Joanne moved through a series of tunnels with some of her fellow former Claymores. Working with people she had known for years made operations like today’s go smoother and easier. Not that working with Arkk’s other units was particularly difficult. She had thought it would be.
As a human who had been in a human-majority organization, their tactics and training were designed for humans. Although demihumans, such as orcs, were relatively similar to humans, their favored tactics often differed. Orcs, with their large builds, thicker skin, and ability to effectively use heavier weapons and armor, could charge straight into a battle that would see a human torn to pieces in an instant. Then there were beastmen. Beastmen tactics varied greatly depending on the exact species, ranging from aerial attacks from harpies to the slower, burrowing abilities molemen could execute. Humans—most demihumans—weren’t compatible with those kinds of tactics at all.
And monsters like gorgon? Joanne had no idea where Arkk dug them up or how he convinced them to work for him—she had never once heard of gorgon willingly working for a human unless they were blindfolded and in chains—but she couldn’t deny that they were welcome supports in hectic battles.
Whether through good intuition or pure luck, Arkk had a knack for getting all those differing tactics working together effectively. Sometimes, that knack came through in the form of splitting up, as they were today, and other times, they mixed together to cover each other’s weaknesses.
When Joanne had signed up for Arkk’s recruitment drive back at Cliff, she had only distantly heard of Company Al-Mir. They had gotten into a few minor scrapes across Mystakeen. More importantly, they were paying out the ass. A full four times what the Order of the Claymores had been paying even their senior members. She had figured their leader to be some rich scion of some minor noble or other, wanting to pretend to be a knight. Someone with more wealth than sense. For that price, she had been more than willing to play along.
She hadn’t expected a magic fortress or portal to another world. She hadn’t expected a literal creature from before the Calamity to be the effective second in command—and then a dragonoid almost as old showed up. She had not expected a war to break out immediately after signing on. She definitely had not expected to get involved in that war.
But most of all, she hadn’t expected so few casualties in that war. When Arkk had started up his memorial wall listing all of the deceased members of Company Al-Mir, Joanne had thought it would end up a depressing reminder of the grim future, harming morale just by existing.
If anything, it was the opposite. Even with names going on the wall on a semi-regular basis, the fact that there were so few names just spoke to how insanely overpowered—and, she was willing to admit, overly cautious—Arkk was.
The Order of the Claymores wouldn’t have been able to put up one of those walls without destroying morale. In fact, the Claymores couldn’t do that. Not anymore.
She had heard from some former Claymores that came to Company Al-Mir after the fact; The Claymores and several other smaller mercenary companies ended up forming a coalition to help repel the invaders. That coalition had been all but destroyed in a series of retreating skirmishes.
There wasn’t an Order of the Claymores left. Only a handful survived and none of the leadership. Most had come to Company Al-Mir. A few others migrated to the First Legion or the Society of the Burning Shadow, but…
“Hey. Jo? You alright there?”
Joanne sucked in a breath, shooting a glare at Lyre. The vanguard carried a heavy shield and sturdy pike—the former being made from the strange shadow material that made up most of the orc armaments these days. The visor of his helm was up, letting her see his worried face.
“You looked distracted,” he said with a kindly smile.
Joanne pressed her lips together. Lyre had been one of those who had come from the destroyed Claymores. An old friend that she had left behind in pursuit of gold.
Could she have saved more if she had stuck around? Or would she have ended up in the ground?
Deciding against voicing her thoughts and bringing up the past, Joanne focused on now. “Just thinking over the plan again.”
“What’s there to think about? It’s a simple plan. Get in, drop off the alchemical explosives, and get out. Just like we did at Gleeful Burg.”
“Four people died at Gleeful.” That had been the incident that made Arkk build that memorial wall in the first place. “I don’t intend to let us follow suit.”
Lyre shook his head, almost rolling his eyes. “It’ll be even easier than what we did at Gleeful Burg. We don’t have to sneak around a city this time. What could go wrong?”
Joanne almost socked him straight in the face for that. Almost. Clenching her fist, she managed to restrain herself to just a long groan. One echoed by Opal and Viv as they pulled the cart of explosives behind them.
“What? What’d I say?”
This time, Joanne did reach up. She slammed down his visor a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary. “Just keep ready,” she hissed, eying their surroundings.
There wasn’t much to look at. They were traveling through a tunnel. Not one of the fortress tunnels with their patterned tiles and well-lit glowstones. The walls and floor were bare-faced earth and stone. The only light they had were a few dimly lit glowstones hanging from the lanterns on their belts.
Their squad of five was otherwise alone.
Tempting fate was just asking for trouble. Especially now that she knew that gods of luck and fate were more than just superstition. With a name like The Fickle Wheel, Joanne bet that even minor tempting could have great consequences. Or no consequences at all. That was assuming its name could be taken literally.
Joanne wondered if there was some kind of prayer or ritual she could perform to try to counteract bad luck. Every company had its superstitions and little rituals. Sometimes it was as simple as polishing a pin before setting off. Other companies had large and grandiose affairs that involved Abbey personnel, feasts, or loud group chants. Company Al-Mir had nothing like that. At least nothing uniform, some people brought along traditions from wherever they came from. Joanne always thought they were silly. She hadn’t believed in that kind of stuff.
But…
The Order of the Claymores shined their swords with fresh oil before every outing, then held their swords out over a fire filled with sprigs of whatever herbs they could source at their locale and smoked the swords. Joanne hadn’t believed, but she had participated if only to make a group effort.
That clearly hadn’t worked in the war. If it worked at all. It wasn’t like they could stop right now and hold their swords out over an open fire.
The Society of the Burning Shadow, a smaller mercenary company, allegedly had lucky scarves that had been passed down through the company’s members for a hundred years. They wore those whenever they donned their armor. First Legion was more a group of bounty hunters than a mercenary company, but even they had a fairly well-known chant they used before starting something dangerous. Joanne felt that was more to hype themselves up than anything else.
They couldn’t get scarves out in the field, but chanting?
Possible, but maybe not the best idea. Joanne didn’t know how deep these tunnels were or where exactly they were. All she knew was that they delved beneath the supposedly invisible constructions that the Eternal Empire was working on.
Those were the targets of today’s operations.
If the tunnels were too shallow, starting up a song and chant with the crew here could jeopardize everything. Everything being their lives more than their task.
Joanne sighed. Maybe good luck just wasn’t something they could harness on a whim.
With the tunnel bare and lacking in proper flooring, the cart of explosives had to be pulled slowly and carefully. Even still, the occasional bump would jostle the clay pots. They made a fairly steady rattling noise.
A divot in the floor caught the wheel of the cart, making the jars clank together.
Everyone froze. For a long moment, no one moved. No one even breathed.
Slowly, Joanne let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. The jars weren’t that volatile. If they were, transporting them like this would have been impossible. A loud noise like that still made her nervous. “Careful,” she hissed. “Watch where you’re going.”
Opal carefully pulled the cart forward while Viv moved around the side to make sure the wheel wasn’t stuck. “Really wish those undead would do this,” the latter grumbled. “Don’t like being around them but, if I have to, might as well put them to good use.”
The corners of Joanne’s mouth twitched into a frown. “Arkk’s undead are too clumsy. They can swing a sword but setting explosives? They’re more likely to blow themselves up.” Not that she disagreed. They could have at least dragged the explosives out here. “As for the other undead… they’re apparently more like people than what you or I think of as undead.”
“Still…”
“We have our job and we’ll do it,” Joanne said, her tone of voice rendering all arguments invalid. “Let’s just try to be a little more careful. Don’t want to look bad in comparison to a bunch of skeletons, do we?”
Lyre let out a laugh that wasn’t entirely genuine. “He might decide we’re more useful as skeletons.”
“Ugh,” Opal shuddered. “Don’t even joke. I heard Gunther, that former First Legionnaire, has been thinking about leaving because of them.”
“It’s because he’s First Legion,” Viv said in a hushed, almost conspiratorial tone. “A few years back, First Legion was just about destroyed by some necromancer out in the boonies. They took on the job willingly, but it was more than they could handle. People who bunk near Gunther say he’s been waking up lately screaming about zombies or something.”
“Quiet,” Joanne said.
She hadn’t heard about that. She supposed it made sense though. First Legion usually went after smaller targets. They probably figured a lone necromancer wouldn’t have been much trouble. But necromancers could be tricky. It was always difficult to tell just how many servants they could raise. All they needed was a graveyard to be something unfeasible to take down.
“Lyre. How much further?” Joanne asked.
The large man paused a moment to fish a small black stone from his pouch. Joanne wasn’t sure how it worked. It was some magical device Arkk—or one of those nutjobs he called ‘researchers’—developed. He had been trying to work some artifice and create more crystal balls. These were the failures, apparently. Useful ones, which was the best kind of failure.
Using a regular crystal ball, one could mark a location that these black stones would home in on. Lyre tapped a finger on the crystal ball, unleashing a small spark of magic. The black stone emitted a bright blue glow, looking more like a glowstone now.
“Oh, almost there,” he said as he kept walking.
Except, as he walked, the bright glow started to fade away.
“No,” he paused, turned back, and started walking toward the cart. “Wait… I think we’ve gone too far.”
Another chorus of groans echoed throughout the tunnel.
“Calm down, calm down. It isn’t far,” he said as he hustled back past the cart. He stared at the orb the entire time, watching as its glow turned brighter and brighter. “Maybe fifty paces back!” he called after a minute of walking.
He had gone so far that Joanne couldn’t see much of him besides the glowing ball he carried. With a shake of her head, both angry at him for being so lax and herself for not checking in earlier, she headed over to Opal and Viv.
“Not enough room to turn the cart around,” Viv said with a sigh. “We’ll have to push it backward.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not really. It might be more prone to tipping if we hit a bad bump since we’ll be putting force on the wrong side.”
“A bump like the one we just hit a moment ago?”
Viv didn’t say anything. An absence of an answer was an answer too.
“Right,” Joanne said. “Wait a moment.”
Around the back of the cart, seated next to the clay jars with his six hands lightly pressed to their tops to keep them steady, was the sole member of their five-man group who hadn’t been with the Order of the Claymores. He was an arachnoid, a spider-like beastman. If Joanne were being honest, the way he looked over to her with eight full eyes unnerved her just as much as the undead. Doubly so because his diet seemed to consist of raw blood. Was he some kind of vampire arachnoid? Or were they all like that?
From what little he had said, he had seen one of the Protectors, saw some kind of kinship in it, and decided to join up.
She didn’t have a problem with him. The unease was more like a visceral reaction in the back of her mind. The way his chelicerae moved about over his mouth when she approached didn’t help.
“We’re pushing the cart backward a bit,” she said, completely professional. She wasn’t about to treat a comrade in arms poorly because of some instinct in the back of her mind. “So be ready for that. And let’s keep an eye out for any uneven spots in the tunnel, alright?”
A chittering noise that made the back of her neck tingle came from the arachnoid. “Understood.” Those eight flat black eyes angled on his face before his head turned, shifting to the ground below.
Suppressing a shudder, Joanne planted her hands on the side of the cart. “Right. I’ll help guide it. Ready?”
“Ready!” Opal called out.
The cart slowly started moving again. Joanne made sure to lean her weight against it to push it slightly off to one side, avoiding the divot that they had fallen into earlier. She called out a warning as well to make sure Viv and Opal didn’t catch their foot on it. At half the speed as it was being pulled, it took a few minutes, but they eventually caught up to Lyre. And without incident too.
The orb in Lyre’s hand emitted a bright white light now. Almost all traces of blue were gone. That meant they were right at the spot Arkk wanted them to be.
Joanne looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel. It was no different than any other patch. Yet, somewhere above them, the Eternal Empire was busy constructing some kind of ancient weapon of war. Something dangerous enough that it had Arkk nervous, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was.
And there were several of them. Joanne’s team was hardly the only one out in these tunnels.
Which was fine with Joanne. If Evestani and the Eternal Empire didn’t want to fight fairly, why should they do the same? Blow their secret weapon to the skies. And blast their army to pieces while they were at it. Several others were en route to Woodly Rhyme directly to try to take out the army.
Arkk had doubts about it working, unfortunately. During their trek through Mystakeen, Evestani had been able to detect more than half the traps they had laid in advance. The avatar could protect too much at once.
But hopefully not everything.
“Alright,” Joanne said. “I presume we have some time to rest. Arkk will tug on the link when it is time to set the explosives.”
These had extended timers on the ritual activation built into the lids. Once turned, they would have fifteen minutes to get as far down the tunnel as they could go. From his earlier experiments planting explosives in front of the Evestani march, he had learned that the explosion would prefer to travel through the tunnel instead of going up into the target overhead. This was why he had built small runic arrays into the walls that would collapse parts of the tunnel, which Joanne and her crew would activate on their way back. The blast would spread through the intact portion of the tunnel—going fully underneath their target—before being forced upward.
Hopefully.
Arkk said he tested his work multiple times. It had worked nine times out of ten, the first time being the one failure. A flaw which he had fixed in the latter nine tests.
At this point, Joanne could only hope he was right.
“Say,” Opal said, walking back around the cart. “Do you suppose…”
She trailed off, pausing with a frown.
There was a whistling coming from further down the tunnel. It was supposed to be a dead end at some point. But a whistle like that came from the wind.
Wind wasn’t supposed to exist in these tunnels.
“Did they find the tunnel?” Joanne hissed, now tense. This was the worst possible time for something to go wrong. They were as deep into enemy territory as they were going to get. And they had pots of volatile explosives just sitting here.
The wind picked up. In an instant, what had been a slight breeze barely able to move her hair turned into a whipping gale that shook the cart. The clay pots rattled together despite Kevin’s best attempts to keep them steady. He had his chitinous arms wrapped around and between them. It wasn’t enough.
“If those pots crack, we’re dead,” she swore. Her eyes flicked from the cart to the end of the tunnel where the wind was coming from. Could they move them to the ground? Spread them apart so they couldn’t hit each other? Joanne wasn’t sure it would matter before long. The wind was still picking up. Even the cart was starting to shake. Looking over the worried faces of Opal, Viv, Lyre, and even Kevin, she made a decision. “Go! Run!”
There was a moment of hesitation as they looked at each other. Just a moment. Opal, Viv, and Lyre—her Claymores—followed orders.
Kevin didn’t. Perched at the back of the cart with his arms still wrapped around the pots, he chittered. “If I let go, the pots will clang together more violently.”
Joanne had to raise her voice. The wind was roaring now. “The whole cart is going to upend if you don’t. We need to run now before it gets worse.”
She gripped the front tuft of coarse hair that covered his chest. He was lithe and light which made lifting him as easy as lifting a sack of potatoes. He had the good sense to let go of the pots before he knocked them over. Joanne slung him over her shoulder and booked it, running from the clattering and clanging noise as fast as she could move.
The nearest array that would collapse the tunnel was supposed to be five minutes of hasty walking away. Lyre had more orbs that would direct him to them. She doubted he had the wherewithal to pull them out now.
And it wouldn’t matter much even if he did. A minute at full sprint and Joanne still heard the tell-tale sound of shattering pottery.
Joanne threw herself and Kevin to the ground even as she felt the rush of wind explode toward her. Hands clasped over the back of her head, face pressed firmly into the dirt, she could only hope that if she were to die here, it would be quick and painless.
“An absence of an answer was an answer too.”
I’ve been playing a lot of Wrath of the Righteous lately, and there’s an NPC that *loves* to quote something similar. It’s a strong line.
They say great artists steal so not even going to feel a hint of embarrassment when I say that I might have heard that line in WotR as well.