Undermind

Pop.

Pop pop.

Crackle pop pop.

Pop.

Pop crackle.

Saskia let out an exasperated sigh. “Please stop!”

Ruhildi blinked at her. Blinking no longer came naturally to the undead dwarf, so this was clearly a feigned expression of confusion. “Stop what, Sashki?”

“That thing you’re doing with your hand.”

Her friend looked at the splayed assemblage of twisted bones and dislocated joints that may, if one squinted hard enough, resemble a hand. After another teeth-grinding series of crackles and pops, the hand reverted into a more natural configuration.

“Don’t get grit up your butt,” said Ruhildi. “I were just practising.”

“Practising weirding me the hell out.”

It was safe to say that the novelty of her friend’s ‘condition’ had begun to wear off. Sure, being the walking dead had its definite advantages (for one thing, it made her really hard to kill), but there were times when Saskia would have given anything to have her old, living, breathing friend back. Well okay, Ruhildi could still breathe if she chose to, but it was no longer a biological necessity. She tried to tell herself that as long as her friend was happy, that was the most important thing. And Ruhildi genuinely seemed to be having the time of her (un)life. It was just…ugh…so damn creepy!

“Mayhap I could grow claws like yours,” said Ruhildi.

Saskia groaned.

Ruhildi gave the dwarven equivalent of an eye-roll. “Alright, I’ll stop plucking your petals, och sweet flower trow.”

“Princess just being princess,” said Rover Dog. The troll sat at the back of the cabin, slicing open his hand and using it to paint a strange pattern across a strip of cloth. What was up with that?

“To be true, this ability might save your life one day, so ’tis worth perfecting,” said Ruhildi. “But I’ll give your eyes and ears a rest. I ken how unsettling this must be to you. If I weren’t already a necrourgist, I amn’t sure I’d have coped with the change.”

“Actually, I think it was only the fact that you’re a necrourgist that allowed it to happen in the first place,” said Saskia. “This is like…your final form. Garrain became a tree, Nuille an otter, and you…died. I’m half expecting Kveld to turn to stone and Zarie to turn into…I don’t know, a stormcloud, or something.”

“I can already turn to stone, with the obsidian form spell,” pointed out Kveld, who was sitting at the front of the cabin with Zarie.

“I hope I don’t change form,” said the tempest, running a hand across the white-and-blue skin of her breast. “I like my body the way it is.”

Kveld reddened. Apparently he too liked her body just the way it was.

A thunderous growl sounded from the jagged hills below. Peering out between the dragon’s ribs, she could see an enormous form sitting on a flat rock, eyeing them hungrily. It was shaped vaguely like a troll, but with a smaller head, and dark fur. Also about ten times as large.

“Behemoth,” said Rover Dog. “Avoid.”

“Yeah, because I was planning to jump down and pet it,” said Saskia.

“Never can be sure with Sashki,” said Ruhildi.

The behemoths were just the latest entry in a long list of things that would best be avoided in this land of nope—some of which Rover Dog had described to her, and others she’d witnessed first-hand. Creatures with paralysing bites and stingers and poisonous spit. Snakes as fat as a car; spiders as big as a dog. Immense flightless birds that tore apart prey—and smaller predators—with vicious serrated beaks and scythe-like talons.

Then there were the slithering lumps of yuck that piled onto their hapless victims, dissolving their flesh in seconds. They were the closest things she’d seen to the slimes from games she’d played on Earth, but they weren’t green, and the cute little video game jellies didn’t come close to the true horror of watching these things feed.

Even the plants had meat on the menu. Step in the wrong spot, and it’d be game over: crushed between giant pincer leaves, or dissolved in a pool of digestive juices.

Worse, some of the rocky, grass-covered hills she spotted in the distance…weren’t hills. She’d seen them move, extending great spindly pincers to snatch unwary beasts that ventured too close to their waiting maws.

Welcome to Krakura, she thought. Please don’t feed the wildlife.

Deep in these untamed lands lay one of her father’s bases of operations: a site called the Night’s Dream. It was the only such site shown on the keystone’s map of Grongarg, so it had seemed like a good place to visit in their search for answers.

Now, as they drew close to the spot where it had been marked, Saskia was beginning to have second thoughts.

“I really don’t think we should be landing here,” she said. “This dragon isn’t exactly stealthy. We’ll draw every predator within a ten kilometre radius. There’ll be corpses piled higher than Mr Underhill over there.” She pointed at the hill-sized crab monster. “Unless Mr Underhill joins in. Then it’ll be our corpses piled in his stomach.”

“Not problem,” said Rover Dog. “Land in Firespring.”

“Firespring? What is that?”

“Sacred place. Big walls. Neutral ground, shared by all queendoms. Home of scouring pools.”

Saskia frowned. “Wait…scouring pools? Where trow royals go to melt their skin off?” She gave a little shudder.

Rover Dog nodded. “It grow back smooth, hard, strong.” A grin spread across his face. “Princess shell already strong, but scouring pools make smoother.”

Saskia’s eyes narrowed. After she’d pointed out the location of the Night’s Dream, Rover Dog had been awfully quick to suggest they come here next.

Though he’d helped the human-seeming woman seal the arlium volcano at Fireflower Isle, Rover Dog couldn’t remember the part he’d played in the epic quest. He couldn’t remember his human companion. He didn’t even know how long ago it had happened. Saskia’s attempts to jog his memory had failed. A search of the island had turned up nothing.

With little else to go on, their options had been the Night’s Dream, or visiting one of the other troll queendoms, or going straight to the seed of frost, which was further south along the branch. So here they were. It had seemed the most logical choice at the time.

“What an awfully big coincidence that our destination is so close to Firespring,” said Saskia.

“Not just close,” said Rover Dog. “Inside walls. Firespring built on ancient ruins. Those ruins…”

“Must contain the Night’s Dream.” she completed for him. “But it’s a sacred place, you said? Won’t its defenders try to shoot us out of the sky the moment we go near, just like Cloudtop Queendom did?”

“We drop banner.” He held up the cloth he’d been painting in his own blood. “They see this, they allow entry. I friend of Firespring. Very popular with visiting princesses.” He frowned. “Less popular with queens.”

Saskia’s lips twitched, as she struggled to suppress a laugh. “What if someone from Cloudtop is there?”

“Neutral ground,” said Rover Dog. “Fight not allowed inside walls. Parakumakorai kill any who break rule—even queen.”

“Paraku—what now?”

“Guardians of Firespring. Not pick fight with them. Not end well.”

“Okay well I guess that’s that, then. You’ve thought of everything. Firespring it is.”

Suddenly, the dragon lurched to the side, wobbling ominously as it dropped lower in the air.

“By sea and sky!” cried out Zarie. “It flew right into us!”

Saskia stared out at the dragon’s wing, where a smoking carapace was caught between two of its metal blades. Their unwanted passenger was long and lumpy, with innumerable hook-like legs and four sets of gossamer wings. The result of the collision had been…electric. Mr Crispy had died instantly, but now its carcass was affecting their stability.

“Crap!” breathed Saskia. “Okay, uh, can you raise the corpse and make it work itself free, Ruhildi?”

“Already trying,” said the dwarf. “’Tisn’t working.”

Indeed, she could see the creature’s little hooked legs waving in the air, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good.

“We need to find a place to land, yes?” said Zarie.

She was right. They’d have to prise the corpse free from the ground. Saskia quickly scanned the rugged landscape for a suitable landing site. She found only one. “Set us down on top of that big rock over there, if you can make it.”

That rock, at least, was not a giant monster in disguise. Her minimap confirmed it. Up there, they should be reasonably safe from the horrors lurking below.

Unless they could climb.

Crap, I just had to think of that, didn’t I?

“I will try,” said Zarie, her face a mask of concentration.

The dragon descended sharply, circling in a wide spiral until its claws gained purchase on the rough stone, and it settled into a precarious perch. There was barely enough room for them up here, so the only way to get to the clogged wing blades was to climb out out across the wing.

“Time to make myself useful,” said Saskia. If there was one thing she could do well as a troll, it was climb. The wing should be able to support her weight, and if anyone was strong enough to extricate the charred carcass, it was her.

After making sure Zarie had de-electrified the wings, Saskia shimmied up the dragon’s ribs onto its back, and from there, made her way gingerly across one of the gigantic wing bones. If this were a human arm, the bone would be called the humerus. She had no idea what the equivalent bone of a dragon wing was called, but this was no laughing matter.

Something big and hungry shoved its way through the trees, stopping at the base of the rock, huffing loudly.

Reaching the oversized bug’s carcass, she began to wriggle it loose. Damn, it was as if the suicidal creature had been trying to jam itself in there. The metal blade had sliced deep into its carapace, and as it cooked, it had fused with the metal.

From below came a scritching sound and a series of thuds. Claws against stone. Something heavy clambered up the side of the rock.

Saskia prised the carapace apart in a shower of ichor, and tore the carcass loose. It slid off the wing, bounced, and then…

A wet crunching sound issued from below.

Scrambling back across the wing, she called out to Zarie to lift off.

An enormous dark-haired head rose up, regarding her with red, slitted eyes. Its mouth opened wide, revealing a very impressive row of incisors, and breath foul enough to knock out a deepworm.

“Go!” she shouted. “Don’t wait for me! Take off now!”

Her muscles went suddenly rigid as electricity coursed beneath—and through—her. Almost, she fell, but some desperate instinct allowed her to fight off the paralysis and make a desperate leap, even as the wings drove them high into the air, barely avoiding the behemoth’s reaching claws.

Her hands closed around empty air. She bounced off the dragon’s ribs and fell backwards, arms flailing. The only thought going through her mind was: Not again…

Claws closed around her ankle, slicing into her flesh. She felt herself being hauled upward. In a moment, she’d be staring into a hungry maw.

Wait, that wasn’t right. She was far too high up for the behemoth to have snatched her. She glanced up at a toothy grin, attached to an oh so welcome face.

“Princess need learn to jump,” said Rover Dog as he hauled her through the opening.

She lay panting on the floor of the cabin, exhausted and more than a little shaken. Her minimap was flickering, and showing no markers for the no-doubt innumerable monsters swarming below. It was the electric shock that had done it, of course. Not as severe as the lightning strike she’d endured in her first encounter with the mer, but strong enough to disrupt her oracle interface for a while.

“Are your maps as messed up as mine?” she asked. Her vassals had been keeping their own copies of her map active most of the time, in case she missed something.

Ruhildi nodded. “Don’t worry, Sashki. We’ll survive without it for a time.”

The dragon rose high above the craggy hills, soaring toward the colossal column of…wait, what?

“Uh…Zarie,” said Saskia. “We’re going the wrong way. Firespring is south, away from the trunk.”

“Oh!” said Zarie. Her cheeks turned a darker shade of blue. Someone had been getting a bit too used to having the map around…

It wasn’t long before they discovered they weren’t the only ones heading that way. Ahead, a trio of giant bats—roptirs, they were called here—bore their troll riders toward the distant citadel.

“Cloudtop Queendom, I presume?” said Saskia.

Rover Dog nodded.

Distant screeches were her first indication that something was wrong. Then the roptirs began to weave about in the air, ears twitching as they struggled to evade the long, gossamer-winged shapes coming at them. Their riders shot at their assailants with oversized crossbows. Two of the giant bugs fell from the sky, skewered by spear-sized bolts. But there were plenty more where they came from.

“I think they’re in trouble,” said Saskia, somewhat redundantly.

“We help them, princess,” said Rover Dog. “Regain favour with Cloudtop.”

“Assuming they don’t shoot us down as well,” said Saskia. “Okay, bring us closer, Zarie. Let’s see what we can do.”

“I can call a storm to knock some of them out of the sky,” said Zarie. “It will not be easy to do from afar, while flying the dracken. I will need every drop of essence you can give me, yes?”

“Done,” said Saskia.

The word had barely left her lips when she felt the tempest drawing in vast torrents of her essence. A black cloud formed in the air overhead, sending a spear of lightning arcing down through several of the bugs. Blackened carapaces careened toward the ground…

…only to rise up again, as Ruhildi took control of the corpses, and turned them against the living.

Saskia fought down the urge to throw open the cabin door and fling Jarnbjorn at the swarm. Knowing her luck, it would carve a hole straight through the floor on its way back to her hand. Right now, the best she could do was watch, and feed her vassals all the essence they needed.

Soon, the dragon was in the midst of the swarm, biting down on the hapless creatures, and swatting them out of the air with electrified wings. They were risking a repeat of what had grounded them earlier, but they needed the trolls to see they were here to help.

Oh yeah, the trolls had noticed them, alright. Eyes widened; clawed fingers pointed; voices shouted, their words drowned out by the howling wind and clashing thunder, and the screeches of their panicked mounts.

One of the roptirs twitched, and fell into a wild tumble. Jagged mandibles tore into its throat, while a multitude of hooked legs ripped its soft belly open. Its rider, a smooth-skinned troll woman, tumbled off its back, scarlet eyes wide with terror.

Without needing to be prompted, Zarie sent the dragon into a steep dive, plunging after the falling troll. Saskia clutched the dragon’s ribs, heart thumping in her chest as a rocky hillside rose up to meet them.

With the loud whump of a powerful wingbeat, they arrested their fall.

“I’ve got her!” said Ruhildi.

Saskia couldn’t see from her vantage, but apparently the dragon had caught the troll woman in its clawed feet.

Then she caught a glimpse of movement below—a lot of movement—and she came to a sudden, awful realisation.

“Pull up!”

“Pull…up?” asked Zarie, confused.

“Climb!” shouted Saskia. “Go higher! Get us out of here! Hurry!”

Now the tempest saw it. Her eyes widened. The floor tilted upward as dragon shot skyward, away from a horrific assemblage of great clacking pincers that reached up from the base of the hill that was not a hill.

There was a terrible crunching, snapping sound. A sudden flurry of movement. Then they were careening wildly in the air. A long moment of white-knuckled, stomach-churning dizziness followed. Someone yelled. It might have been her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another roptir plummeting toward outstretched pincers and an enormous gaping maw.

A second tooth-rattling impact. Saskia smashed against the ceiling, then the floor again, and lay there for several seconds, stunned, before the world stopped spinning, and the gravity of their predicament settled over her.

At her feet, someone groaned. It was Kveld, in his obsidian form. Rover Dog stirred beside him, while Ruhildi picked herself up off the floor as if nothing had happened. Several fuzzy white heads emerged from compartments around the cabin. The adorribles had been pretty well padded in their tiny homes; they should be okay. Zarie though…now this was more worrying. The tempest lay unmoving at the other end of the cabin, with a gash across her face, bleeding profusely.

Saskia squeezed past the others to reach her fallen companion. Zarie was breathing, but unconscious and in pretty bad shape. Her limbs were twisted at odd angles, and her body was a mass of cuts and scrapes and rapidly-forming bruises. Wasting no time, Saskia got some of her arlithite-charged blood down the tempest’s throat, and did her best to straighten the broken arm and leg. That was all she could do for her now. Zarie would survive—if any of them did.

Only then did she turn her attention outside, where her friends stood in a tangle of splintered trees and churned-up earth.

One of the dragon’s wings was bent awkwardly beneath it. The other was…gone. As was the troll they’d plucked out of the air. Saskia feared for them both. They might very well be in the belly of Mr Underhill, who loomed just a few kilometres away.

Grunts and growls and chitters and hoots emerged from the torn trees. Oh yeah, they were deep in the crapoodles now.

The floor lurched, and the great assemblage of bone and metal and arlium rose up onto its hind legs, propping itself up on a single wing. It teetered there for a long moment, before lowering itself shakily back down to the ground.

“Bollocks,” said Ruhildi. “Without the other wing, the dracken won’t be walking or flying. We must go on foot, fetch the wing, and larn if it can be repaired.”

Saskia nodded. It was a shame this thing wasn’t more like a typical fantasy dragon, with four legs plus wings. It would’ve had no trouble walking then. Flamethrower breath would’ve been fantabulous too. This thing was actually more like a wyvern, come to think of it, even though she’d heard the elves speak of ‘wivorns’ as a separate species, smaller than ‘drackens,’ that lived in swamps and had poisonous fangs. She was kinda glad she hadn’t come across one of those in her travels.

“Zarie is in no state for a trek through these hills,” said Saskia. “She’ll have to stay. But I don’t like the thought of leaving her alone here.”

“I’ll stay with her,” said Kveld. “Methinks we’ll be safe inside the cabin, but if not…” He hefted his warhammer.

The rest of them gathered up their gear and set off into the jungle without further ado.

Saskia had barely taken three steps when something cold brushed up against her neck. Craning her head around, she spotted the culprit—or culprits. There were three tiny white forms nestling in her backpack, blinking up at her with liquid eyes. Adults, all of them. The babies and their parents were still safely tucked away in their cabin compartment.

Saskia rolled her eyes at her little passengers. “Shoulda known you’d want to come along. Scoot back, will you? If I start to freeze, I’m gonna make you get out and walk.”

They shifted backward, creating a buffer between their icy bodies and her own. It wouldn’t exactly be comfortable, but she couldn’t bring herself to send them away.

“Careful, princess,” warned Rover Dog, pointing at the jagged trapdoor jaws of a carnivorous plant hanging from a nearby tree.

Saskia shivered, and not just because of the little ice-makers she carried. She didn’t want to think what would happen if she moved her head too close to those jaws. There were plenty more where that thing came from, and her oracle interface was still on the fritz, so she couldn’t count on an early warning.

As if summoned by her worried thoughts, the colourful, crested head of an enormous flightless bird emerged from the underbrush, rising up into the air, higher and higher, as its long neck seemed to stretch beyond the limits of credulity. The monstrous bird cocked its head sideways, regarding them with hunger in its violet eyes. There was blood on its beak.

Screeching, it lunged at her.

A minute later, a carcass rose up from the ground, its head now drooping upside down from a nearly-severed neck. The corpse of the oversized ostrich fell into step beside them as they continued on their way.

They were halfway to their destination, with a small retinue of zombie minions in tow, when a voice sounded up ahead, snarling and shouting in the language of the sky trolls. “…back, you thumping goresnout! You dare try eat me!? I will choke you with your own tongue! I will pop your eyeballs like—raargh!”

“I know that voice,” said Rover Dog, frowning.

The trees shook, and she heard a series of distinctly un-troll-like growls and huffs.

Pushing over the next rise, they found a behemoth standing at the base of a tall tree, gazing up at a troll woman perched in its highest branches. Apparently deeming it too flimsy to climb, the behemoth shook the trunk between great clawed hands. The tree swayed violently from side to side, creaking and cracking, while the troll clung for dear life, even as she tried to line up a shot at the beast with her oversized crossbow.

Saskia had glimpsed that troll in the air, but now they were closer, she realised there was something awfully familiar about that face; the smooth, yet rock-hard skin; the jewellery that adorned her body in lieu of clothes. She looked younger than Queen Atka, but the resemblance was striking.

“Princess…” murmured Rover Dog, eyeing the troll with an unreadable expression.