?"

He appeared puzzled. "The beast won't hurt anyone again. Does it truly matter which one of us ended its life?"

"When you're a mercenary, it does. With Durgan, the more you kill, the bigger your share. Doesn't matter if you wound a creature. If you don't drop it, it isn't yours to claim."

"An interesting approach. I can see how it might motivate greater effort in battle."

Akina plodded over to study the barghest closer, but couldn't see anything worth carving off as a trophy. "Figure this at least makes you think twice about showing the hobgoblins any mercy."

Ondorum tilted his head. "Should it?"

"They obviously sent this beast ahead to take us out. Bet they didn't even let you know it was skulking around, hm?"

He frowned. "They failed to mention its presence, true."

His expression troubled, he headed deeper into the ruins without further argument. Akina followed, hoping she might finally be getting through to him. They worked through decrepit chambers, edged past pits, and left nothing in their wake but darkness.

Finally, as they moved down a long hall, Ondorum paused and pointed ahead. Beyond a spacious archway, shadows flickered from unseen flames and guttural voices reverberated in the distance.

"Right," she said. "We go in quiet, see what their layout is and—"

Ondorum tucked his shoulders back. "Hail, Skurl! We come to meet your leader. Will you honor our agreement?"

Akina closed her eyes briefly, biting her tongue to keep from unleashing a few choice curses. Hobgoblin voices rose in an argumentative flurry before another slashed through the air and quieted the rest. After a long minute, several hobgoblins strode into view. They wore ragged furs, leather scraps, and bits of battered armor. Each held axes or swords, and one with longer-than-average tusks had filed them to deadly points.

They stopped just out of reach. The foremost, a male with scarred splotches across his skin, squinted at Ondorum before his scrutiny shifted to Akina.

"So you're one of the mercs they sent to kill us?" he rasped. "I've fought tree stumps that were more dangerous."

Akina tensed, but Ondorum stepped between them.

"Hold." He nodded to the speaker. "Skurl."

The hobgoblin's lips peeled back. "Monk. Why bring another with you? This wasn't what we agreed."

"She indeed represents the mercenaries hired to eliminate your band. However," he raised his voice over the hobgoblins' growls, "she has agreed to meet with your leader to see if a peaceable resolution can be reached, as we discussed."

It took most of Akina's self-control to not attack then and there. She reminded herself that if she killed these right off, it'd give their leader a chance to flee.

At last, Skurl gestured with a blade. "Come."

The hobgoblins retreated into their lair. Akina turned to Ondorum, unable to believe that the creatures expected them to just blindly follow. Yet the monk strode forward through the arch, head erect, shoulders square.

She stared at his back, tempted to let him reap the consequences of his naiveté. Yet a part of her grudgingly admired his fearlessness and confidence. After a moment, she sighed. Let no one claim she ever left another to face enemies alone.

"Crack and shatter me for a fool," she muttered, hustling after.

In the room beyond, the hobgoblin camp looked like an underground chapel with arched ceilings, rows of broken stone benches, and a dais at the end of the main row. The place was littered with refuse piles, guttering fire pits, and bundles of gear tucked into the corners—stolen, Akina assumed.

Five more hobgoblins waited beyond the first three. As Akina and Ondorum entered, she checked to ensure the beasts remained off to the sides, not blocking the exit. All had the glowering look of warriors sullen from a lack of violence, and their armor appeared cobbled together from random salvage. One particular hobgoblin, a female, stood in the center of the room. Taller than most, she held the bearing of one used to command.

Once the pair stopped, the leader shuffled forward, bowlegged and wary. Clad in black armor and swathed in sable bear fur, she carried a long dagger in one hand and a barbed whip in the other. Her tusks had been capped in silver, and copper rings pierced her ears, nose, eyebrows, and forehead.

"I am Nigarl," she said, voice somehow grinding and gurgling at the same time. "From the noise you caused above, I'm guessing you finally put down the barghest. Thank you."

Akina's eyebrows rose. "You're thanking me?"

"That troublesome beast has hounded us for months, demanding we provide meals and tormenting us when we refuse. We thought we'd shaken it when we came north, but then caught it snuffling around here, thieving, pouncing on us from the dark. I lost two good fighters to its claws, and another to the traps it sets. I've heard it's also been attacking settlements in the area and leaving us to take the blame." She eyed Akina meaningfully. "I hope this monk has made it clear we just want to be left alone."

Akina gnawed a lip. "You really want to do this peacefully?"

Nigarl crouched and laid her dagger and whip on the floor between them. Straightening as much as her round-shouldered figure allowed, she showed empty palms.

"Will you give us that chance? Will you let this be settled without more death?"

Coming Next Week: Monstrous negotiations in the final chapter of Josh Vogt's "The Price Paid"!

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel Forge of Ashes, also starring Akina and Ondorum, as well as the web fiction stories "The Weeping Blade" and "Hunter's Folly." His first creator-owned novel, Enter the Janitor, just released, and his short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Marjorie Davis.

The Price Paid

by Josh Vogt

Chapter Two: Shaken Foundations

Akina trailed Ondorum across the main threshold, which he said the hobgoblins had been using to come and go. The air turned chilly and musty, with an underlying reek that flared the embers in Akina's gut—a fetid mix of blood, grease, dung, and rotting meat unique to hobgoblins. It conjured up too-fresh memories of their hideous warcries and how they'd clamber over the corpses of allies and foes alike to slaughter all in their path.

Once they left the sunlight behind, all color washed away into shades of gray. Ondorum navigated the darkness without stumbling, so she figured he could see as well as her or had some monkish sensitivity that guided him. At least he wouldn't be a liability that way.

The initial hall ended in what once might've been a large meeting chamber. Portions of the ceiling had collapsed, blocking off stretches with earth-packed debris. Side halls and chambers offered themselves on either side, while cracked columns stood in rows. A few sections of the floor had broken, gaping holes hinting at lower levels.

Akina kept a steady watch as they advanced, eager for the beasts to attack and end any pretense at peace. Sure, there was the gold to be gotten by laying them low, but this job went deeper than that for her. Since the war ended, surviving hobgoblins and their ilk had scattered to every pit they could crawl into. It was time to claim vengeance for those who'd fallen before their hordes. So many friends to remember. So many faces locked in death masks, covered in blood or ravaged beyond recognition.

"You never told me your name."

"Hm?" She roused from her morbid recollections. "Oh. Akina."

Ondorum skirted rubble. "Just that? I thought dwarves identified with their families or clans."

"We're working together to scatter a few beasts, not compare bloodlines."

"They're not mindless beasts, you know."

She snorted. "True. They're worse. They're savages just smart enough to be deadly, and there's only one way to deal with savages. Where are they, anyway? I thought you arranged a meeting."

Ondorum surveyed the chamber with a frown. "I believe your arrival spooked them. No doubt they've retreated a bit. Hopefully we can contact them and explain the misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? Funny way to describe raids and butchery."

"These claim they took no part in the war."

"You believe them?"

"Until there's evidence to the contrary, I try to give others the benefit of the doubt."

"How are you even still alive? You're either really lucky or—" Akina hesitated. Had that been a faint chuckle just then? A pebble clattering? She inspected the dismal chamber.

"Come out," she said. "No point in hiding."

A wheedling voice trickled over. "I hides so you not kill me."

"We won't kill you," Ondorum said. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Akina barely sealed a Says you behind her lips.

A creature even shorter than her hopped into view from behind a pile of rocks and stood just on the other side of a set of columns. Its melon-shaped head wobbled on a spindly neck while its grin revealed dozens of needle-sharp teeth. Filthy rags draped a scrawny body.

"Hello!" it said. "Are you my dinner?"

"Goblin." Akina hunched, gripping her maulaxe in both hands. "Keep an eye out."

Ondorum glanced her way. "You fear this creature?"

"Not afraid of anything," she said. "But I'm not stupid, either. Goblins are like roaches. Where there's one, there's a hundred waiting to stick you from behind."

"Roaches!" The goblin picked up several stones and juggled them, the columns framing its display. "Loves me crunchy roaches. So tasty." It giggled. "But it just me. Me and the biggies. But the biggies no share their food and I—" The goblin's voice lowered several octaves, grating across Akina's ears.

"I am quite famished."

It flung the stones at them with surprising speed. Ondorum snagged two from midair while the third pinged off Akina's helm.

"Something's wrong here." Akina growled and stepped forward. "I'll fill your gut with—"

Pressure against her shin made her freeze, but too late. A near-invisible cord stretched across the way. Even as she backpedaled, a rumbling noise shook the chamber and the cord went slack.

Mouth wide in shrieking laughter, the goblin cartwheeled aside as the two columns crumbled and fell toward Akina and Ondorum.

They dove in opposite directions, and the crash rattled Akina's bones. She raised her head to see the toppled columns had set off a chain reaction throughout the chamber. Sections of the floor dropped away into pits. The ceiling sagged as more columns collapsed, and fresh dirt sifted down through gaps where walls had collapsed.

She looked up just as a slab as big as she was dropped from above. Akina raised an arm in pointless defense.

Ondorum appeared, standing over her with palms toward the ceiling. The slab slammed into his upraised hands and he held it aloft, teeth gritted with effort.

"Showoff," she muttered.

With a grunt, he heaved the stone away. She ignored his proffered hand and grabbed her maulaxe, using it to brace herself back to her feet. Ondorum placed a hand on her shoulder and she almost knocked it away until he pointed out wider cracks spreading through the chamber ceiling. Whatever trap the goblin had laid, it'd been thorough.

"We should make haste," he said.

"Yeah. Let's do that."

He dashed ahead while she clomped after. Rocks clattered off her helm and pauldrons, and she knocked away others. Ondorum stayed just ahead, weaving through the falling rubble. It almost looked like he knew just where the stones would fall and shifted half a second before or half a step far enough to let them plummet past.

He aimed for a wide hall at the far end of the chamber, Akina grumbled as she tried to keep up. Clumps of earth pounded into the floor, plenty enough to bury her if a collapse happened right on her head.

"Hello!" The goblin screeched as it appeared a few feet away, popping into being from nowhere to wave a claw. "Goodbye!" It snapped out a round object at her face.

Thinking it another rock, Akina raised her maulaxe to knock it aside. At the last second, she realized it glinted like glass rather than stone.

The flask shattered against her weapon. Akina stumbled back, barely closing her eyes in time as the cloud of flame enveloped her. She struck a wall and hit the floor, maulaxe tumbling from her hands. Lurching upright, she slapped herself all over to smother the droplets of liquid fire that had splattered her armor and burned like white-hot sparks on her exposed face.

She opened her eyes, stinging from the foul smoke. Flames lit the chamber in sickly yellow. She scrambled to her feet and snatched up her maulaxe, ready to bash the goblin's head in. At last, she spotted the creature grinning at her from the opposite side of a growing crack in the floor that rent the chamber in two. When she blinked grit from her eyes, the creature seemed to puff away into thin air.

As stones tumbled into the widening gap, Akina turned and threw herself through the hall's archway, where Ondorum had already taken refuge. He caught her arm so she didn't tumble down the flight of stairs beyond. A final clatter and crash announced rock and dirt blocking the way they'd come.

Once the dust cleared, Akina eyed the hall at the bottom of the stairs, little more than a tunnel cutting down into the earth. She assumed more temple ruins waited within the hillside.

Not all goblins are as weak as they appear.

She hacked against the acrid fumes lingering in the air. After clearing her throat, she cupped hands around her mouth and shouted down.

"That's it! I'm mashing every last one of you mongrels to pulp. Hear me? I'm wiping out the whole lot of you!"

Ondorum winced as the echoes faded. "We agreed to try the diplomatic approach first."

"Sorry. I forgot." Turning back to the tunnel, she hollered again. "I'll be sure to wipe you out diplomatically!" She raised a hand to the monk. "Better?"

He sighed. "You hold much anger."

"Nearly getting buried alive brings it out in me. Forget your parley. That little attempt on our lives should prove these creatures don't have a smidge of honor."

"Perhaps it's our role to show them a better way," he said. "Even if others refuse to live with integrity and honor and mercy, we should still strive for such. Otherwise we risk losing touch with our true selves. Our higher selves."

Akina leveled a flat look. "Higher selves? Was that a short joke?"

His eyes widened. "I meant no offense. I simply—"

She huffed. "What'd I say about having a sense of humor?" She lead the way down the stairs. "Besides, it costs too much."

"Humor?"

"Mercy."

"What does mercy cost?"

"Focus. The advantage in a fight. Lives."

"Some prices are worth paying."

"Not this one." She blew dust from her nostrils. "Sounds like you've already forgotten that I've fought more of their kind than I can count. I've seen how they really are. Every single one I killed would've returned the favor if I'd shown them so much as a speck of mercy."

"I haven't forgotten," he said. "I simply feel it's rash to judge any species as a whole by one representative, or judge any individual on the actions of others. Would you have me judge all dwarves by your example?"

She groaned. "Would you please stop?"

His brow furrowed. "Stop what?"

"Talking. It's annoying."

They emerged into a smaller, rounded room with old cracks spearing every which way through the stone floor. Several passages fed away from it, and Akina studied them while trying to shrug off Ondorum's words. Her, acting like a dwarven representative? Ridiculous. Hard enough to just be her old self, these days. Hopefully she could keep a cap on the bloodthirsty fury that kept flaring through her veins, rather than losing herself to it again. She wanted clarity when she ended the hobgoblins—cold satisfaction as she killed each one. Not like during the war. Especially not in front of this infuriating monk who clearly thought himself the lone voice of reason in a world gone mad.

"You losties?"

A goblin peeped out from the passage on the far right. The same one, as far as she could tell. How had it gotten down there?

"You little slimespit." She shook her maulaxe. "Get over here. I got a really funny joke to tell you."

"No thanks!" Without moving, the goblin vanished.

Akina stared. Since when could goblins turn invisible? She rushed for the spot where it had just crouched, determined to corner it before it could pull other tricks.

"Wait," Ondorum cried. "I don't think—"

A loud clang halted her. She glanced behind. A circular cage had dropped from a hidden slot in the ceiling. Ondorum stood encased, looking abashed.

"That was unexpected."

He tested the bronze bars. Nothing budged. Akina went over and gave it a few good whacks, sending gongs through the chamber, but the bottom had somehow glued itself to the stone floor. Ondorum gripped the base and tried to heft the whole thing, giving up after several straining attempts that didn't so much as shift a pebble. The cracks in the floor had fractured further under the impact, but otherwise the trap appeared immovable.

Breathing hard, he sat in the center of the cage, legs folded, hands propped on his knees. "I will meditate on this dilemma. There's always a solution."

"You do that," she said. "I'll go find our little friend and have a nice chat."

"We's friends?"

She whirled to find the goblin standing just down the hall it had appeared in before. Akina tensed for it to attack with a dozen of its vile friends, but it just stared at her.

"Run out of tricks, have you? Right. I'm smearing you so thin you'll—"

Her nostrils flared, picking up the creature's stench. She'd had goblin stink rammed up her nose often enough she could pick it out of the smelliest crowd or most chaotic battlefield. A scratchy scent of urine and sour sap.

This creature emanated a muskier odor. Beyond that, its shadow looked wrong. It formed a broad pool of darkness, giving the appearance of a hunched animal readying to spring rather than a stick-limbed goblin. Now that she thought of it, how did it cast a shadow in the lightless space?

The goblin's grin went impossibly wide, even for its huge mouth. The deeper, more eloquent voice vibrated out again.

"Join me for a meal, won't you?"

Its body rippled and swelled, blocking the passage with fur and fangs.

Coming Next Week: Unwelcome guests in chapter three of Josh Vogt's "The Price Paid"!

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel Forge of Ashes, also starring Akina and Ondorum, as well as the web fiction stories "The Weeping Blade" and "Hunter's Folly." His first creator-owned novel, Enter the Janitor, just released, and his short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Marjorie Davis.

The Price Paid

by Josh Vogt

Chapter One: A Meeting in Ruins

"There!" Akina thrust her maulaxe out, pointing to the craggy ruins on the hillside. "Told you I smelled hobgoblin stink. We'll have our pay by morning."

Durgan sniffed the crisp air as they emerged from the woods. "Dunno how you do it, Kina. I can't smell a thing beyond all this pine."

One of the other mercenaries, a shaggy-haired human with a notched lip, belted a coarse laugh. "I betcha it's 'cause dwarves got such big sniffers, y'know?"

His mirth died off as Akina turned and glared at him from under the brim of her iron helm, which had been fashioned in the shape of a ram's head with curling horns. The rest of the band stepped ever so slightly away from the would-be-jester. Their number included a dozen human men and women, a half-elven swordsman, and a gnome whose crimson hair flared up like the flames he often conjured. Most, like Akina, wore mismatched leather and iron armor while carrying assorted blades, hammers, shields, and bows. Not the prettiest lot to wander the land, but Akina cared more for getting the job done well than in style.

She tapped the side of her nose. "Be glad I'm distracted by the killing that's coming. Otherwise I might've taken that personally." She returned to eyeing the ruins. "Right. Let's figure our approach."

Durgen scowled. "You leading this band or me?"

"You make all the contracts and collect all the pay. That's a heavy burden to bear. I'm just trying to lighten your load." She grinned. "If we work in slow, we can hopefully take down any scouts before they raise an alarm. So long as we—"

"There's one!" A man jumped forward, crossbow raised, and loosed a bolt.

Akina cursed as a hobgoblin darted through the shadows of teetering columns. The bolt clacked off stone, wide afield. Clad in jagged armor, the hobgoblin loped along on muscled legs and ducked into a walled courtyard.

She growled at the archer. "Shattered stones, Gherb! What've I told you about being so jumpy? Bastard wasn't even in range. You want to lose your share?"

Ignoring his muttered apologies, she tromped ahead, the band falling in alongside. On the surface, the ruins appeared as a jumble of worked stone with toppled pillars, sagging arches, and overgrown paths. Gray-green moss slicked many surfaces, while shrubs and a few trees poked up through the mess. A number of weathered carvings peeked out from the few walls that remained standing; some looked recently defaced, likely when the hobgoblins moved in.

They reached the spot the hobgoblin had bolted from. Akina scanned the area, noting a few crude barricades of spiked branches and piles of gnawed bones. A couple of dark thresholds at the far side of the courtyard suggested entrances to deeper levels.

"Figure they've dug in," she said. "We should scout around, see if there's a back door or two they might scuttle out of."

"There isn't. I've already checked."

The mercenaries rounded on the source of the voice, but nobody appeared. Several worn statues of robed figures sat on nearby pedestals, backs to the group.

"Magic?" Durgan nodded to the gnome. "Piquwit, can you sense anything?"

"No magic," said the same voice. "Merely myself."

One of the statues rose and faced them. Not a statue, Akina realized, but a man in a dusty robe that blended with the rest of the rubble. He'd been sitting so still, he might as well have been made of stone.

Ondorum is as stubborn as the stone he resembles.

When he lowered his hood, though, she corrected herself on both points. Not a man... and maybe he was made of stone. His gray skin had a rough texture, while his hair hung a few shades darker, looking like rows of chiseled granite. Odder yet, where most folk had eyebrows, rows of purple crystals glinted in the sunlight above malachite-green eyes.

"Who're you?" She squinted. "What are you?"

"He's one o' those that's got a bit of mud in their blood," Durgan said. "Whaddya call them?" He clicked his tongue. "Oreads. Yeah. A touch of the earthy elements somewhere down the line."

Earthy elements? Akina reconsidered the strange person. He did have a solid bearing, and she had to look hard to catch a hint of him breathing under the robe. Her mind jumped to assessing potential weaknesses. Did he bleed like other fleshy folks? Would the axe edge of her weapon work best if he proved a threat, or would it be better to go at it with the hammer side? Would he pound down to dust?

He smiled and bowed. "I am Ondorum. Apologies for interrupting, but I didn't wish for you to proceed without knowing the full situation."

"Uh... thanks?" She shook away the violent thoughts. "What situation?"

Ondorum pointed at the inner ruins. "A small hobgoblin warband has claimed this place as their hideout."

"We know," Akina said. "That's why we're here."

His flinty gaze roved over the band. "Ah. You are sell-swords."

She bumped one shoulder up, indicating the maulaxe propped over it. "Swords... bows... clubs... axes... We don't like to limit ourselves."

"I'd request restraint in this instance." Ondorum nodded to where clawed footprints disturbed the earth. "I was speaking with their second-in-command. He calls himself Skurl."

"And I call him fair game. You talked to that beast?"

Fine lines cracked his placid expression. "They're just trying to survive. They've been amenable to civilized discussions so far." He looked aside. "Though I did have to rebuff several attacks before they allowed for negotiations."

"You're trying to make peace with hobgoblins? What are you, some kind of priest?" Aside from her brother's service as a cleric back in Taggoret, Akina held little patience for priests. They always viewed the world from such skewed perspectives, trying to make people conform to their gods' ideals.

"I come from a monastic order that follows the enlightened teachings of Irori." He pressed open palms together. "While I left my temple under unfortunate circumstances, I continue to pursue perfection in all things, traveling in search of new experiences and deeper wisdom. This seemed a good opportunity to offer these troubled creatures the chance to follow a higher path."

She ratcheted her initial estimation of him from potential threat down to naive fool. "Don't you know we just got out of a war with hobgoblins and their kind? They slaughtered thousands!" She ground her teeth as a long list of the dead squirmed through her mind. "This lot's been raiding around Falcon's Hollow for months."

He folded arms across his broad chest. "Of course I'm aware of the battling. But these claim they held no part in it. And, as you said, the goblinoid armies have been routed. Isn't post-war the perfect time to attempt more peaceful solutions?"

She stared. "You're one of those mad monks, aren't you? Look, go back to staring at your bellybutton, if you've got one, and let us do our job, hm?"

She moved to lead the band into the ruins, but stopped when he planted himself in her way.

"I insist you reconsider."

This time, Akina let the fury simmer in her stomach, an enlivening heat. "Move or I'll make you."

Durgan coughed. "I'd back off while y' got the chance, monk. She don't give warnings too often."

The slightest grin tweaked Ondorum's lips. "Consider your warning appreciated but unnecessary."

"Right." Akina hefted her maulaxe and charged.

At the last second, the oread swiveled on a heel. She bulled by, checked her rush, and tried for a backhand swing. He shifted so it swept past less than an inch from his robe. A few hoots went up from the mercenaries at the near miss.

Growling, Akina let the heat at her core churn like boiling water. She sped up, not bothering to arrest her swings. He continued to dance around her, feet sweeping patterns in the dirt, nimbly dodging, bending and swaying just so. With every whiff of her weapon, Akina's hits went a little wilder, the flames inside her blazed brighter, singing her bones.

She raised the maulaxe over her head. "Hold. Still!"

As she brought it down, he went motionless. The maulaxe slammed into the earth right between his feet. He stepped on the head, planted a hand atop her helm, and used the brace to flip over and behind her.

Akina released her maulaxe and spun, fist lashing out to drive into his gut. He blocked the strike with an open palm. The force of the impact knocked her back a step, as if she'd punched a granite statue. He didn't so much as quiver.

The recoil stunned her just enough that the rising flames inside her snuffed back to embers. Akina shuddered, realizing how close she'd been to losing control. She focused on sucking cool air into her lungs, forcing her bloodlust back down before it overwhelmed her—as it so often did these days. She avoided glancing at her companions, knowing even the slightest smirk or snigger would send her barreling back into the fight.

Instead, she retrieved her maulaxe and leaned on it, casual-like, as if his showing her up meant nothing.

"Listen," she said through a forced smile, "you ever try making peace with other monsters before?"

Ondorum nodded. "I've done so with a pair of trolls that were assaulting caravans and also with a band of orcs attacking a monastery."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"They had to be destroyed in both instances. With the trolls, I was able to keep collateral damage to a minimum." His posture drooped slightly, like a mountainside threatening an avalanche. "The orcs, however, killed many and destroyed much before they were eliminated."

Akina studied the monk closer, sensing more to that confrontation than the monk wished to reveal.

Ondorum seemed to notice her attention and firmed up. "They were dealt with. No longer a threat."

The mercenaries murmured among themselves.

Akina cleared her throat. "If you aren't lying about all that, how about getting paid good coin to put that skill to use here? Could give you a share in the work."

"I live simply," he said. "Never needed much coin. The people I've saved have often been willing to donate food and shelter until I moved on."

"But you care about saving people, right? And sounds like every time you've tried to do that with just words, it's all gone to hell."

His lips turned down at the edges. "I admit I've succumbed to discouragement at times. That is one of my numerous flaws. This land is a violent one, and many do not respect anything but force. Yet the path to perfection is never without its stumbles." Ondorum mused in silence for a few moments. "Were you hired to kill the hobgoblins, or simply to ensure they don't attack Falcon's Hollow and its lumber camps any longer?"

Akina raised an eyebrow Durgan's way.

The mercenary captain shrugged. "Technically? The second one. Killing's just always been the easiest way for us to see it done."

Ondorum fixed back on Akina. "A bargain, then. Skurl had just delivered word that their leader would meet me within the ruins and discuss terms of a peaceful withdrawal. If you join me, they may recognize leaving without further violence is their best choice. You can complete your contract without having to shed any blood."

"You're kidding," Akina said.

"I'm quite serious."

"Hang on," Durgan said, stepping in. "You want me to just let one of my folks wander in with you? You'll be outnumbered and cut off if they come from behind."

Ondorum glanced at the mercenary leader. "You believe she cannot handle the challenge? Very well. I swear I will keep her safe."

Durgan spluttered as Akina made fists.

"I can handle myself," she said.

"I'd rather send a few extra folks down with you two," said Durgan, regaining his composure. "Just in case."

"If you give a show of force," Ondorum said, "the hobgoblins would likely respond in kind. I fear bringing even one extra might disrupt the accord I've made."

"You're going in anyways," Akina said. "Whatever we do, you're still planning to just... talk."

He bowed.

She pressed a fist to her forehead. "Unbelievable." She glowered at nothing in particular for another moment, then huffed. "Fine. We'll try it your way first. I'll watch your back so long as you watch mine."

The monk bobbed his head as if this had been a foregone conclusion.

"Why not?" Durgan asked acidly. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Akina scowled. "Never ask that." She waved toward the ruins. "Lead on, oh perfect one."

"Perfection remains far outside my grasp," Ondorum said. "It's often a lifelong pursuit."

She sighed. "Priests and monks. None of you ever have a sense of humor."

"Humor, eh?" Durgan snorted. "Your idea of a joke is yanking the ears off a goblin and making him choke to death on 'em."

She blinked up at him. "What's your point?"

Ondorum bowed, then began striding for the ruined courtyard. As he headed off, Akina and Durgan exchanged a knowing look. Wouldn't be the first time they'd used the ruse of peace talks. The monk's parley effort would let her get to the hobgoblin leader, split his skull, and rout the rest straight into the hands of the waiting mercenaries.

They'd be swapping blood for gold soon enough.

Coming Next Week: A delve into ancient ruins in the second chapter in Josh Vogt's "The Price Paid"!

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel Forge of Ashes, also starring Akina and Ondorum, as well as the web fiction stories "The Weeping Blade" and "Hunter's Folly." His first creator-owned novel, Enter the Janitor, just released, and his short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Marjorie Davis.

Forge of Ashes Sample Chapter

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

In Forge of Ashes, the dwarven warrior Akina returns home to the Five Kings Mountains after years as a soldier and mercenary, accompanied by Ondorum, her silent companion of living stone. What she finds there is far from what she remembers: a disgraced brother, an obsessive suitor, and a missing mother presumed dead. Yet the damage runs deeper than anyone knows, and when Akina’s brother is kidnapped by ancient enemies from the legendary Darklands, she and Ondorum must venture below the surface—and into danger as old as the stones themselves.

Chapter Four: Contemplation of Stone

Ondorum watched the snoring dwarf for a little while after Akina left. He looked for any sign that Brakisten might wake, or even be sensible enough to work the door latch if he did. He studied Brakisten's twitches and briefly wondered what he might've been like before drink, deception, and grief took such a harsh toll. Little use, however, in questioning what might have been. Better to focus on what could be.

Ondorum searched the rooms for stashed alcohol, but the den lacked any hiding places he could discern. He guessed it'd be a while yet before Brakisten woke. Perhaps he could use the time to explore a bit on his own.

While he'd encountered other dwarves besides Akina, he'd never visited one of their kingdoms before. What glimpses he had so far proved fascinating. He'd been looking forward to meeting Akina's family—at least, the brother and mother. She'd told him how her father had died while she'd been in battle training, buried in an avalanche during a Kingtower Pass patrol. In the years they'd traveled and fought together with the swords-for-hire, she'd occasionally spoken of her home and remaining kin. Her tone had initially been dismissive, but had grown increasingly wistful until her return had been inevitable. Her asking him to come along had been one of the great joys of his existence, but he possessed no certainty of how long it'd last.

Best to make the most of it, then.

Believing it safe to stroll for a bit, he bowed to Brakisten and prayed to Irori that the dwarf might have a soothed mind and soul when he woke. Then he stepped outside and took a moment to orient himself. Fortunately, he had an excellent sense of direction, a talent the mercenaries had often put to use when navigating unknown territory.

As he wound through the district, he admired the roads and bridges. The dwarves had fashioned well-situated thoroughfares, yet their constructions retained the sense of having sprung whole from the earth. Studying the dwarves themselves, he almost believed the legends that their earliest ancestors had been formed of living stone with fire baked into their hearts. He sensed their joy and peace in knowing who they were and where they belonged—a peace he knew Akina no longer held. Even though she'd never said it outright, he reckoned she'd hoped to regain that centering of herself by coming home. Could she still, he wondered, despite the unfortunate beginnings?

An inconsistency nagged him as he wandered. Something about the city itself...

Ah! Of course. The light. He should've realized. Akina said her people worked all hours, taking shifts to ensure the forge fires never dimmed, the mining carts never rolled in empty, and the tunnels and buildings never stopped being strengthened or lengthened. While Ondorum knew dwarves could see in the dark just as well as he could, the artificial light displayed their handiwork in far greater glory.

He paused on the corner of a four-way intersection atop a rise. From here, he could see down one of the massive rifts dividing the city. Structures appeared to be built into the depths of the rift itself, with chain-and-pulley lifts providing transportation up and down. Mining entrances? Homes?

He gazed upward and let himself feel the weight of the cavern. Not a claustrophobic press like many humans or elves complained of after spending time underground. To him, it offered a soothing weight, like a warm blanket beneath a frigid sky.

It seemed a city an oread might be right at home in. Oread culture was a loose thing, in itself. They had no central government. No real inclination to congregate with others of their kind. Most, like him, chose their own paths. He'd heard of other oreads finding homes among dwarven settlements, their inclinations toward stone helping them blend in well enough. He'd even heard of oreads and dwarves who'd married and had children, though he and Akina had never discussed such. Not that they'd been talking much lately.

Akina doesn't control her temper, so her temper controls her.

Guilt cracked his concentration at that thought. He knew Akina detested his self-imposed vow, sometimes opining that he must've taken it just to provoke her. But did she realize how much it tormented him as well? Ever since they'd first begun traveling together, he'd enjoyed the steady way they'd drawn ever closer. Now he'd distanced them in a way neither of them could bridge. In the pursuit of perfecting himself, did he now fail her?

Trying to restore a more contemplative focus, he shut his eyes and visualized his ki as a golden ball at the core of his being. Palms opened to the ground, he imagined lines of ki stretching out into the stone, connecting him with the essence of the city. A futile effort to gain a sense of the place, perhaps, since he'd only seen a fraction of Taggoret, but all lessons began somewhere.

As he attempted to meditate, a memory of screams teased his thoughts. Past mistakes and failures rose to taunt him, as they so often did. The golden ball of ki turned to granite. He fought to corral the riot of sudden emotion and steady his breathing, but everywhere he turned, regret threatened to overwhelm him. Akina. The monastery. The village. All of them hurt or lost despite his best efforts. The wrong words. The wrong actions. Yet he still struggled to know what he could've done or said differently in the circumstances.

Irori, please. I'm trying. Truly. I've ever believed yours is the hand that should guide my path, but it can be so difficult to know which way you're pointing. Is Akina's solace more important than my silence? Is my vow meant to be broken? Or is this a test to refine both of us?

He waited, listening for an answer, memories still haunted by screams. Then he opened his eyes, realizing some screams weren't in his mind. A faint roar sounded nearby, followed by a cry and crash. Someone in trouble?

He reached into his robe and drew out an iron rod no bigger than his thumb. He carried a small collection of such metal rods and chips to be employed when circumstances required. While he could fight decently enough with empty hands, he knew better than to overlook the advantage of an extended reach.

Calling on his elemental heritage, he let earthen power flow through him and infuse the metal, giving it the potential to be so much more than it appeared. The rod lengthened into a full quarterstaff. While it was a temporary transformation, and one he could only repeat after a lengthy delay, it could help if he needed to intervene in a scene of violence.

So armed, Ondorum stepped out into the middle of the street, looking for the source of the disturbance. A dwarf walking by jumped aside, fists cocked. Then he gave a grating laugh.

"Flaming beards, boy. Thought you were a statue."

Ondorum pointed down the road and cupped a hand to his ear. The dwarf frowned, but then brightened."Oh, that's the Scarred Knuckles. Best fighting hole in all the mountains. There's a tournament tonight. Was on my way, myself." He sidled up and nudged Ondorum."My bet's on the Silver Skewer, but it'll be a good fight either way. For some of us, blood gleams brighter than gold, eh?"

Quarterstaff tapping along, Ondorum fell in step with the dwarf, who talked as they went. The dwarf didn't seem to notice the oread's failure to reply as he guided Ondorum to one building and ushered him inside. The noise quadrupled in force, and Ondorum tried to let the cacophony flow over and past him. At least two hundred dwarves crammed into multi-tiered seats surrounding four sunken arenas. Each ring held a pair of fighters. The crowd loosed another roar as one combatant hit the ground and didn't move.

His dwarven escort cackled."Remember! All bets on the Silver Skewer."

Others called out names such as The Haunch and One-Nostril. Ondorum shifted through the crowd as the audience slapped and pounded one another in revelry, celebrating with what would've been bruising—or bone-breaking—force for many other races.

Ondorum's attention fixed on a cage set off in a corner. At first, it appeared to contain nothing but darkness; then the slightest movement suggested a figure huddled within. Ondorum got closer until he discerned the captive.

Clad in filthy rags, the person looked dwarven in shape and size. However, his skin was a dull gray, and what hair remained in his beard hung in white patches. He lay curled up beside a chamber pot, withered arms and legs weighed down by chains bolted to the stone wall. The wrinkles and heavy folds of his forehead and cheeks made him seem practically ancient.

Duergar. Ondorum had heard of the dwarves' fallen cousins but never seen one before. By the look of him, this one had been kept there as a spectacle for many years. The duergar stared out past the cage bars, dark eyes unblinking, face slack.

Ondorum frowned, uncomfortable with seeing any creature imprisoned. Akina had once entertained the mercenary band with tales of the outcast race. Once dwarves themselves, they'd rejected the call of Torag to seek the surface millennia ago. They'd remained below and, to survive in the treacherous Darklands, sworn themselves to Droskar, the Master of the Dark Furnace. Now the duergar continued to toil down in the Darklands, ruling their fell kingdom in cruelty and malice.

After a few minutes, he moved on, realizing he wasn't about to solve the ancient enmity between the two races with a little sympathy for a prisoner. He approached one of the nearer rings and looked easily over the heads of those crowding around it. The two fighters exchanged a barrage of hits and kicks before stumbling back from each other. The brief pause gave him a clear view of one bare-knuckled combatant and her platinum-streaked hair.

Akina.

The crowd might as well have vanished as he focused on her in dismay. Her half-crazed eyes, the flex of her jaw, and the hunch of her shoulders told him she rode the edge of fury. Ondorum gripped his staff, uncertain. Even if he broke his vow to shout her name, his voice would be lost in the riot. She always thought she could control her rage, and so often proved herself wrong as she rode the swell up and over into temporary madness. The others here didn't know the danger, and would find out too late.

∗ ∗ ∗

Akina howled in glee as her fist cracked across her opponent's cheek, sending him somersaulting. Every landed blow meant more coin added to the wagers on the bout. She didn't know her enemy's name. Didn't care. She bounded after and forced him up against a wall to pummel his belly while he beat at her skull. Might as well have been knocking stones against stones.

Here. She belonged here, dealing pain to any and all.

The longer her blood boiled, the more the world altered around her. Her nostrils flared as she picked out others by their sweat, by the auras of smoke clinging to them, by their reeking fear. The air itself felt like a rich current of magma through which she flowed as easily as thought, while those around her slogged and stumbled and burned.

With an incoherent battle cry, her opponent sprinted in. She took the hit and tangled fingers in his thick hair. Turning with his momentum, she drove him face-first into the wall. He rebounded, and she threw her weight into another slam. Then another. He went limp after the fourth, but she held him upright and cracked bone to stone, wanting to smash his skull through and beyond. Blood spattered her and the wall. He gargled in her grip as she reared back for a final thrust.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. She dropped her victim and spun, aiming a blow, but something slapped her fists aside and threw her off-balance. As she recovered, the newcomer scooped up the fallen dwarf and threw him out of the ring.

Akina shook bloodstained fists."No! I was winning!"

Cheated on the brink of victory. For a moment she thought she recognized the new enemy, but then it didn't matter. Yet as she charged, he stood solid and took her strikes as they came. Open palms intercepted her fists; his arms didn't even as tremble at the hits. When she tried to grapple him to the floor, he stepped aside and let her sweep past.

"Stand still!"

Each missed attempt stoked the fires higher.

"Stand—" One moment to the next, the flames in her belly turned to a block of ice. The cold weight of it dragged her to her knees. She shook her head, hands planted, trying to rise."No, I was winning..." Quivering limbs refused to support her.

As she collapsed, a pair of hands caught her. She blinked away the gray haze long enough to focus on Ondorum before a curtain of ashes enveloped her.

"Sorry," she said."It's the only way I know how to pray."

Purchase the whole novel here!

In addition to Forge of Ashes, Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales stories "The Weeping Blade" and "Hunter's Folly," as well as the forthcoming creator-owned novel Enter the Janitor. His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Davi Blight.

Hunter's Folly

by Josh Vogt

Chapter 4: Essence of the Hunt

At the warning cry, Aberny looked back and noticed the crude frame of branches that propped a large rock pile above the tunnel they'd emerged from. Even as he did, a scrabble of talons alerted him just before the beast burst upward, jaws snapping every which way. It clamped onto the ledge with one claw and swept the other out.

Ralynn jumped away, but the claw tore out the supporting branches instead, dropping the pile in a dust-raising crash and sealing off any escape. The chimera fell back to the floor, crunching Tali's bone sculpture beneath its feet as she scrambled for cover.

Ralynn leapt to the ground after it, whipping out a second sword. He kicked a skull at the chimera and ran in after, blades leading the way.

Aberny hurried to see if he could dislodge the rock fall and give them a chance to flee. He threw aside several smaller rocks, but realized the boulders would require massive effort to budge.

Tali's view of the hunt is nothing if not unique.

The chimera bounded all about the cavern, with plenty of room to maneuver despite its bulk. It flapped up to the far wall, clung there for a moment as its claws dug in, and then dropped to crush the fighter. Ralynn somersaulted aside, and the chimera landed with a boom that shook the whole place.

Aberny grabbed up a larger rock and lugged it to the edge. He took aim, and then flung it down at the chimera. He howled and raised a triumphant fist as the rock smashed into one of the beast's wings, preventing another leap-and-crush attempt.

Ralynn darted in, using the distraction to gouge the creature's flanks. Aberny went for another rock, as yowls rose from below. Right as he reached the edge a second time, the chimera lunged up, abandoning Ralynn to attack him instead. He threw the rock, but the dragon's head snapped it out of midair. At least now it couldn't spew acid in his face.

The other two heads drove forward. He fell back, grabbing for his weapons as fangs and horns strained inches from his feet. Then the chimera bellowed and fell back. Aberny leaned over to see what had happened.

Ralynn had hacked off a hind paw, and the chimera now hobbled after him while trailing a ragged, gore-soaked stump. The fighter grinned and flicked blood from his blades.

The chimera stumbled forward and Ralynn thrust for the kill. However, the dragon head rose and spewed a wide stream of acid. As Ralynn twisted desperately to dodge this, the chimera threw itself forward. A claw snagged Ralynn's leg and pinned him to the ground. The chimera leaned in, all mouths gaping.

Tali's voice rang out. "Ralynn, shut your eyes!"

The half-elf squeezed his eyes closed right before a flash of dazzling lights burst before the chimera's faces. It reared and staggered on its remaining hind paw.

Freed, Ralynn rolled up and raised both swords as the chimera dropped back in front of him. He brought the blades down on the neck of the nearest head—the goat. The head gave a gargling bleat as it was hacked off to splatter at Ralynn's feet.

A frenzied wing beat knocked the fighter back, while the lion and dragon roared and screeched in pain. The chimera hunched and launched itself toward one of the wider cracks in the cavern walls.

The crack must've been formed in soft earth, for it burst wide under the chimera's impact, raining roots and rock all about. The creature shoved most of the way out. Its hind leg gave a last kick to free itself, and then only its fading cries could be heard as it fled.

Tali emerged from her hiding spot behind an oversized ribcage, while Ralynn caught his breath and Aberny made his way to the chamber floor. By the time he got there, the half-elf and gnome were inspecting the paw and goat head.

Ralynn probed the head with the tip of a blade. "Poor trophy. Might as well have killed an oversized goat."

Aberny eyed the hole in the cavern wall. "Even if it survives that wound, I doubt it'll return to let you claim the rest."

"Just in case," Tali said, "maybe we should get out of here?"

The three climbed back to the ledge and began the arduous job of clearing the path out. Before they left, Aberny made sure to retrieve his sword, feeling an odd desire to never travel without one close at hand again. Ralynn grabbed up the paw and head, while Tali chose a few blood-speckled rib fragments.

Once they emerged into sunlight and fresh air, Aberny leaned on his staff, suddenly more weary than he'd ever been. "I've a proposition."

The two looked to him.

"Since our contract was hastily made and without the clearest of wits, what say we mutually dissolve it and let survival be its own reward? We can tell whatever version of what happened here that we wish."

Ralynn lifted the chimera parts. "So long as I keep these." He caught Aberny's eye. "I'm not as stuck on our original deal."

Tali glanced between the two, curious, but shrugged when neither was forthcoming. "Good enough for me."

Aberny smiled, pulled out the battered parchment, and tossed it back down to languish with the bones.

∗ ∗ ∗

Aberny entered the art gallery, double-checking the card delivered the previous day to make sure he had the right time and place.

Master Aberny,

It would be the greatest honor if you would attend the opening exhibit of "Horrors of the Hunt," under the patronage of the Gilvreau Gallery. We feature the finest paintings and sculptures ever to grace our town, being a testament to Whistledown's continued contributions to the pinnacle of society that is artistic inspiration and craft.

Sincerely,
Steward Feles, on behalf of the Gilvreau Gallery

He scanned the main room. Humans, gnomes, elves, and others crowded the hall, where at least a dozen paintings hung alongside another dozen sculptures and carvings. Some of the pieces even combined sculpture and painting, with molded bronze, steel, and silver interwoven with canvas to give the work a surprising depth and substance.

In one painting, a shadowy beast loomed over a trio of figures, framed against a background of vivid firelight. There, fighters engaged a chimera on the edges of a rocky pool. And there, random bones had been wired together to create a miniature model of a chimera skeleton, wings spread, looking ready to leap on viewers.

Never had Aberny seen such raw depictions of dread and violence. Not only had the artist captured the chimera's bestial qualities, but also the underlying terror and imminence of death it evoked. Many of the scenes even gave the impression of the hunters being the prey.

After perusing the selection for a while, he found Tali chatting in a ring of admirers. A month had passed since the ill-fated hunt, and her attire had taken a turn for the fashionable. Adorned with a gem-studded tiara, she wore a dress of blue and crimson. When she spotted him, she excused herself and rushed over to grasp his hand.

"Master Aberny! So glad you could make it."

He smiled and they exchanged pleasantries, such as her rise in society and how his sword-fighting lessons progressed. When they found a corner beyond the press of the crowd, he cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking a bit since we last saw one another. Reflecting on a few oddities of our time in the grasslands."

One of her emerald eyebrows twitched. "Such as?"

"Such as how the chimera tracked our scent so quickly. Why it took off with you when it had the upper hand with Ralynn. And how you knew enough of its nature—even its language—to appeal to its bestial vanity."

Her lips tweaked at the corners. "Quite strange."

"As I recall, a large portion of our first dinner went... well, not missing, but perhaps unaccounted for would be the better description. Now, I'm not one to doubt a voracious appetite, but for a gnome, such a repast would've likely split his or her stomach wide—if it was actually devoured at all. And then there was a particular item that would've drawn the creature's ear from a goodly distance."

He drew out the Whistledown charm she'd dropped when the chimera had taken her beside the pool. "A memento of our little hunt and congratulations for your success."

Tali licked her lips as she squirreled the charm away. Then she glanced about, no doubt looking for a particular half-elf.

"Are you going to tell him?" she asked.

He chuckled darkly, suspicions confirmed. "I haven't decided. He's not in town at the moment, either way. While the head and paw weren't exactly the trophies Ralynn wished, they worked well enough to boost his reputation—especially after an alchemist confirmed the chimera blood. He left two weeks ago with a band of treasure hunters."

Then he shed all mirth. "But I want to know how you managed to come to an agreement with the chimera."

Her nose crinkled. "Agreement?"

"How did you get the creature to act as a model for your art? An offer of safety in exchange for leading it to us?"

Her eyes widened. "No! I might've aggravated the situation a bit, but we had no dealings. It wouldn't have been real, if so. I had to live it. The struggle had to be authentic, or else it wouldn't mean anything."

"You understood it. Spoke with it."

"Languages are art, like I said. Each one I can converse in adds to my palette of comprehension."

"But why? What possessed you to tempt our deaths that way?"

"Oh! This, of course." She wobbled her head, indicating the gallery. "My art can now be infused with unparalleled passion and perspective."

"You got my men killed."

"We all accepted a certain amount of risk, didn't we? I faced the same dangers as everyone else."

"You could've told us. We could've set an ambush from the start."

"That would've been just as bad as if I'd collaborated with the beast. It would've undermined the reality I needed to experience."

He sighed, trying and failing to summon fury at the deception. Sadly, he understood all too well the lengths one might go to for personal advancement. Should he reveal the deal he'd struck with Ralynn? Or perhaps scrawl another debt in his ledgers?

Aberny rubbed his chin, as if pondering the virtues of the piece they stood before. "Perhaps Ralynn will never find out, so long as certain steps are taken. A favor paid, say, to avoid dark rumors besmirching the reputation of a promising young artist."

Tali squared up with him, thin arms crossed. "So! What's the bargain, then?"

He waved at the surrounding artwork. "Your work should be admired by lovers of art far and wide. I would... politely... request an exclusive contract as distributor and representative of your craft beyond Whistledown. Sole purveyor, receiving a significant percentage of every sale for my efforts."

Tali grinned. "Ah! I'll have to talk to the gallery owners, but I'll be as persuasive as possible for an old friend." She stuck out a hand. As his engulfed hers for a brief squeeze, she held it a moment longer. "Good fortune, Master Aberny. Of course, I say that hoping you'll funnel some of that my way in the end."

His laugh drew a few askance looks. "Be careful what you hope for, dearest Tali. In the end, fortune makes fools of us all."

Coming Next Week: Viking-style adventure and the return of Jendara in a sample chapter from Wendy Wagner’s new Pathfinder Tales novel, Skinwalkers.

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales story "The Weeping Blade." His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Hunter's Folly

by Josh Vogt

Chapter 3: Lures

The trio hiked along the base of a scraggly knoll under the midday sun. Tali had at least stopped complaining about the dirt soiling her dress, and now joined Aberny in eyeing the skies for any sign of their foe. Ralynn kept an easy, if steady, pace ahead, one blade always out as he scanned the wild brush and every dip and curve of the earth in case the chimera crouched in wait.

When the others weren't looking, Aberny wrung a pinky finger in either ear.

How did he still hear Whistledown's fluting charms in the distance? Even if they remained closed enough, normally they only played at night, when the lake breezes blew through the village. Had the chimera's attack jarred him more than he thought?

He tried to distract himself by scanning the rolling landscape, with its high grasses, occasional groves, and streams. How did such a verdant area host such a deadly creature? Where did it lurk? Chimeras often holed up in their dens between meals. Yet this stretch of land lacked any significant caves he knew of, having hastily studied a few maps before they set out.

Vicious hunger gleams in each set of the chimera's putrid-yellow eyes.

Not more than half an hour later, Ralynn crouched and touched a patch of earth. Aberny and Tali hesitated, checking all about until the fighter waved them closer.

"Sign?" Aberny asked.

Ralynn shook his head and displayed fingers stained with mud. "Water nearby."

Aberny nodded, but Tali pouted in confusion.

"Water," the merchant explained, "suggests a spot where animals might come to drink on a regular basis. Tempting for predators."

They crept forward, weapons in Aberny's and Ralynn's hands, a charcoal nub and parchment in Tali's. They crested a subtle ridge and found it sloped down sharply into a rockier area, where a stream funneled in and formed a wide pool ringed by crumbling earth and stones. The place appeared undisturbed, but Aberny well knew appearances deceived only the foolish.

Tali wriggled in delight. "Gorgeous. I must fix this place in my mind."

As she dangled bare feet over the ridge and outlined the geography, Ralynn shifted closer to Aberny, voice lowered.

"I think the beast is close, but waiting to catch us off guard again. How about we use her as bait?"

Aberny narrowed his eyes. "You're that desperate for the bounty?"

Ralynn raised both hands. "I never make a bet I don't intend to win. But I'm not saying we let her get eaten. We'll divert it before it reaches her."

The screams of Aberny's men briefly intruded on his thoughts until he shoved them back. He shook his head. "No. I'll go down with her while you watch our backs."

Ralynn shrugged. "Won't stop you."

Calling Tali to help him refill their waterskins, Aberny led her into the depression, trying not to skid too much on scree and raise a clatter. When they reached the pool, he set his staff down and kneeled to cup a palm of water. As he swallowed, he glanced at Tali's sketch, noting she'd expertly captured the rocky pool, but had added a few embellishments, including scattered animal skeletons and the chimera itself crouched among the bodies.

"Preparing a morbid masterpiece?" he asked.

She held the parchment out, eyeing it critically. "Hm. Are the bones taking it too far?"

He peered at the chimeric figure as she filled in various details. "Are you managing that from memory last night? Impressive."

She pointed with her charcoal nub. "Oh, no. It's right over there."

Aberny raised his eyes and met the triple gaze of the chimera as it stood from its hiding spot across the pool. Its tawny, dappled hide had blended in with the yellow earth and stones, and its goat and dragon heads emerged from where they'd been tucked under the wings until then.

Ralynn must've known it was there the whole time. It couldn't have eluded his half-elven sight that easily.

The chimera's dragon maw drizzled acid, while its goat teeth gnawed a scrap of flesh that Aberny hoped didn't come from any of last night's kills. It began prowling around the pool toward them. Its ears twitched, and it spoke through its lion head alone this time.

"What's it saying?" Aberny asked Tali.

Her tongue darted over her lips. "Oh... er... something about me not being more than a nibble, while you might make a few mouthfuls."

Aberny rose, taking up his staff and drawing his sword. He used the staff to pull Tali along with him as he backed away toward Ralynn's concealed spot on the near ridge. But before they took two steps, the chimera filled the area with a three-throated roar and a great beat of wings propelled it straight at them.

The first leap sent it splashing into the middle of the pool. The second brought it onto the bank before them, where it shook itself like a wet dog, whipping out a vortex of water. In the midst of that half-blinding spray, it rushed in.

Ralynn's yell resounded as he landed on the chimera's back, swords driving down to plunge into its lungs and heart. Its water-slicked fur, though, offered no firm footing. He slipped and what might've been a death blow merely scored across the beast's ribs. The chimera screeched and reared. Ralynn dropped one sword to grab a fistful of fur, holding on as he readied for another strike.

Aberny forced himself forward, spearing the staff at the lion snout while chopping the sword whenever the dragon head wove too close.

The chimera fell back to all fours, and its wings slammed back over Ralynn, briefly clamping the fighter against its back. Then the chimera threw itself into a roll. Ralynn cried out as the creature's bulk crushed him into the earth, and he dropped off to lie stunned in the muddy gravel.

The chimera flipped back to its feet. Fangs slavered drool and acid as it approached the stunned fighter.

Then a harsh keening filled the hollow, painful enough that Aberny almost dropped his weapons to clamp hands over his ears. The chimera's heads swung around to fix on him. The creature growled deep enough to make the waters ripple, and snarled in its own tongue.

Aberny braced as it loped for him. He lashed out when it neared, but a claw struck him across the stomach, throwing him aside. He lost staff and sword as he rolled and slammed up against the base of the embankment.

The keening cut off, followed by a shriek from Tali. Aberny's jarred vision cleared just as the chimera flung itself into the sky, Tali screaming and writhing in its lion's maw. He stared aghast as the chimera made off with their small companion, following the stream as it wound out of sight among the hills. Her cries dwindled into nothing.

The merchant pushed upright, groaning at a clench of pain where the chimera had struck him. His chest would be a mass of bruises, and breathing already proved strained. A quick inspection revealed four tears and shallow cuts across his torso. Seemed he owed Desna, the goddess of luck, a few prayers.

He struggled to his feet and limped to Ralynn, who lurched up, gasping and reaching for his weapons. The half-elf stilled as he realized they stood alone.

"What happened? It fled?"

Aberny gestured to Tali's parchment, abandoned when the chimera nabbed her. It had fluttered from her grasp and landed in the pool, already a pulpy mess. "Maybe it wants to work up an appetite before it feasts."

Ralynn grimaced and rose to retrieve his short swords. Then he grunted and bent over, hand pressed to his side.

"Damn it to Hell. Must've broken a rib."

Aberny rummaged through the satchel of food and supplies he'd brought. While several had been smashed in his tumble, one healing potion had blessedly survived. He considered his own minor wounds and chances for survival. Then he handed the vial to Ralynn, who nodded gratefully and downed it.

As the fighter recovered, Aberny went to where Tali had been standing and closed his eyes to whisper a prayer of protection. Desna smile on the gnome, and may she be lucky enough to live, despite all odds.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on an item where Tali had been standing. He bent over to investigate and found... a Whistledown charm. The wooden carving formed a complicated spiral, the tip secured with a metal hook where it was meant to dangle from eaves or doorways. She must've had it altered to produce the music on command, rather than just at night. Had she brought it thinking to actually mesmerize the beast or use it as a distracting weapon, as she'd just done?

He tucked this into a pocket, inert for the time. Then he turned to Ralynn, who stretched and twisted to test his healed ribs. "We have to go after her."

Ralynn frowned. "Actually, I've been rethinking my rule about never backing off from a bet."

Aberny strode over and grabbed the half-elf's collar. Ralynn stiffened, but didn't draw a blade.

"You sent us straight into its grasp just now, and her potential death is on your soul. You want to leave this hunt a coward?"

Ralynn jerked out of his grip and brushed himself off. "Better a coward than dead! And since when have you cared about someone's fate unless they put coin in your pocket? Oh, don't look surprised. You act so friendly, buying us rounds all night long—but only because we're spilling gossip you can use to get better deals. I know how it works."

"That was... that was idle business. This is life or death!"

"Thought it was all the same to you."

Aberny threw up his hands and spun away, sick of them both.

Ralynn's voice softened. "Look, there's no shame in knowing when to cut your losses. The biggest payoff doesn't mean a thing if you aren't alive to collect it. Even if we find wherever it's hauled her off to, we'll be walking straight into its territory. And it has a hostage."

Aberny stared into the water as if it might offer a solution. Then he focused on his reflection and realized he still had certain resources available. Best use them.

He turned back to the fighter. "I'll make you an offer."

Ralynn eyed him in suspicion. "Like?"

"Help me rescue her, and the bounty, plus a thousand from me, is yours. You don't even have to kill the chimera. Just as long as she lives."

The half-elf blinked. "You're serious."

"Entirely."

Ralynn scowled, looking like a trapped beast himself, sleek figure coiled as if ready to sprint for freedom. Then he sighed and straightened. "Fine. You've got a deal."

Relieved, if slightly, Aberny pointed out the direction the beast had flown. He and Ralynn followed the river, finding it broadened farther up and cut through a ravine that would've been invisible from their trek up in the fields.

At last, Ralynn crouched and pulled Aberny down with him. He pointed ahead. The stream poured out from a wide crevice, not a hundred paces ahead. Half-hidden by overgrown grasses, the opening led into the earth beneath a large hill.

They split up and approached the crevice from opposing angles. One sword readied, Ralynn eased up and peered inside for a moment. Then he slipped in.

Aberny held his breath until the half-elf leaned back out and waved him on.

Once beyond the low stony lip, the ceiling quickly rose enough for standing room, and outside light reached past to show a natural tunnel leading into the depths of the hill. They paused, listening.

Tali's voice echoed from somewhere deeper in, indistinct. A guttural murmur followed, as if she conversed with the chimera.

Aberny's heart rose. Alive! But not for long if they bungled this.

Ralynn took the lead, using his heightened sight to guide them. After creeping through a darker section, light once more appeared ahead. After ten paces, the tunnel ended, exiting onto a wide ledge that curved around the edges of an earthy cavern.

The chimera's den lay within the hollow hill, the walls all root-snaked dirt and rock. Several wide cracks allowed shafts of sunlight in, illuminating the scene below as the pair sneaked to the edge.

Tali stood before the chimera, which lay basking in a narrow splay of sun, forepaws crossed, tail twitching. All three heads watched her, cocked as if fascinated by this odd creature it had brought back.

All around them lay spines and skulls and femurs of a dozen different creatures, including at least a few humanoids by Aberny's estimation. Tali had gathered a pile of bones and now worked them together, linked and stacked into a grisly sculpture—a fragile spread of ribs that evoked wings.

"See?" she said, as she crafted the piece. "Even in death, there's beauty. Think of it! If you let me live, I could craft you a gorgeous necklace out of nothing but vertebrae and finger bones. I don't suppose you have any gems lying about? Those could be socketed to enhance your natural glory. No? Pity. But one must work with what one has."

Ralynn and Aberny drew back while the chatter continued below.

"I don't suppose you'd let me paint you? Trap your essence for all to admire?"

Ralynn made several circling and grasping gestures with one hand. Aberny shook his head, not understanding. Did he think to try and sneak down the ledge without drawing the beast's attention? Or attempt another leap onto the chimera's back?

"Oh! Have I mentioned how I love the way your fur absolutely traps the light? Divine."

At Ralynn's impatient pushing motions, Aberny edged along where the ledge sloped toward the cave floor. The half-elf nodded, moving the opposite direction.

"I once saw a chimera trapped in a menagerie, you know. Such a horrible thing to do to such a magnificent beast."

A snuffling made him freeze. The chimera's gravelly voice rose, the words alien, but the tone unmistakable. It had detected the intruders.

Tali sighed. "For Shelyn's sake. It's a fools-be-damned trap. Run!"

Coming Next Week: Three-headed horror in the conclusion of Josh Vogt's "Hunter's Folly."

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales story "The Weeping Blade." His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Hunter's Folly

by Josh Vogt

Chapter 2: Foes by Firelight

Aberny gaped at the body for a moment, blood staining the earth at his feet. Then the scene around the campfire snatched his stare away.

The chimera crouched on the far side of the fire, a guard pinned and twitching beneath its massive forepaws. One of the servants crawled for the trees. Entrails dragged from a horrible gash along his side.

Leathery wings tucked back along the chimera's body as muscles bunched for another attack. Its three heads wove independently—a maned lion's, a horned goat's, and a green dragon's. Each set of eyes gleamed with a putrid yellow-green light, alive with vicious hunger. Triple maws drooled in anticipation of a feast. The lion snarled, while the dragon puffed an emerald haze that sizzled as it plumed over the fire. Acid, Aberny realized.

He nearly ducked back inside, but he'd not built his reputation on cowardice. Taking up a knobbed walking staff from beside the tent flap, he emerged and grasped it in both hands. A gasp drew his glance aside to Tali, who'd poked her head out from her tent, and sketched furiously on a parchment.

Then the chimera—roaring, screeching, and bleating—lunged at the second guard, who'd tried to circle around to flank it in the brush. A sweep of a paw and wing knocked the man back and the sword flew from his hands.

Ralynn dove in from the other side, a wordless battle cry erupting from him.

Ralynn combines the ferocity and grace of his half-elven heritage.

Aberny never knew such an immense beast could move so fast. It snapped its lion fangs while trying to gore the fighter with its goat horns. At the same time, the dragon head curled back around to spew another stream of acid onto the hapless guard. The man's screams wrenched Aberny's guts, but there was nothing he could do.

Wielding two short swords, the half-elf had to get in close to do any damage, putting himself within range of wings, talons, and fangs. The chimera lashed with its bared claws while snapping at Ralynn from several directions at once. The fighter evaded the bites, but one claw stuck him across a shoulder and sent him tumbling.

Ralynn rolled through the blow and back up to his feet, swords readied. The dragon head clamped down on the guard's body and flung it through the air at the fighter.

Even as Ralynn dodged, the beast pounced, leaping through the flames of the campfire. The stink of burning fur filled the air as its hind legs trampled the blaze, and the beast's roar shook the shadows themselves. Burning logs scattered about, casting just enough residual light to limn the fight in a red glow.

Ralynn hurtled forward, swords raised. As the chimera pounced, he tucked and rolled, trailing a slash at its belly. The chimera yowled and threw up chunks of grassy earth as it dug in and reversed course.

Aberny lunged and swung his staff, trying to distract it so Ralynn might get in a solid blow. The unsatisfying thump on the creature's hind side only served to irritate the beast, which sideswiped with a paw, while the goat's head jerked toward the merchant. He threw himself aside, almost crushing Tali, who yelped and rolled out of the way at the last instant.

She hurried to his side and tugged at his robe. Aberny lurched to his feet, fearing the chimera might decide to eliminate the two unarmed party members.

But Ralynn had reengaged, combining the ferocity and grace of his mixed parentage. Blades flashed in the light of dying embers as he turned the chimera away from the others, expertly rushing in and twisting aside before it could land another blow. However, he couldn't maneuver for any serious strike.

The horses had already gone near-mad in their proximity to the chimera, and their efforts to escape only grew more frantic as the creature dove into their midst. In a frenzy of teeth and talons, the beast laid several of the hapless pack animals low, while two others at last tore loose and galloped off.

Then the poisonous green gaze of all three heads locked back on the companions, who could only watch in dismay. Three voices spoke in unison, each a bestial utterance that tortured Aberny's ears. He'd traveled widely enough to recognize the language of dragons, but didn't speak any of it.

Ralynn winced as well. "What's it growling about?"

Tali perked up. "It says to be happy it's already feasted tonight, but it'll be hungry again tomorrow and has our scent. Also, it called you a weakling coward."

Aberny raised an eyebrow her way. She knew its language?

Ralynn flourished a sword. "Drop in for lunch and I'll have your heads for trophies."

The chimera snarled at Ralynn's challenge. Then, with a final chuff, its leonine head snatched up the one of the servants' bodies. The creature spun about and charged into the darkness. Moments later, a flap of enormous wings indicated it had taken flight.

The survivors studied the starry sky for several minutes, ensuring the beast didn't intend an immediate return and ambush. Then Ralynn glared at the few dribbles of blood on his blade and headed for the nearest brush where he wiped it clean.

"Well, you two were useless," he said over a shoulder. "Try running screaming into the night with the horses next time and at least provide a distraction."

"Useless?" Tali shot back. "I interpreted its warning, didn't I? That's doing plenty. Want me to fight for you? Then offer me your share of the reward. Didn't you say there was no sign of the creature around when we camped. Piss-poor tracking! Certainly let our guard down. How'd it know we were here?"

"Beyond our fire and earlier noisy arguing?" Aberny shook his head. "It must've caught detected us while prowling about." He frowned at the corpses. "It took the most vulnerable first."

Ralynn scowled at Tali. "Then why's she still here?"

"Because!" Tali lifted her chin. "Even a chimera is more perceptive than you when it comes to strength of spirit. Maybe if you had three heads, you'd have enough brains to—"

Aberny flung his arms wide. "Enough. The beast caught us off guard and marked us for later. Can we focus on that?"

"Dumb boasts," Ralynn said. "In a fair fight, it doesn't stand a chance against me."

"Chimeras don't fight fair," Tali said. "And they're wickedly cunning."

"What do you know?" asked Ralynn.

The gnome tapped her cheek with a silver-painted nail. "Much! Most chimeras live in prides, hunting in groups to outnumber prey. This one could be a younger male or an outcast, and hunting more aggressively as it tries to establish dominance of its chosen territory. Oh, and they like shiny things!"

Aberny eyed her. "How've you learned all this?"

"Besides everyone around town talking for the past few weeks since the first deaths?" Tali drew herself up. "I always—always!—study my subjects in-depth. It's the only way I can properly convey their essence through my pieces."

"You learned the tongue of dragons in a few weeks?"

She sniffed. "Of course not. Languages are a form of art. I've immersed myself in many of them over the years."

"What of you, Aberny? With your investments..." Ralynn indicated the bodies with a flick of his eyes, "not paying off, want to renegotiate?"

Aberny hitched his shoulders back, trying to project his usual confidence, which had alarmingly fled. He'd thought himself sturdier than this. "The hunt continues." He slumped again. "But first, let's respect the dead."

They found a patch of soft earth and Aberny procured a small shovel from the supplies his deceased servants had brought along. Ralynn dug four shallow graves, and then they dragged the fallen over one by one. Tali surprised them by joining in, though she took care to only grab the bodies where blood or bile hadn't marred them.

Aberny and Ralynn took turns shoveling dirt over the holes, even though it proved more manual labor than the merchant had experienced in a long while. He'd sweated through his robe by the time he stopped to pray Desna's blessing, wishing the dead good fortune in the afterlife for their loyal—if short—service.

Ralynn rebuilt the fire and claimed the watch for the rest of the night, but the other two didn't return to their tents. Tali claimed inspiration for a piece she called "Foe by Firelight" left her too roused to sleep, though Aberny noted she kept well within the circle of firelight and sat a bit closer to the fighter than before.

For himself, Aberny settled on his stool and sipped wine to soothe his nerves, while pondering this ill turn of fortune. How could he, bereft of his guards, expect to triumph over such a vicious beast? He'd underestimated the creature, since reports had it picking off one or two victims alone. Now it appeared emboldened and loath to spare any threats to its territory.

Yet he'd always found a way to turn even the most dire circumstances to his benefit. This time, though, it wasn't just about recouping losses. If he considered the chimera a bandit as well as a beast, it put things in the proper perspective. It hadn't just attacked their party. It had robbed him, specifically; and no merchant worth his abacus allowed thievery without consequences.

He slugged back the last of the wine in silent oath to himself. So be it.

The scratching of Tali's sketching nibbled at his ears until just an hour before dawn, when she gave an enormous yawn and slumped, snoring against Ralynn's side. The fighter sighed, but didn't push her away. As the sun lit a candle on the horizon, Aberny rubbed his eyes, wishing he could follow the gnome to rest, but knowing it'd be a futile effort.

Once morning rose in full, he made them a quick, cold breakfast. Ralynn gulped his down and then jostled Tali awake for her portion, which she took with a grimace. Then they debated what to do with the tents and equipment.

"Leave it," Aberny decided, "except for any food we can carry. If the creature plans to return, we might not need to go far before picking up its trail. And we don't want to be overburdened if it ambushes us."

As the others prepared to head out, Aberny retrieved his staff, and then—after a moment's thought—took up one of the swords from a fallen guard.

Ralynn raised a slim eyebrow. "Planning to use that?"

Aberny gave an experimental swing, trying to awaken long unused arm muscles. "I was a caravan guard once, long ago. I didn't leave that profession entirely unscarred."

"You?" Tali asked, goggling.

He grunted. "During a trip through Cheliax, our caravan was ambushed by orcs. I alone survived, managing to get most of the goods to Kintargo in the aftermath. I then established my name based on my former master's reputation. Turned out I had an even better knack for it than he ever did." He tucked the sword into his robe's belt and thrust his staff toward the hills. "Onward?"

Ralynn smirked. "Still willing to brave the danger?"

"By all means. When it slaughtered my men, the chimera made this business rather... personal."

Coming Next Week: On the trail of the beast in Chapter 3 of Josh Vogt’s "Hunter's Folly."

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales story "The Weeping Blade." His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Hunter's Folly

by Josh Vogt

Chapter 1: The Threefold Wager

Aberny chuckled at the sight of the gnome squaring off with the half-elf, paintbrush crossed with a short sword. The campfire cast the dueling partners into bronze-and-shadow relief. Ralynn glowered down his sword, while Tali glared back up at him, both as riled as if one had slandered the other's parentage.

"This is ridiculous," Ralynn said. "You can't seriously believe your brush is equal to my blade. They're leagues apart in use and value."

Tali flourished her brush, spraying azure droplets about. "So! You admit art is superior to swordplay."

Aberny never backs out of a wager.

Ralynn's fair skin reddened up to the tips of his ears. "Not what I meant, and you know it." He twitched his blade, notching the wooden shaft of her brush.

Tali's emerald eyes widened even further, and another flick struck drops of paint across Ralynn's pants. This drew an outraged splutter from the fighter, whose grip tightened on his sword hilt.

Knowing Ralynn's temper, Aberny stood from his cushioned stool, wide hands splayed to separate the two before their verbal sparring came to true blows.

"Friends, might we dispense with the arguing? After all, we didn't come out to hunt one another. And the simple matter is, you're both wrong."

The two turned to him, and he grinned, knowing the firelight would enhance his broad smile and dark, plump cheeks. His jovial demeanor often allowed him to turn even the harshest haggling to his advantage, and he hoped the image he'd cultivated through years caravanning along the Dry Way would work just as well with his companions.

Nothing threatening to see here. Just a common human merchant, arrayed in a colorful robe and adorned with silly trinkets. Don't mind him making off with your coin.

At last, Tali lowered her brush. "Hm? Wrong? What do you mean?"

Aberny gestured to the small dining array his servants had set up. "Let's consider matters with fuller bellies, shall we?"

After another smoldering glare at each other, the two hunting partners went to fallen logs on opposite sides of the campfire. Ralynn began tending to one of half a dozen blades he carried, while Tali adjusted her violet and silver-trimmed dress and plunked down before the canvas she'd been painting on earlier. Aberny gave silent thanks that Ralynn couldn't see her work from his angle, as she began to paint his likeness in a most unflattering manner.

Aberny's servants tended to cuts of venison sizzling on the fire, a contribution from Ralynn, who'd downed a deer on their journey out from Whistledown that morning. A pair of Aberny's caravan guards stood on the edge of the firelight, hands resting on sword pommels, alert to any danger the night held—though Ralynn had scouted the area and assured them no sign of the chimera existed anywhere near.

They'd set a first camp in a bushy grove among the hilly grasslands between Whistledown and Sanos Forest; haunting melodies could still be faintly heard, produced by the popular enchanted wooden carvings that gave the distant town its name. The eerie keening was broken up by the occasional whicker of their horses, which had been tied up nearby for the evening.

"You're both wrong," Aberny said, "because art and battle submit to a greater power."

Ralynn paused in worked a grindstone along an edge. "Like what?"

"Commerce. Profit."

Tali let out a tinkling laugh. "Oh! Of course the trader would think so."

Aberny accepted the mocking with another smile. "Without merchants like myself toiling along the Dry Way, turning coin to goods and back again, neither of you would even have the supplies or equipment necessary to pursue your passions. Profiteers are the lifeblood of civilization."

He accepted a slosh of wine from a skin, and a servant handed him a prepared plate while the other began slicing off cuts for his companions.

Tali hopped up from the canvas and scampered over to the fire, where she began to portion out the proffered meal for herself. "But! Think. Without artists, merchants have nothing to sell. Fighters nothing worth crossing swords. Commerce paves the roads through a city, and fighters build the walls, but art is..." She shut her wide eyes briefly. "Art is the towering pinnacle that defines us."

Ralynn chuckled. "Pinnacle, huh? Take all day to come up with that?"

Aberny raised an eyebrow as Tali piled meat onto her plate. By the time she finished, she staggered under a mound of venison that looked almost twice her weight. How exactly did the gnome intend to devour such a vast repast?

"Some say fighting is an art form in itself," he suggested.

Tali crinkled her nose. "Fighting? Art? If you want bloodshed and death, fine, but I don't see the beauty in it yet."

Ralynn speared a bite of meat and pointed it at her. "Sounds like we got ourselves a blind painter."

"Yet! I said I don't see it yet. I'm not saying it's not there. That's why I cast my lot in on this hunt. To bring greater insight to my craft."

"Yeah?" Ralynn smirked. "Even if it costs you a thousand gold?"

Tali bowed her head, the fire casting half her face in shadow. "I...I'd sacrifice anything for the sake of true art. It can't be faked. It must be lived. But you're only here because—"

"Because I was drunk as slime at the bottom of a wine barrel when you two decided to make a contest of this bounty. I've made worse bets, but I don't back out on a wager." Aberny locked eyes with each of them in turn over the flames. "Ever. Besides, I stand the best chance of winning. Think your gnome trickery will help you beat the beast?"

Tali perked up. "Master Aberny! If you'd read the contract aloud?" She settled back to work on her canvas.

Aberny reached into the pocket where he'd secured the unusual contract they'd drawn up the previous night, when deep in drink back in Whistledown's popular inn, the Azure Cup. Over the years, the three of them had made a habit of meeting there during his stopovers in town. Odd companions, but familiar faces who helped ground him. Still, he never let personal attachments, however fond, get in the way of business.

He unrolled the parchment, revealing their three signatures at the bottom, and read the main statement.

"‘With the evidence of a chimera prowling the nearby countryside—reportedly responsible for at least a dozen deaths of travelers and homesteaders alike—a bounty of one thousand gold has been placed on the monster's head. We, the undersigned, do swear to partake in a hunt of the unnatural beast, employing our individual skills and resources toward the ending of its foul appetites. Furthermore, the first of our party to kill or capture the beast will receive not only the publicly posted reward, but an additional thousand gold pieces from each of the other two challengers.'"

The artist flourished her brush. "Aha! Hear that? Kill or capture." She popped to her feet and swept a bow. "And I will capture the chimera."

Ralynn snorted, an indelicate act that marred his fine features. "Sure. Gonna grab its tail for a moment before it gobbles you?"

Tali turned her canvas around, revealing Ralynn's face, painted with his tongue stuck out, eyes crossed, and cheeks puffed. "There. My first victim. I've captured you. You're trapped in my art forever."

Aberny couldn't quite contain a chortle.

Ralynn's ears reddened again. "Oh?" Before anyone could move, he dashed over and slashed through the sketch, leaving Tali holding ragged fabric on either side of her head.

Her face twisted in fury and she flung a hand out. A burst of dazzling lights exploded before Ralynn's face, forcing him to squint and turn aside.

"Brute!" She cast the scraps away and leapt up, slashing her paintbrush across Ralynn's chest, leaving a cerulean streak.

Ralynn snarled and Tali yelped as the half-elf grabbed the front of her dress and jerked her up inches from his scowl, sword clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

Aberny lurched up, scattering wine and food. "Ralynn! Let her go."

The fighter hesitated until the guards shifted, hands on sword pommels. As soon as her feet touched the earth, Tali jumped back out of reach. She brushed herself off and fixed her viridian hair back into its sweeping coif. Aberny held out a silk handkerchief so the half-elf could clean off his face. Ralynn snatched it away, muttering thanks.

"As host of this hunt," Aberny said, "I won't abide violence towards one another." He fixed a serious look on Tali. "The same for you, little mistress, even in jest."

Tali bunched her fists. "Hmph. I take my leave of you barbarians to dine in peace." She hefted her plate, still mounded with meat, snagged a wineskin, and staggered off into the brush surrounding the campsite.

Ralynn finished wiping off the paint and offered the silk back, but Aberny waved it away. The half-elf frowned in the direction Tali had gone.

"She can't just sketch the beast to win."

"She's technically correct, though," Aberny said with a sigh. "Same as my using hired guards to slay the beast for me, since they're personal resources."

"At least they could give me a real challenge—though I doubt it. She's missing the whole point of a hunt."

"Don't worry. Art is subjective. Even if she does manage to paint the monster, we'll argue the work doesn't truly capture its essence and so falls short of the prize."

Ralynn grinned. "You've thought this through."

"I always do."

Tali returned a bit later, plate and wineskin empty, while her stomach strained at the confines of her dress. With a few unladylike burps, she excused herself to bed and crawled into her gnome-sized tent. Minutes later, high-pitched snoring mingled with the far-off music of her hometown.

Claiming a preference for sleeping beneath the sky, Ralynn laid a simple bedroll beside the fire. He stretched out on this, still dressed in his fighting leathers and with multiple blades strapped to him.

Aberny then retired to his own tent, almost a small home in itself with a portable bed, desk, and chest of select personal items. When one spent countless weeks traveling between anything resembling civilization, investing in personal comforts paid dividends in return.

He spent another hour going through a ledger of contacts back in Whistledown, evaluating how he might invest the reward he fully intended to collect for the chimera's demise. Not that he believed Ralynn or Tali immediately possessed a thousand gold. But their debts would add to the many he'd accrued from others over the years and he'd inevitably find a way to translate them into profits. After all, why have friends if they didn't add value to one's life?

As he pondered snuffing the lamp for sleep, a scream tore the night's peace in two. Shouts rang out from the guards, followed by a defiant cry from Ralynn.

Aberny raced out of the tent just as the body of one of his servants flopped to the ground before him—missing a head.

Coming Next Week: A fireside attack in Chapter 2 of Josh Vogt's "Hunter's Folly."

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales story "The Weeping Blade." His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

The Weeping Blade

by Josh Vogt

Chapter Two: Touch of the Grave

Larem hissed and dropped the silver piece, yet his fingertips burned from the frigid contact.

The person remained before him, and Larem could sense its silent mockery. He reached for his dagger.

"Who are you?"

His tormenter shifted with a creak of leather. Its every movement groaned and crackled with age.

No, not age, Larem realized as he caught another whiff of grave dust. Death. An undead creature leered at him, having concealed its nature until now through some magic. The knowledge wrapped his heart in thorns and stopped him from drawing the blade.

The thing's voice held all the black promise of a bottomless pit. "Wise. Now, where are the other two? Those thieves you call brothers."

Larem fought down shivers. "Dead. They're beyond your grasp, whatever you wished to accomplish here. I'm just a blind beggar. Leave me be."

A long sniff tickled his hair. "Not dead. I smell them on you." Bony fingers wrapped about his throat, carrying the same sapping chill as the coin. Strength fled Larem's limbs, and he gagged at the carrion reek and clammy touch. "I've been searching for you since I woke. You've something of mine."

"Nothing. Nothing."

The dead creature's hand tightened. "At first, when I detected you hiding among the rat rabble of this city, I thought it a ploy. An attempt to throw me off track. With each one I killed, I expected you to rise up in righteous fury and revenge, as you were once famed to do. Yet with each, you disappointed. Have the Bloody Blade Brothers truly fallen so low? What do you hide behind these rags?"

Fingertips hooked the leather strap and yanked. The worn cord securing it snapped, and Larem rocked back.

A laugh like skulls knocking together. "How tragic. Larem the Long-Sighted now unable to spy a fly buzzing about his nose."

Larem swallowed. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am. I've forgotten my living name, but I remember you three sneaking through the tomb, pilfering without regard for the dead. Well, the dead have no regard for you, except for what you've taken from us."

It creaked again, withered flesh shifting around dry joints. "I know you still have it. The Weeping Blade. I feel it within the city bounds. One of you keeps it hidden. I'll have it back or I'll have your souls." Rotting fingers stroked his cheek. "For every day that you refuse further, I will claim another life. And not just scraggly beggars. Women. Children."

"We don't... we can't..."

"When you change your mind, find me in the graveyard behind the shrine of Sarenrae in Underbridge under moonlight. Until then, enjoy knowing you're the reason for this bloodshed. I'll be watching."

After a final chilling caress, the creature shuffled off.

Larem didn't know how long he sat there, sweating and shivering. Samphy's threats paled compared to this. Could it be possible? Were they the unwitting cause of the death plaguing the city's poor and destitute?

He lurched to his feet. By the time he reached Seerspring Garden, he'd collected further aches and bruises by running into building corners, crate stacks, and pedestrians who thrust him back out of the way with well-aimed elbows and knees. He used the gurgling of the fountain to get his bearings and then staggered east until he reached the gates of the Merchants' Guildhall, lurching through the throng of laborers and traders who milled about.

"Dargley," he cried. "Where are you? Dargley!"

He misjudged the distance to the Guildhall's wall and cracked his head against it. He reeled, spun about, and fell.

A hand grabbed his and hauled him upright. Sticky fingers patted his face as he panted.

"Nocky opate?"

Larem clung to the other man's bulk.

"Take me to Beetle."

∗ ∗ ∗

Beetle may be shorter than most men, but he's twice as ornery.

Beetle's voice slurred loudly as they entered the tavern.

"Matsy, darling. Get over 'ere and gimme a sight worth seeing."

"Burn you, Beetle," came a gruff male voice. "Watch the door, not the staff."

"Bah! 'S too early for any troublemakers. I'll toss any out on their arses, dontcha worry."

Larem navigated the maze of tables with Dargley's help. When they reached Beetle, he didn't notice their arrival until Larem nudged him.

"Boys! Pull up a stool. Piss-poor slop, but it's on me tonight. "

He slurped from what Larem guessed to be a tankard—a guess he confirmed by slapping it away.

"'Ey! What'ser problem? I said I's paying, didn't I?"

Larem tried to glare through the reaffixed leather strap. "How can you afford this?"

"Got me a job, didn't I tell yeh? I's..." Beetle hiccupped. "I's a bouncer. I bounce 'em in. I bounce 'em out. Never ain't nobody think they gonna get walloped by a man who don't come up to their balls. But when I bite, they all holler the same."

Larem gritted his teeth. Bouncer? More likely a spectacle the tavern owner figured would draw in extra business.

"Listen to me. I know who's been causing the beggar deaths."

"Ain't you the clever bastard." Beetle burped. "Whosa fiend?"

"We are. We're the reason these people have been dying."

By Beetle's prolonged silence, Larem wagered the news had brought him at least halfway around to sobriety.

"Whatchu mean?"

Larem turned them away from the growing crowd. "You kept the Weeping Blade, didn't you? After we agreed it was too dangerous, you've kept it stashed all these years."

Beetle's words hung heavy with a drunken pout. "Dunno whatcher talking 'bout."

Larem reached out and, by luck, caught the collar of Beetle's shirt, crusted with dribble and drink. "The Weeping Blade! From the Tomb of Annuram, the one we broke into a few years before... before the accident. The tomb's guardian is here. It believes we still have the blade, and it's going to keep killing innocents until we return it."

Beetle tore Larem's hand away. "We stole a hunnerd cursed bits of metal o'er the years. You think I'm gonna remember one shiny chit from all the rest? And if I had that sorta treasure, I'da sold it quick as hot piss."

"You swear on your mother's bones you don't have it?"

"I'll swear on your bones if you don't stop with this. Ain't got it and never did."

Larem slumped on the bench. Beetle wouldn't lie straight out like this, no matter how deep in the slop. Which meant the creature concealed a deeper agenda or had errantly tracked them down.

"Weeping Blade, eh? What made it so special?"

"Cursed dagger," Larem said. "Stories said it helped you win fights by overwhelming your enemy with despair, but any wielder eventually wound up going insane. Which is why we agreed to leave the dagger in the gravedust."

"Did we?"

"We did. I recall that conversation clearly because Dargley and I had to physically restrain you from taking it until you saw sense."

"What sorta fiend was it that spoke to you?"

"Undead of some kind. Intelligent. Able to work some magic, as it disguised its true nature until it confronted me."

"Would 'splain why no one's caught the bastard yet. Notta ghoul though."

"Nor a lich. I doubt anything that powerful would've gone undetected for so long."

"S'more than your average wraith too. Maybe a wight of some sort?"

Larem bit his tongue. A wight. Far beyond just an animated corpse—a creature deliberately raised by foul magic to guard a burial site and any treasure stashed there. Relentless, powerful, and intelligent. This one must've been a spellcaster in its previous existence, or else had some other sort of magic that let it track them and conceal itself in the city.

Still didn't explain why it believed they had the dagger. Had another band of adventurers—or opportunists, as they once called themselves—taken it after them and somehow set the creature on their scent?

He scrubbed his forehead. "What are we going to do?"

Beetle clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Do? What'd we always do with any unholy beastie? We kill the damn thing."

∗ ∗ ∗

The church to Sarenrae stood desolate under the enormous pilings of the Irespan, the ancient, shattered monument that kept the district called Underbridge tucked into eternal shadow. The church had been built during Magnimar's founding years by a Sarenite cleric named Vosten in an attempt to bring a guiding light to the city... until Sczarni thugs beat him and his acolytes to death when he refused to pay into their protection racket. Since then, the church had languished untended. Like most landmarks in Underbridge, it had become an unspoken center of black-market commerce where foul deeds went unnoticed and fouler packages were swapped in the dark.

Larem tried not to breathe in the stink of rot that stained the area. Would the three of them add to those buried there alongside Vosten, their names long forgotten?

He stood twenty paces before Vosten's grave, marked by a tilted gray pillar overgrown with thorny weeds. Beetle had described it and the surrounding layout when they arrived. Rows of salt-stained pillars lined either side of him, foundations cracked, any inscriptions worn away by a century of sea winds and vandalism.

After scouting to ensure the wight hadn't preceded them, Dargley and Beetle had slipped off to their hiding spot.

As he waited, Larem fiddled with the dagger tucked into his waistband. The moon hung low enough to gleam across the ruins—Beetle had scoffed when Larem claimed moonlight possessed a different texture on the skin than sunlight. Like a candle beaming through a sheet of ice.

Or perhaps the feeling came from the cold sweat that slicked his neck and chest.

A salty breeze whispered past, and dead vines and leaves crackled under his feet whenever he shifted his weight. A creature rustled in a far corner of the yard. Larem stiffened, but whatever it was pattered off on four paws. If any vermin of the two-legged variety lurked about, they wisely kept their presence concealed, perhaps put off by a blind man standing sentry in the middle of a graveyard.

He imagined himself a statue set in place to watch over the spirits of the dead and ensure their safe passage into the afterlife. If they survived this night, he considered visiting one of Pharasma's temples and paying a copper to polish an hourglass in gratitude to the Lady of Graves.

"Do you have it?"

One instant he stood alone; the next, the wight filled the space before him, a sucking presence that made his throat tighten. How? Larem hadn't heard a thing until it spoke and its putrid aura enveloped him.

Quelling a shudder, he forced himself to stand tall. There'd been a time when he'd faced far deadlier creatures than this—though then he'd had his sight and held a length of sharp steel. Or better yet, a bow.

"I spoke with the others," he said, proud that his voice held firm. "One revealed that he did indeed keep the Weeping Blade, and I humbly ask forgiveness for the desecration."

The air temperature dropped several degrees. "Then where is it? Why haven't you brought it as required?"

"Unfortunately, my companion buried it outside the city. I can tell you exactly where to find it if you'll give me but a few minutes."

Again that long snuffling. "Liar. I smell the blade's stink on you. You've been near it recently. What trickery are you and the two beating hearts in the shadows planning?"

Larem frowned. On him? How? Before he could give this revelation further thought, a skeletal fist gripped his tunic and held him in place. Once more, vitality seeped out of him, leaving his limbs trembling.

"I despise thieves and I abide a lying tongue even less. Shall I tear yours out?"

Summoning a last scrap of strength, Larem drew his dagger and slashed upward—not at the wight, but at the length of fabric it held. The well-honed edge sliced through the rotten cloth, and he threw himself backward, shouting, "Now!"

A roar echoed through the graveyard as Beetle and Dargley threw themselves against the pillar they'd crouched behind. There was a grinding noise, and then a greater crack as it toppled toward the wight.

Coming Next Week: Desperate plots in the final chapter of Josh Vogt's "The Weeping Blade"!

Josh Vogt is a freelance author with short stories published in such venues as Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Mariana Gomez

The Weeping Blade

by Josh Vogt

Chapter One: Blind Beggar’s Bind

"Alms!" Larem called to the afternoon marketplace crowd. "Have mercy and spare a coin. A blind man's blessing brings good fortune."

"Droble gamman! Obbly tolt!"

Larem winced as Dargley spouted his usual gibberish. He leaned over and nudged his fellow beggar.

"You're to keep your lips sealed, remember?"

"Foddum nibble?"

Larem may be blind, but he's still more perceptive than most people.

Despite the leather strap over his eyes, Larem sensed Dargley beaming a grin in clueless innocence, the attitude that had defined his existence since the head injury. Sighing, Larem took up his beggar bowl and shook the three copper coins it held.

"Alms," he cried. "Desna smiles upon those who pity the downtrodden."

Shouting rose above the din of Magnimarian hawkers, livestock, and cart traffic.

"Outta the way. Move it, you low-browed dungknuckles. You's never seen a man with no legs? Move it or I'll bite your arse and piss on your robe."

Larem sighed again. Had Beetle been drinking? Where'd he get the coin for it?

"Kick me again and you'll be missing some tasty toes."

Larem tuned one ear to listen for any gangs or guard patrols while the other picked up Beetle's shuffling approach. Grunts alternated with slaps of flesh on stone as Beetle swung along on his hands until he plopped onto the mat to Larem's left. The man reeked of sour wine, and the air about him gained an oily texture that made Larem want to scrub his face with sackcloth.

"Thanks for that," Larem said. "We'll be lucky if anyone gets near us for the rest of the day. What've I told you about threats?"

Beetle snorted. "They work well enough for this lot. Looking down on me like I's dirt."

"People look down on you because you don't come above their waistlines," Larem said. "You just decide to take it personally."

"Bilgrew mothy woll!"

"Too true, Dargley. Beetle needs to control his anger before someone runs him over with a coach."

Beetle spat into the dirt. "Let 'em try. First horse that tries to stamp me out will get its hooves ripped off."

Larem couldn't hide a smile at the idea. Once Beetle might've followed through on such a threat. Oversized shoulders and hands had lent him a freakish strength that made him a feared fighter in their band before...well...

Before this. Now those muscled arms only served to drag Beetle's mangled half-a-body around Beacon's Point, hauling him from one alehouse to another.

Beetle gargled mucus and spat again. "Listen, lads. I've got news."

Larem held his bowl out, though he knew no one stood near enough to toss. "I don't care which minor noble is mucking about with which courtesan at the House of Welcome."

"Shut it. Or I'll start spreading rumors that you've got good eyes under there."

Larem adjusted the blindfold covering the acid-scarred pits where his eyes used to be. "What's this news, then?"

Beetle rubbed his hands, calluses scraping like rough stone on leather. "They found another body stuffed in a sewer drain. Just outside the north end of Washers' Row."

Larem stiffened. "Same as the other three?"

"Ayup. Head gone. Chest split wide and all the innards gutted."

"Any clue as to the dead's identity?"

"City watch was stumped, but ol' Beetle knows his rascals. It were Tolly. He went missing from his spot down by the docks last week and I spotted that bird tattoo on his ankle when they hauled him away—the ugly pigeon he always loved showin' off."

"It was an osprey. And if so, that's four deaths. All victims from Rag's End."

Dargley pressed in close and moaned.

Larem patted his knee. "Not to fear. Nobody would snatch you in the middle of a crowded market."

Beetle cleared his throat with the grace of a rusty hinge. "So...what's we gonna do about it?"

"Do?"

"Course. I ain't spouting off 'cause I love me pretty voice." He dropped to a hoarse whisper. "A fiend's loose in Magnimar—right 'ere in this neighborhood, you betcha—and nobody dealt death to fiends like the Bloody Blade Brothers."

Larem slumped. "We aren't those men anymore. Haven't been in a long time. There's nothing we can do but pray whoever—or whatever—is behind the murders is dealt with quickly."

"Serious?" Beetle's fetid breath huffed over Larem. "It's been two months and ain't nobody got a lead on the bastard. Not even those Caydenites what set up the new bar 'cross the street from The Pig—and I made sure to check in with them a few times to be sure."

"I thought you were banned from there after stealing those bottles of holy wine."

"Not my fault they didn't lock the place up nice and tight. 'Sides, who's gonna turn down a petitioner seekin' a bit of courage to brave these dangerous streets? But all them priests are passin' out is worthless talismans and prayers."

"A cleric's protective measures are nothing to be scoffed at."

"Yeah? Look where they got us. I mean... don't, y'know, look... but..."

Larem grimaced. "I know what you mean. It doesn't change anything. We're not in any shape to confront such a foe."

"You's afraid."

"I'm pragmatic."

Beetle gripped his arm hard enough to make him drop his bowl. Coins clinked about.

"Rag's End folks be our people now. Who's gonna protect 'em but us? City watch don't give a spit who gets splattered, 'cept for having to clean up the mess. Nobles figure a few beggar deaths means less on the streets. Jaijarko and his Sczarni thugs only care if it means another gang edgin' in on their territory."

"Your point?"

"M'point is this is a cause. A reason to fight!"

"For you, being looked at askance is reason to fight."

This time the gobbet of spit struck Larem's cheek. "Lost your sight and lost your courage. I's shamed to squat beside you."

Beetle continued grumbling as he propped up on his hands and lugged himself off. Larem patted the stones and dirt until he found the three copper coins and replaced them in the bowl.

Dargley plucked at his tunic. "Plobbem gardley toodle?"

Larem wiped at his grimy cheek with a filthier sleeve. "He'll sleep off his anger and rejoin us tomorrow."

"Smolley chargarlum?"

"Yes. I'm sure." He fished out a coin and placed it in Dargley's hand. "Go get yourself a hot bun. I'll meet you by the main fountain in front of the Merchants' Guildhall in a couple hours. We're sure to encounter a few generous souls there."

"Wobbum!"

Dargley's footsteps pattered away, and Larem settled into his usual begging routine. Odd to feel so alone within the throng of merchants, browsers, and buyers. And why the twinge of guilt at brushing off Beetle's urgings?

Foolish to think any of them possessed a fraction of their former skill. Foolish to believe they could still make a difference.

When the swell of afternoon commerce ebbed, he gathered his meager belongings. The cheap dagger he kept under his mat got rolled up inside it. He then used the rolled mat to tap his way out of the market, bowl outstretched as he shuffled past shops, stables, and warehouses. He headed for Dockway, following the main road along Beacon's Point's docks.

The salty tang of the sea briefly wiped away the stink of the dirty, sweating crowds. Then the smell returned in force as he shuffled through one of the area's many slums. There, the ramshackle buildings crowded closer, casting cold shadows. Social chatter turned to mutters, whimpers, and grumbles, and the air grew pungent with unwashed refuse.

As he passed one alley—noted by the extra echo to his steps—several people moved to stand in his way. His rolled mat bumped a set of shins, and he stopped, jingling the coins in his bowl while internally bracing.

"Pity the destitute and enjoy blessed dreams."

The nearest man, a heavy breather who smelled of burnt oil, snatched the bowl away and dumped the coins out.

"You owe our master a hundred times this," came his smoke-roughened voice.

Larem swallowed. "As I explained last week, Samphy, the salves didn't work. I won't pay for ineffective remedies."

The flung bowl caught Larem in the forehead, and he stumbled back a step. He resisted the urge to rub his skull, knowing weakness only encouraged thugs to greater cruelty.

"You calling Master Ulus a liar?" Samphy had perfected the art of threatening growls. To Larem, who had heard much worse from fanged beasts as they attempted to devour him, the gang enforcer's sounded a pale imitation.

"I make no such claims. However, even if I were to pay, it's only been a week since your last visit. How was I to procure funds in such a short time?"

The gut-punch dropped him to his knees. The second blow cracked his head to the stones, where he lay gasping as red and yellow explosions flashed through the darkness of his skull.

Samphy crouched beside him. "Master Ulus doesn't enjoy having his reputation as a healer slighted. He also doesn't enjoy welchers. Now, I'm to collect the bill or collect a body. I'd prefer the first, but if there's no other choice..." He patted Larem's cheek. "You've got one more week."

One of Samphy's companions trod on an ankle as they stepped over him, drawing a last gasp of pain before they headed off.

Once alone, Larem felt about until he retrieved the bowl. Clutching it and the mat—with the dagger still inside—he crawled into the nearby alley to huddle and recover.

At least Beetle and Dargley hadn't been around. He'd never told them how he'd squirreled away a last pouch of gold from their adventures, then squandered it on false hope and fake healing elixirs peddled by the local Sczarni thugs. He should've seen the con coming a long way off, even without eyes.

Now not even hope remained.

Footsteps approached. A single person this time. Had Samphy or one of his lackeys returned?

He groaned as he gathered himself. "If I didn't find payment in a week, what will a few minutes have accomplished?"

A rattle alerted him to a coin tossed into his bowl. His trained ears figured it for silver.

Surprised, he raised his head and tried to fix on his unknown benefactor. The person stood before him, a deeper zone of silence in the quiet street. Waiting for...? Ah, of course. Larem swallowed blood and smiled crookedly.

"Desna will embrace your soul, kind... sir?"

He plucked up the offering to bless it with a kiss.

And froze.

The pall of death suffused the coin, an unearthly chill that iced his blood. True silver, by the polish of it, and new enough that he easily picked out the skull engraved on either side.

A burial coin. The type folks sometimes placed over a corpse's eyes before it was entombed.

The presence chuckled—a liquid, putrescent sound, accompanied by a wave of graveyard stink.

"Hello, Larem," it whispered. "I've been looking for you."

Coming Next Week: The hauntings of the past in Chapter Two of Josh Vogt's "The Weeping Blade"!

Josh Vogt is a freelance author with short stories published in such venues as Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Mariana Gomez