Death by Cliché (23 page)

“Yeah?” The man looked as if he expected assassins, or more likely the Women’s Auxiliary Committee, to jump out at him at any moment.

“We need to find Hraldolf.”

The reeve went white past his forehead. That was quite the achievement considering the forehead in question reached all the way to the back of his head.

“The Overlord is everywhere. He sees all. He hears all. He is the guiding hand at the whipstaff, the motive in the Heavens. He is the nightlight in our darkened room, the blankie in our arms. He is the mind that guides the universe.”

Damico blinked a few times. “I need to know where he is.”

“The Overlord is everywhere. He sees all. He hears all. He is the guiding hand at the whipstaff, the motive in the Heavens. He is the nightlight in our darkened room, the blankie in our arms. He is the mind that guides the universe.”

“What’s a whipstaff?” Omar asked.

“You use it to steer a ship,” Gorthander said.

“Then what’s a tiller?”

Damico ignored them. “But I
need
to know where he is.”

“The Overlord is everywhere—”

“He made you memorize that, didn’t he?”

“The Overlord is everywhere. He sees all. He hears all—”

“Skip it,” Damico said. “You need to tell me where to find him.”

“The Overlord is everywhere. He sees all. He hears all. He is the guiding hand at the whipstaff, the motive in the Heavens. He is the nightlight in our darkened room, the blankie in our arms. He is the mind that guides the universe.”

Damico appraised him then sighed. The man’s eyes weren’t dead. Damico must have awakened him last night. That meant he wasn’t
unable
to respond.

“Omar?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think he’s getting enough blood to the brain.”

A moment later, the reeve dangled by one ankle, his bald head buffing the dirt road as he swung back and forth. The little fringe of hair stood out around his head, like a koala. Damico knelt in front of the reeve.

“I’m a reasonable man,” Damico said.

“I can see that, master,” the reeve said.

“Good, then we can have a reasonable conversation?”

“I’d love to. Have you seen the beautiful seed we have for the winter crop?”

“Maybe later,” Damico said. “Now, my friend is a hands-on kinda guy.”

The reeve looked up at Omar, which involved looking down from his unique point of view. He grinned earnestly at Damico.

“I see that,” the reeve squeaked.

“Now, I’ve told him you aren’t getting enough blood to the brain. Let’s prove him wrong before he attempts surgery.”

Damico came from a long line of I-talians. He reached out and casually straightened the man’s clothing.

“What do you want to know?”

“We seem to have blown up Hraldolf’s Heart of Darkness. Where should we go next?”

“He’ll kill me.”

“That’s a very longsighted view.
Look closer.
”

Omar thumped the reeve’s head against the ground.

“He has a summer palace,” the man squeaked.

“Very good. Where would we find it? You know, to pay our respects.”

“North. A week’s march down the road.”

Damico reached out and patted the man’s cheek. “See. That wasn’t so hard.” Then, with mock surprise: “Omar, what are you doing? Put this fine man down this instant.”

Omar dropped him on his head.

“Very good.”

Damico circled south past Lotianna, seeking a clear view up the road. He brushed up against her in the process, and she gasped. It was the type of gasp that Damico usually related to more
personal
dealings.

He looked over at her, and she looked at him. Her eyes were deep, intelligent. She was stunning with long dark hair and a lithe figure, but she didn’t resemble any actress he knew. Something had happened.

And he felt weaker, knew somehow he’d worked his magic on her. She was self-aware, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He needed to find Hraldolf.

But more importantly, he needed to get her out of the same village as Bunny.

Chapter
Forty-One

“Bar fights are trite.”

—Bob Defendi

lutonium keeps better in small, separate pieces. I think
Gene Roddenberry said that. The same could be said for girlfriends. Bring two together and critical mass.

Damico had felt good about his little tryst with Bunny, he still did, but he’d expected Lotianna to next become aware when she had a new player. A player with no connection to her past. A new person with whom he’d have to start anew. With Lotianna still an NPC but aware now, he wondered if she still remembered everything they’d been through together. No clean slate. The same person, just born-again. He still felt like he was in the right with Bunny, but he wasn’t at all sure Lotianna would feel the same way. Best to get the hell out of Dodge.

They traveled hard that day, and twenty miles later, Lotianna seemed to get a bearing on this development in her head. She walked next to Damico. She talked with him too. He fell back out of hearing from the PCs so they wouldn’t interfere with Carl saying “so, that night…”

He enjoyed it. For the first time, he was able to have a conversation where he felt like it was actually
her
he spoke to, not Carl. This was what had attracted him so much, at least initially, to Bunny. Real Human contact. It was everything he could do not to constantly invent excuses to reach out and touch her.

…

So, that night they reached another village at the end of the road. Not surprisingly, this one had a tavern, and when they entered, about half the people they’d seen the night before were here as well. The half that traveled in the same direction, presumably.

They settled in at a corner table, Lotianna snuggling up next to him, Omar on the other side,
not
snuggling, thank God. Gorthander and Jurkand went to the bar, arms around each other jovially. Arithian transformed into a barmaid-seeking missile and set off into the room.

“It’s nice how those two have started to get along,” Lotianna said, nodding at Gorthander and Jurkand.

“Yeah. I guess you kill a man in an excruciating manner, and he forgives you, and you see him in a whole new light.”

“You kinda got lost in that sentence, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but whenever I’m tackling a big sentence I take two Sherpas and a couple a strong goats.”

“Good man,” she said.

He put his arm around her, and she nestled in the crook.

Omar scoffed and waved over a barmaid. “Hey, sweet cheeks, how about a brewskie?”

The barmaid wore the traditional naughty Swedish girl outfit, but her eyes were anything but. She rolled them and smiled at Lotianna and Damico. “You want anything?”

“Beer,” Damico said. “The lady wants wine.”

Lotianna made a content affirmative noise. The barmaid smiled at them again and left to get the order, casting Omar a last, scathing look.

Damico watched the top of Lotianna’s head, content. He was happy with the prospect of more happiness down-the-line. Maybe he didn’t need to destroy the world. Maybe he could be content, just like this.

But… He sat bolt upright. “Oh, God, no.”

“What?” Lotianna and Omar asked at once.

He couldn’t decide how to answer. He
couldn’t
tell them what he’d just realized. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

Because Gorthander and Jurkand picked up their drinks, downed them in one pull, then smashed the mugs into each other’s heads.

“That!” Damico said, pointing and pretending like that’s what he’d been reacting to all along.

Gorthander roared, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. People backed up as Gorthander picked up a stool and smashed it over Jurkand’s head. Jurkand stumbled back, cursing, then hurled himself into the dwarf’s belly with a clank that couldn’t have felt good to either of them.

“What the hell?” Damico asked. He had just gotten used to them getting along. Did they draw their daily moods out of a damn hat?

“It’s just a bar fight,” Omar said.

The barmaid came back with their drinks, only to be bowled over by Gorthander and Jurkand, spraying ale into the air.

“Son of a bitch!” Omar shouted, launching himself to his feet.

“It’s just a bar fight,” Lotianna said.

Omar pushed in and smashed a nearby patron on general principle.

The place exploded into chaos. The local priest had grabbed a sword and was trying to attack with it, but it kept slipping out of his hands until he attacked with the blunt side. Another cleric had pulled out a Lucerne hammer and used it to lay into the crowd around him. He must have been an old cleric because they’d declared Lucerne hammers to be pole arms in the second edition. He must have grandfathered it in.

Meanwhile the barmaids crawled under tables, and patrons who noticed slapped them on the rumps. A wizard in a pointy hat, wearing the tavern dart-throwing medal, smashed some of the more grievous offenders over the head with his staff.

“You think we should help?” Lotianna asked.

There was a big table between them and the fight, and he was so comfortable with Lotianna curled up next to him he shook his head.

“It’s just a bar fight,” he said.

Gorthander picked Jurkand up by the ankles (he had to stand on the bar to do it) and smashed him headfirst into the floor over and over again. Arithian had crawled under a table with two barmaids and the giggling commenced. A small child ran through the legs of all the combatants, taking bets for the bookmaker in the corner.

The dwarf cursed and threw Jurkand to the ground. The man lay there limply. Gorthander frowned, discouraged. He hopped off the bar, and walked through the fight, punching crotches and kicking ankles until he arrived at the table.

“Damn,” he said.

“You killed Jurkand again, didn’t you?” Damico asked.

“I didn’t mean to! Who’d have guessed I’d roll a critical that big?”

Damico shook his head, even as Omar shouted, “You killed Jurkand!” from across the room.

Damico said, “You bastard,” but his heart wasn’t in it. He glanced back over at Lotianna, and the idea reemerged, the one that had made him curse earlier. He pulled subtly away from her before the dwarf could notice.

He couldn’t let Carl know they were together. He didn’t know how he could stop it, but he
did
know one thing.

The girlfriend always gets snatched by Act Three.

Chapter
Forty-Two

“Fine. You can have another Hraldolf scene, but I won’t promise a good one.”

—Bob Defendi

raldolf placed the new Artifact into the secret
compartment next to the old one, the one I’m not allowed to tell you about. Then he closed the secret door and left the dungeon of dungeons.