Death After Death

Simon crawled into a chest, and as he crawled out of the other side, he realized that was exactly what he’d crawled out of as well. That was weird enough, but he was somewhat reassured to see that it wasn’t the same chest. That might have meant that there was some other magic at play.

Going down the wrong path like that would be kind of funny, he thought as he slowly got to his feet and stretched his aching back. Even if it would kill the run.

The chest in the dragon’s lair had been a weighty, ancient thing with rusted steel banding. It had been built to hold something valuable, like golden jewelry or religious artifacts. The one he climbed out of, on the other hand, was a flimsier thing, made for books or bolts of cloth; it didn’t even have a lock on it.

Simon looked down to the unfamiliar blade in his hand and studied the red leather scabbard. The thing was crisscrossed in gilt lines, and though most of the gems that decorated it were missing, it was easy to see that this saber had belonged to someone very rich or important. The thing was fancy enough that he almost pulled the slightly curving blade from its sheath to see if it was magical. It was only then that he realized he wasn’t alone.

The light fall of rain had dulled all other sounds, but a word cut through the gloomy afternoon when someone yelled, “Heave!”

Simon whirled around and understood a lot more about the scene. He’d noticed the chest and a few of the crates next to it, but now that he’d turned fully around, he could see that they weren’t alone. Someone had emptied an entire wagon, and now the people who had done so were trying to push it out of where its wheels had gotten in the thick mud.

I was summoned to this level to help people get their wagon unstuck? Simon thought, smirking as he studied the group. It seemed pretty ingenious, but he supposed that history turned on such things. He’d been hoping for a beast, but this, at least, was straightforward.

The group didn’t seem dangerous. On the contrary, they seemed almost helpless. Two wagons drawn by oxen had been pulled forward quite a ways, and everyone from those wagons was trying to get this one unstuck. The only people still inside the thing were the driver and a woman with her child.

Simon wondered if they were merchants, but as he looked past them, he decided that they were probably refugees. The surrounding countryside was in rough shape. The fields had been planted but never harvested, and the village passed, which had mostly been burned down.

For a moment, Simon had second thoughts as to whether this group, or whatever villagers remained over there, were his priority, but he decided that didn’t matter. First, I can help these people get moving, and then I can check out over there. There’s no hurry. He’d long since learned that rushing new levels wasn’t a very good idea.

He almost moved to join them, but when he looked down at himself, he realized. He realized he was still half covered in blood and quickly ducked. When no one screamed, after he waited for a few seconds, he started scrubbing himself in mud to cover the bloodstains that reached his knees. He’d been slaughtering a dragon for the best part of a day, and he certainly looked the part.

“Put you’re back into men!” the same voice called out again. “We’ve got miles to go before dark. This is the last place should be spenden’ the night!”

Simon ignored their efforts and focused on getting himself as dirty as possible. A few moments later, he no longer looked like a blood-soaked maniac. Instead, he merely looked homeless and downtrodden, which he saw as a serious improvement. Then he belted on the sword and walked over to help them out.

When he approached the group, no one noticed him right away. But when he got close enough, it raised sudden shouts of alarm, and several men put their hands on their hilts. Simon made no sudden moves. He didn’t need to. No one in this group was a trained warrior. They were out-of-work tradesmen and men too young to grow beards. He could take all of them at once without a single spell.

“Who are you?” the man who had been calling time for those who were pushing and pulling on the stuck wagon. He was the most imposing of the lot, with a barrel chest and a loud voice that was used to being obeyed. He was also unarmed.

“Just a traveler on the road, same as you,” he said calmly. “It looked like you could use some help.”

“We can’t pay,” the man snapped, even as other people in the group looked at him with more gratitude.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Who can in these times,” Simon answered with a shrug. Normally, he would have left it there, but he could see these people were still unreasonably paranoid. He couldn’t say why, but if he wanted them to trust him even a little, being selfless wasn’t the way to go. “I’d take a ride to the next town, though, assuming we get it unstuck. How's that?”

A few of the men conferred for a moment, and after a little yelling, they decided to let Simon help them, though several people grumbled about what good he could possibly do. Simon ignored those. He knew he couldn’t push this thing out of the mud. He did know they were doing it wrong, though.

This group was pushing it as hard as they could and then giving up, each time, it would slide forward slightly and then slide back again into the same ruts. It was a complete waste of time, and after doing that two more times, they let him try it his way. So, one small push at a time, he got them synched up until they were rocking the thing back and forth. After that, it was just a matter of seconds before the whole thing gave, and the wagon moved forward once more.

It got stuck twice more in the broad puddle before it escaped immediately, but a few minutes later, it was stopped on dry ground and the top of the small hill, and everyone else was busy loading it back up with all the goods that had been removed. The more Simon studied those goods, the more he decided they were refugees, and the less he thought they were traders.

He struck up a conversation with some of them, and slowly, the picture started to come together. As expected, he was back in Brin, not so far from the capital, as it turned out. He was unsurprised to find out that there was another war for succession taking place, though this time at least it wasn’t between the prince and a duke, but between the prince and confederation of southern barons and counts that thought they were being mistreated.

“Sounds complicated,” Simon remarked, not completely feigning his disinterest.

It was important stuff, and he should know it, but in this rain, it was all he could do to cope with the idea that no matter how many times he tried to make peace rein in Brin, war returned. It was a constant problem.

That made him reflect on what it was Helades had planned with her elaborate path. He had no idea how anything could lead to peace in a land like this.

Gradually, the topic turned from the broader conflict and who was usurping the rights of whom into the more specific horrors of where they were at currently. “You keep gabbin’ about who’s owed what instead of getting a move on, and the bandits are sure to settle that question for you come nightfall,” the presumptive leader growled. “The sooner we cross the river and head north, the better I’m liable to feel.”

Simon understood his point. In hard times, the only things that proliferated were rats and bandits, which weren’t much more than rats in human form, according to some. He’d tried to show them mercy in the past because he knew most of them would become decent human beings again when whatever troubles had caused their situation were past. He’d even paid a few for expediency. These days, he felt more inclined to end them on sight, but flashbacks of that awful version of himself he’d seen so recently kept him on his best behavior.

When it was all said and done, Simon took a spot on the damp buckboard near the driver. It didn’t shield him from the rain, but there was no more room in the back with everyone else. That suited him fine.

I still have some gold, he thought to himself. When we get where we’re going, I’ll get some hot wine and a warm bath and chase the chill away. Where they were going - that was an open question, as it turned out.

“It ain’t been decided,” ultimately, the gray-bearded driver confessed. “Away, that’s all we know for now. To somewhere in Duke Brin’s lands. The late King’s nephews have stayed entirely out of this war, and they’re strong enough to maintain the peace in at least that small corner of the world.”

“Well, if things fall apart, we can always go west and keep on going until we get to Schwarzenbruck,” Simon answered with a laugh, suddenly grateful that he hadn’t killed the Duke in the final version of that conflict so long ago. The man was a scumbag, but had he done so, it was likely he would have made this level that much worse.

That sparked an idea in Simon’s mind, and he started to go down the rabbit hole of exactly what might be influencing what when the driver next to him shot him a dark look. “Don’t even joke about that place. Its very name is cursed.”

That’s a bit of a strong reaction, Simon thought, taken aback. He let the topic shift back to the roads and the weather, which seemed to be the driver’s favorite things to complain about, but he definitely planned to revisit that topic later if he got the chance.

He never did, though. As the sun started to set, not long after that, one of the members of the wagon ahead of them whistled and gestured to the right. He and the driver turned to look but initially saw nothing. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, though, he saw motion in the ruined village, armed motion. There were almost a dozen of them that Simon could see spreading out near the edge of the village; some had swords, and others had bows, but all were armed.

The road that they were on was a windy one, and the bridge was only just visible in the distance, but with overloaded wagons and tired oxen, it wasn’t like they could just drop the hammer and outrun whoever was approaching them. No, they had to follow the road, which meant they’d get even closer to these assholes before they got further away.

“Guess I didn’t get you guys unstuck fast enough,” Simon thought with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” the driver asked, looking at him nervously.

“I’m saying, this is my stop,” Simon said, hopping off the side of the wagon and walking out into the field. “Drive safe. I’ll do what I can.

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