Chapter 8 - The Mountain

  “BRAKES!” Zurni screamed as the massive mountain rushed toward them. Everyone gripped the mounted crossbow for support while Robert felt the water on his face begin to freeze as the air grew colder around them.

  The Mountains of Frostmere, Robert thought as the airship hurtled toward the largest peak among the range stretching across the cloudy horizon. Two sudden explosions rang out behind them as the entire deck shook. He looked back as two massive circular sails unfurled from the ship’s rear, and everyone on deck lurched forward as their speed dropped sharply.

  “Zurni!” Brukk roared. “We’re not slowing enough, drop the mainsail!”

  Robert grimaced as specks of snow began to flurry past his face while the massive mountain loomed ahead. We’re not going to make it, he began to think.

  “I can’t look!” Oswin cried beside him, clinging to the mounted crossbow with his eyes shut.

  Robert tore his eyes from the mountain ahead and looked toward the small goblin, Zurni, on the deck to his left. “The Toplins are dead, Captain!” Zurni shouted, struggling up the tilted deck toward two metal chains anchored near the unconscious Varg. The chains stretched upward, holding the furled sail high atop the wooden mast.

  “No excuses, Zurni! Do your duty!” Brukk growled from the wheel, his body pressed against it as the ship continued its diagonal ascent toward the snowy mountain.

  “Yes, sir, Captain,” Zurni responded as the small goblin crawled upward, reaching the metal latch on the deck that held the two thick chains in place. Pulling a small steel sledgehammer from his belt, he began slamming it against a metal contraption wrapping the ends of the chains to the deck.

  “Zurni, now! We have no time!” Brukk roared.

  Robert started toward the goblin to help, but Zurni suddenly stood and shouted, “God of Gears, grant me strength!” The goblin screeched, and with a single overhand swing struck the lever free. Both chains shot upward, one hook catching his tunic as they whipped wildly skyward.

  Robert watched as Zurni shrieked, flying upward with the chain while the massive sail unfurled above them.

  “Eeeeeekkkkkk!”

  Robert was thrown forward as the massive sail caught the rushing wind from their descent. He slammed onto his back, sliding down the deck toward the scorched, ruined nose of the ship.

  “Well done, Zurni!” Brukk shouted.

  Robert’s slide came to a halt, and he looked up just in time to see the orc pull two steel levers and spin the wooden wheel sharply to the left. Above him, the mast tilted as the sound of ratcheting gears echoed below it, and the great sail rotated horizontally with the turn as the entire ship began to bank. The gravity of the maneuver rolled Robert across the deck, slamming him into the side railing as the ship turned violently left. He gasped as he pulled himself upright against the railing, just in time to see the massive mountain rushing past.

  He did it, Robert thought with relief as the snowy rock rushed past just in front of him. They were so close that he thought he could reach out and touch the rocky surface when the bottom of the ship clipped something, and the impact sent every loose item on deck flying upward.

  Still gripping the railing, Robert’s feet lifted from the deck as his head snapped downward, his chin slamming against the rail. The ship’s side struck the mountain again, bouncing and scraping along the diagonal face as wood ground against rock in violent bursts.

  Behind Robert, he could hear the loud grinding of gears. Glancing back, he saw the sail rotating again, this time in the opposite direction. Brukk was reversing its orientation, the angle now forcing the ship against the mountain instead of away from it.

  “Hold on, human!” Brukk roared as the ship began to slow. Broken rock shattered upward from the right side of the ship as the hull ground against the face of the mountain, until Robert flew forward onto the deck as the vessel suddenly stopped. The frigate’s nose had wedged between a narrow valley of rock jutting from the mountain’s face, pinning them in place with one final violent crash along the snowy slope.

  “Casualty count!” Brukk roared as a steady snowfall settled over the stranded airship.

  Robert crawled upward and looked back toward Alice and Oswin. Both looked all right, thank God, he thought with relief, as they both clung to the crossbow as if they were still falling from the sky.

  “Alice, check Varg!” he shouted.

  The unmoving warrior had shifted slightly from his original spot but still lay sprawled on the wooden deck, arrows jutting from his back. Alice rushed over to render aid when a familiar voice rang out from above.

  “CASUALTY COUNT!” the high pitched voice echoed down through the snow.

  Robert looked up to see the small goblin in yellow clothing dangling from a chain near the top of the mast.

  “Four deck crew and three engine crew dead!” another goblin wearing a brown leather vest shouted as he emerged from a staircase near the ship’s bow.

  “How many left alive?” Brukk called back.

  “First captain, one deck crew, and two engine crew still ready for duty!” the small goblin from below deck shouted in reply.

  “Bloody goblins, must you die so easily?” Brukk shouted, jumping down from the platform that held the ship’s wheel. “Get me a status on my ship! I need estimates on when we can be airworthy again.”

  “Airworthy, Cap’n?” the goblin replied. Robert thought he could hear irritation in the small creature’s voice. “Part of the hull underdeck is missing, and there’s another ship’s mast spearing through the top of the deck.”

  “Spare me your pathetic excuses, goblin!” Brukk roared as he stomped up the deck towards the small goblin.

  “Easy, Brukk,” Robert interjected. “Let’s all take a moment to breathe. That was some excellent navigating, and your crew did a great job getting us down in one piece. Let’s not start tearing each other’s throats out already.” His teeth began to chatter as he spoke in the cold.

  “Bah,” Brukk barked. “Fine… go tend to your wounds, goblin, then start harvesting the mast piercing the hull for spare wood.”

  The goblin saluted and marched back below deck.

  “And someone get Zurni down!” Brukk roared as he stormed off toward the rear of the ship.

  Robert, glad the tension had subsided, turned his attention back to Alice and Oswin, who had just pulled the two arrows from Varg’s back. He double-checked his mana, which had recovered just enough for him to cast another heal, and did so on his friend, who looked as if he was still breathing, barely.

  “How’s he doing?” Robert called through the thickening snowfall.

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  “He’ll live, I think,” Alice said, “but we need to get him out of the cold.”

  Robert nodded and shouted to the orc. “Brukk! Is there somewhere we can take Varg?”

  Brukk turned as he headed toward the wheel and pointed with his one remaining clawed hand to a doorway beneath the platform. “Take him to the captain’s quarters,” he grunted.

  The three of them worked together to lift the big man, each taking a limb, but it was no use. He was far too heavy for the three of them. They tried dragging him instead, but the deck was icing over fast, making their boots slip against the thin layer of frost forming on the wood.

  “Brukk!” Robert shouted again. “We need help!”

  “Bloody humans,” Robert thought he heard the orc mumble as he trudged back toward them through the blizzard-like snowfall. Brukk grabbed Varg by the collar of his steel breastplate and lifted him effortlessly as the warrior’s limbs dangled in the air.

  “Open the door,” he called as he strode toward the captain's quarters.

  Robert rushed ahead and swung open the simple wooden door. It led into a small cabin-like enclave beneath the deck. Inside was a large bed, far bigger than one needed for an ordinary man, a chest, a table scattered with maps of continents Robert didn’t recognize, and a small hearth in the corner. The floor was covered in the pelt of a massive beast. A bear, maybe, he thought, though the blue sheen of the fur looked wrong.

  Behind him, Brukk carried Varg into the room and dropped the large warrior onto the bed.

  “Easy, Brukk,” Robert said, concern in his voice.

  The orc looked over Varg’s battered body and grunted. “I’ll send some goblins in with winter gear. I suggest you start a fire in the hearth, unless you humans are immune to cold,” he said flatly, then stepped out, closing the door behind him after Alice and Oswin entered.

  “Robert, when did you have time to make allies with the orcs?” Alice asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Robert replied. “And it’s not all orcs, just him. For now, at least,” he added with uncertainty in his voice.

  “Alice, help me with the chest plate so we can check his wounds,” he said. “Oswin, get the hearth going before we all freeze to death.”

  Robert spent the next two hours with the others, waiting out the storm in the cramped captain’s quarters. There, they recounted their experiences in the Baron’s manor of horrors. Alice remembered nothing after losing consciousness following their victory over the swamp golem. She did remember, however, leaving the horses and Carrot back at the manor and was deeply concerned for their well-being, but Robert had no comfort to give. Although he didn’t know where they had ended up, he promised her they would find their way back to them when they could.

  Oswin’s story, on the other hand, was not as fortunate as Alice’s. Immune to the Swamp Baron’s glamor, the poor enchanter had been beaten and tortured by Driana until she ordered the ghoul to throw his battered body into the fire. Yet for some reason, the ghoul had disobeyed. I wonder what stayed the ghoul’s dead hand, Robert thought.

  “I’m so sorry you went through that,” Robert said softly to the sobbing enchanter. Alice’s eyes welled with tears as she placed a comforting hand on Oswin’s shoulder.

  While they reminisced, Robert had been slowly healing Varg back to life. With his limited mana, he managed to regenerate just enough to cast a basic heal every half hour. By the third hour of resting, as they passed the time reviewing their available quests together in the cabin, the big warrior finally gasped awake after the sixth heal.

  [Skill Leveled Up: Basic Heal (Level 11)]

  “Varg!” Oswin cried, hugging him tightly as the man grimaced in pain.

  “Get off me, chanter,” Varg rasped. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “An airship,” Alice replied. “Robert made friends with an orc captain and came to your rescue.”

  “You what!” Varg coughed, staring at Robert in disbelief.

  “Easy, old friend. You’re safe now. Rest and regain your strength,” Robert said quietly.

  “I’ve rested enough,” he replied. “Where are we then, the swamps still?”

  “Well… no,” Robert answered tentatively. “We crashed into a mountain. I think we’re on one of the peaks of Frostmere.”

  “We what!?” Varg bellowed, sitting upright on the orc’s massive wooden bed.

  They spent the next half hour explaining the events of the past day to the dumbfounded warrior, how he had been drained by the Baron, rescued by Brukk and Robert, and ultimately stranded atop a snowy peak.

  Robert was about to cast another heal when Brukk burst through the cabin door.

  “Humans,” Brukk said from the doorway. He and Varg studied each other with a critical eye before the orc spoke again. “Come. Look at this.”

  Robert stood, curious about the urgency in Brukk’s voice. Outside, he could see nearly a foot of snow had already gathered across the deck.

  Turning to Varg, Robert cast another heal, draining the last of his mana. The warrior took a deep breath, then swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His gaunt complexion had nearly returned to normal, and most of his wounds had sealed over the past few hours. With a bit of help from Alice, he rose to his full height, ducking slightly to avoid hitting the cabin ceiling.

  “Don’t mind me, priest,” he rumbled. “Go with your orc friend. We’ll follow.” His tone carried its usual sarcastic bite, and Robert rolled his eyes in response. Looking back toward Brukk, he gave a small nod, and together they stepped out onto the snowy deck.

  The snowfall had eased from the relentless blizzard that had battered the ship for hours. Fortunately for them, Zurni had arrived at their cabin shortly after they lit the hearth at the start of the storm, bringing each of them a large orc winter coat. It was made of thick black fur with a leather underside and four heavy silver clasps. He had said they were the smallest sizes available, yet the sleeves still hung past their hands and the hems dragged across the floor. Not practical for travel, Robert thought, but at least it kept us from freezing.

  “Out there, in the distance!” Brukk called, pointing south.

  Robert squinted through the thinning snowfall and gasped.

  Across the snowy plains south of the mountains lumbered a massive blue figure. It looked like an old man, naked except for a huge cloth loincloth around its waist. Its head was bald, its skin the color and texture of ice, and atop its head rested a crown that seemed carved from stone. It carried no weapon as it walked parallel to the Frostmere range, each thunderous step sending a faint tremor through the mountain beneath them.

  “It’s as tall as the mountain…” Alice whispered in awe.

  [System: World Boss Detected - A Frost Giant has been sighted. This entity far outlevels you. Engaging without a larger, higher-level party is not advised.]

  I figured that already, HUD, Robert thought.

  “We had these on my world, humans,” Brukk said, still staring as the lumbering giant’s shape began to disappear into the distant snowfall. “We could not take one without at least a battalion of orcs.”

  “What in the gods’ name are you talking about, orc? And why are you even here?” Varg rumbled, leaning against the cabin wall, still not fully healed.

  “Varg, come on,” Alice snapped.

  “No,” Brukk called out. “Let the dice lay as they may.” He straightened, his breath fogging in the cold. “I am here because this is my ship, and you are my invited company. You are my company because, to escape that blood fiend’s manor, I made a deal with this priest,” he said, pointing to Robert with the stump of his hand.

  “On my world, magic is heresy. It was named one of the main culprits of what befell us in the early days of the Reaping. Not all share that belief, but those in power do, with absolute zealotry. Those cursed with classes tied to magic were purged in the beginning. Millions of my kind were lost and only the pure classes remained.

  “My blood debt to this priest has already signed my death warrant with my kin. Once I am captured, I’ll be sent to the beheading ritual.”

  “Then why not turn yourself into your kind? Have you no honor in your world?” Varg questioned.

  “Varg,” Alice snapped again.

  “Hah,” Brukk grunted. “I’m assuming our concept of honor isn’t the same as yours. Orc honor is to fight to the death, no matter who seeks it, enemy, friend, or kin. There is no greater dishonor than to lay down and die willingly, no matter whose blade comes for your head.”

  “Then join us,” Robert said, feeling the frost gathering on the stubble of his face.

  “What?” Varg blurted.

  “Hear me out, Varg,” Robert said, raising a hand. “Our party’s battered and in need of fighters. We still have a decent store of the Hour Unspent, but that will only take us so far. With quests growing harder and our location here likely limiting where they will lead, we will need every ally we can get.”

  “Consider it, Brukk. If your kin now hunt you, what better way to keep your honor than by questing with those who would still have you?”

  Robert pulled back his ridiculously long fur sleeve and extended his hand toward the orc.

  The orc studied him for a moment, then spoke. “You have fought like an orc this past day, priest, and if we are to meet our ends at the beheading tables, it would be an honor to be at your side,” Brukk said, clasping Robert’s hand in his own.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Varg grumbled. “Fine, I guess we travel with orcs now. Where on this blasted ship are my horse and greatsword?”