CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Unknown whether day or night, the dwarf and wounded Caltraz cautiously descended a stairway supposedly to the latter’s compatriots and, more importantly, danger. The bandit seemed unable to articulate. He in fact said no further word to the dwarf, his greeting his goodbye. Only through action and gesture did Caltraz, fresh wound across his face, speak. He led the dwarf through darkness cut with the flame of his torch. At the bottom of a stairwell the ruins opened up into the cavern housed within, embedded brick fading into dirt and stone.

Though clear the environment altered somewhat--stone cut, thin, rotted support beams straining--the dwarf could see no further beam at the other side of the cave’s narrow tunnel. Strange blue vines creeped out from the stout passage, or they were at least strange to him. What was dirt beneath his feet transitioned ahead to blue petals and grass. But Caltraz stopped the dwarf from going further, turning him with a grave look.

The bandit, scarred, maintained his silence but snuffed his flame in mud. He winced and left the stick behind. The dwarf skulked behind, and felt bemused at the ensuing announcement.

“STEALTH INCREASED TO 12”

The dwarf, focus elsewhere, nearly tripped. Caltraz shot his bad arm out to steady the dwarf and clenched his teeth in resulting agony, only an awkward hissing escaping. As the bandit steadied himself, the dwarf--eyes on the blue beneath--wracked his mind for what could be responsible. The dream eater the dwarf knew did not act so boldly so fast. The raised and possessed undead could surely not inspire such profound silence in the equal sized bandit. A feral funguay colony did not seem likely, the strange ocean dyed, gi colored crunched leaves raising questions. Just what lurked, the dwarf feared, and what would it do to him?

The dwarf stopped, and Caltraz slowly noticed. The dwarf shook his head. What business had he here? He felt no obligation to investigate the mystery which claimed Patches and the chieftain. While he may have liked Caltraz the most of the outfit, he was still his kidnapper. With little interest in the ‘treasure’ of which the dwarf began to doubt, Caltraz’ eyes widened in realization. He drew his blade. Its distance in arms reach from the dwarf, the dwarf kept still. Though narrow, the bandit pressed himself against the short cave wall with sword high, a promise to his prisoner should he not proceed ahead. The dwarf hesitated. This fort being built into the same cliffs as the bandits’ base, it would not be hard to locate the latter and his belongings--and their food stores. In the absence of his going ahead the dwarf considered the death blow currently dealt to the plains’ criminals. Many of their members were imprisoned. Two were dead. One was missing along with his leader and another lost his tongue.

The dwarf wanted to live.

Foot scooting on trampled blue grass, the dwarf turned to run and the blade came crashing down--a complete miss. Breathing hard and full off the reserves of rest, the dwarf blasted ahead backtracking the ruin, dashing up stairs and through the prison, past the barracks and halls and the dead chandelier and out into the narrow entranceway just before the outside. All throughout his escape Caltraz wailed--no words, only disgruntled noise. But the dwarf burst into the heavy front door with all his weight cracking its hinges as it slammed open. Greeting the dwarf was the dim before dawn.

Knowing the sun would not peek over the mountains for some time, he knew his best use of the darkest hours of the morning were following the cliffface and raiding the bandit hideout. As the dwarf hoofed it past the dormant cart and onto the trail, the dwarf realized it was Caltraz himself who fueled his return to energy: he had advocated for him, fed him, let him rest. Because of the short bearded bandit the dwarf found the strength and resolve to force his body forward on a trot to a limestone cavern.

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 47”

Just as clouds began to offer glimpses of light, the dwarf entered the dark crevice of which once housed the chieftain’s gang. Their gear leftover, their supplies in the open, it was not long before the dwarf located food. Buttery crackers, salted jerky, wet grapes: he inhaled them all and more. The amount he engorged seemed to slow his movement as he tread the tunnel to his holding place. There just out of reach of water stood erect the post which held the dwarf prisoner. He walked to the shore and gazed upon his lit reflection: the beard was good. All else he shuddered over, walking away and to his wet wad of clothes. The dwarf returned to the main cavern and wrapped a blanket of furs around himself--though it was the season of sweat, that did not mean the dwarf wished to be any more naked. He tied the poncho proper and had a feel of the weapons that remained: none fit well. The dwarf at least appreciated his bestowed knife.

Turning a corner to exit the crevice, Caltraz stood with morning haze behind. He drew his sword and carefully advanced. The dwarf ran back into the cavern and wracked his brain: he would do something. Caltraz entering, his boot went down on the dwarf’s slick gi, bandit slipping forward and tumbling forward, face wound filling with dust. The dwarf shot from cover and rejoined his clothes with geta and sack of clothes. His heart allowing no silence within, his feet kicking hard against the final traces of limestone, the dwarf bounced from the crevice, slowed, dropped and began puking up what was stolen. The dwarf attempted to force a stopping but his body could do nothing but release. And once finished, the stout bandit leered from the rock mouth. Sword still in hand, he rushed the kneeling dwarf. Half aware, the dwarf chanced rolling against Caltraz. Nothing stopped the whirl of dirt and barely blue morning. After impact and slowing, the dwarf attempted to stand and only vomited again. He’d emptied the recent meal completely, what Caltraz had given him gone next. But he managed a stand and watched crippled Caltraz unable. The bandit indeed put arms against earth and one leg cooperated--the other did not. The dwarf’s back especially singed, but he felt grateful to escape with more minimal the injury. His heart hurt in knowing he’d not have been able to come this far without the bandit. Wiping his mouth, straightening his wet clothes into capes around his neck (the sensation soothed the injury and allowed drying), the dwarf walked near Caltraz with the intent of helping him up. Though uncertain of what condition Caltraz suffered as a result of the ruin, he would not leave him in this state.

The dwarf came to the struggling bandit and attempted to wring the sword out from a surprising grip. Caltraz grunted as the dwarf tried his fruitless removal. Whatever the dwarf seemed to wrangle with, he concluded it was not Caltraz. A chandelier’s glowing green spirits acting as puppeteers flashed before the dwarf’s mind. He apologized to the bandit’s hand.

“MELEE INCREASED TO 18”

What inhabited Caltraz shrieked through Caltraz’ bearded mouth. The dwarf took the too large weapon some ways away and tossed it down a steep plain. He returned to Caltraz with the cart and helped him inside, the bandit all the while grabbing at air, often hair to the dwarf’s chagrin. Feeling exhaustion in full force again, the dwarf comforted himself knowing the nearest steeple was not so far. He took the wagon’s handle and began pulling, at first with no distance given such inadequate strength, and so the dwarf sucked air down, gripped, and pulled in earnest. The two began crossing the near treeless yellow hills, sun seconds from passing the mountains. Arriving at that which sported a front yard of skulls and pikes yet plucked, a spider crawled from the earth and approached the two inquisitively. Pausing, the dwarf then brought, with a stern hold, the back of the struggling bandit’s hand to its pedipalp.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 42”

The dwarf hesitated long to pull the hand away, his flock hanging from the steeple ceiling a fresh memory. But that wasn’t so different from what the dwarf directed after, whistling, the spider splashing Caltraz in web. Gestured to continue, eight legs wrapped the bandit in intricate patterns--as long as they held, hoped the dwarf. He went inside the building alone and emerged soon after with floppy gauntlets. He helped Caltraz back into the vehicle and carted him inside, spider following the open doors.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO SAVE YOUR PROGRESS?”