The next morning, the smell of fresh sausage roused Drake in his sleeping bag. He actually had slept—he’d slept just fine, in fact—and the fact that he had drifted off easily and had no nightmares after using a living man for target practice concerned him.
He should feel bad, shouldn’t he? He should feel at least some small measure of guilt after executing Suck, but perhaps, in addition to acclimating to this fucked up fantasy world in other ways, he was also growing numb to murder. At least the murder of his enemies.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled about this fact, but it was convenient. The less time he spent feeling guilty about killing assholes, the more time he could spend protecting himself and his people. Some back on Earth might call him a monster, but... they weren’t here.
He had a manor full of people to protect and ruthless enemies to kill. He’d worry about thorny questions of morality once he was safe and no one was threatening his people. Which, given the way things worked here, would likely be never.
Emily dropped to her knees beside his sleeping bag, already dressed in her battle maid best. She smiled down at him as she extended a silver fork with a sausage on it, then wiggled it under his nose. “Wakey wakey, Lord Gloomwood! It’s time to eat.”
He irritably pushed away the sausage. “I don’t need you to feed me.”
“I know.” Emily grinned. “But I would like to.”
“Just give me the fork and plate, please.” He’d thank Meryl for this bounty after he got done scarfing it down. “And go get yourself some food if you haven’t already.”
With a small but playful pout, she rose. “I have already eaten. So have the zarovians.”
“Oh? Good chow?”
“They devoured the assassin this morning. It was kind of you to give him to them. I think even Cresh was impressed with your generosity.”
Drake was suddenly not quite as hungry for sausage. “They ate him?” He was suddenly glad he’d remembered to harvest the man’s blood while he was still... solid.
Emily turned and walked away. “Cresh sent his apologies for not saving you a bite, but I assured him you would not mind.”
“Yeah... sure.” Drake glanced down at the sausage on the fork, mentally debated as disgust warred with delicious smell, and then took a bite.
Meryl remained a miracle worker. He scarfed down two sausages and ate the fruit as well, then wiped the juice on his sleeve. Feeding his would-be assassin to his zarovians was, he supposed, a good way to disappear a body. This was actually going to work out rather well.
Given how few people in Drake’s camp had actually seen them lug that man into his tent, Suck’s “Gilded Blades” might never know what happened to him. Drake could do without assassins taking a personal interest in him. He had enough assassins taking a financial interest.
Slipping out of bed in just the light tunic and pants he’d gone to sleep in immediately made him shiver. It was even colder in the morning, on the road, than it was in his manor. Fortunately, someone—likely Lydia—had stacked a fresh set of dark silverweave clothing on the chair beside him. A heavy fur cloak sat on the chair back. His steward rocked.
Drake grabbed the clothing and stumbled into the private area in the big tent set aside for changing. Once he was suitably attired for manor lord business, he stepped out and stretched. Given he’d had his blood sucked out last night, he felt absolutely fine now.
Better than fine. He felt perfect. Despite sleeping on hard ground again last night, he felt none of the aches and pains he’d come to associate with roughing it in the wild. Every muscle in his body felt both alert and energized, and he suspected he knew why.
This was Samuel’s rarity. The burnished regeneration now filling his body extended even to basic aches and pains. Given what he knew about aging and how human cells wore out over time, he wondered if this ability could even make him immortal. Would he want to be?
No. Not in this world. Sooner or later, everyone he liked would be dead and all he’d have left was constantly dodging murder attempts. And if he did eventually settle down with someone like Sky, or some other hot and sexily murderous woman, she’d die of old age as well.
He’d be alone. Being alone sucked. So no immortality, even if he survived all this. Eventually, he’d switch rarities and shuffle off into comfort or death.
Before he’d been trapped here he’d hardly ever thought about the future—it had been a struggle simply to keep an apartment and a construction job—and now, there seemed little point in planning for more than the next few weeks. Still... the fact that he still actually missed his mother and some of his friends back home assured him he wasn’t actually evil.
He still felt things. He just didn’t lose sleep over murdering child-killing assassins. As for the “I store vials of my defeated enemies’ blood” bit? That was just planning ahead.
With his latest minor morality crisis resolved, Drake lifted the tent flap and stepped out into what was already a busy camp. Most of the other tents were already down, and servants were busy packing up the wagons. He also didn’t miss the zarovians arrayed in a protective ring in all directions. After last night, Cresh and his people were taking no chances.
He and Emily had been the only people in the tent when he woke up, but a brief visual survey spotted Anna eagerly helping two women pack up a wagon. She was grinning and even laughing as they worked, so no ill effects from being abducted last night. At this point, the poor child must be more than used to it.
After a brief debate, Drake walked back into his tent and grabbed Magnum. As large and heavy as his crossbow/rifle was, he wasn’t about to leave it in the wagon another day. It was going in his carriage as of today, and he remembered then Magnum only held two bolts.
Reloading. It was time to learn how to reload while his people packed up. He hurried back out of the tent once more and searched until he found a man he recognized.
“Hugo! Morning.”
The man he’d met yesterday night seemed surprised to see him, and even more surprised to see Drake actually remembered his name. “Lord Gloomwood? Is there trouble?”
“No trouble. Just need to grab my crossbow bolts. I test-fired my weapon for the first time yesterday night, so I need to reload.”
Hugo nodded and hurried for the back of the wagon. The man grunted again as he attempted to lift out a large wooden box. It must be heavy.
Drake grabbed the handle on one side of the box. “Don’t throw your back out. Grab the other end and we’ll lift it together.”
Hugo stared. “But lord—”
Drake grinned at him. “You think I can’t handle a box?”
The man blinked rapidly and then grabbed the other handle. “Of course not, lord.”
“Three, two, one. Lift.” With Drake’s help, they easily lifted the box out of the wagon and then carried it to his carriage. The box was going in his carriage today too. He needed bolts.
“Just set it down here.”
“But, my lord—”
This man really was protesting endlessly. “Lydia can help me load it. You’ve got more important things to do, don’t you? Like packing up the rest of my wagons?”
“Yes, lord!” Hugo snapped to attention, pivoted on one heel, and hurried back to his business. Still, he didn’t look frightened, just eager to please. Drake would take it.
He knelt beside the box and opened the latch. It wasn’t locked. Once he looked inside, he whistled. There must be at least fifty bolts in this box, which explained the weight. Unlike arrows, which were wooden except for the tips, crossbow bolts were heavier.
Given how easily the single bolt he’d fired had gone through Suck, Drake wouldn’t complain about the weight. His memory of the wet crunch vaguely nauseated him, which made him feel even better about not being evil. He picked out two bolts and closed the box.
He walked back into the tent and set the bolts on the table, then examined Magnum. Goktul hadn’t sent any instructions, but this couldn’t be that hard to figure out. The first thing he’d do was put the “safety” back in its original position. That made the most sense.
He next tried rotating the barrel mechanism manually, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed firing a bolt was the only way to rotate the mechanism, and he didn’t want to impale some hapless servant through the wall of his tent. He was only just getting them to trust him.
Still, Magnum was easy to rest on its side—Goktul had likely designed it that way, since the “limbs” on each of the four sides were narrow—so he settled it with one empty rail facing up and pulled on the empty strings. It wouldn’t budge. How was he going to reload this thing?
Given how hard it shot bolts, Drake should have known he couldn’t string it manually without super strength. Did it have a hidden crank somewhere? He had asked Goktul to make it easy to reload, and the zarovian smith had done an absolutely bang up job with all his other requests, so he must have prepared something. Drake looked closer.
He soon spotted a small depressed circle next to the front of the mechanism, one just big enough for a fingertip. It was the size of a button, but it didn’t look like one. Still...
He pressed the little circle. To his delight, something whirred inside the mechanism, and then the bowstring, the “limbs” on either side of it, and the little moving rack on the rail cranked back of their own accord. Was this magic? Drake didn’t care so long as it worked.
Once it finished cranking all the way back, which only took about ten seconds, Drake grabbed a bolt and eased it into the notch on the rack, which sat just ahead of the now taut bowstring. It fit perfectly, and a faint snap assured him it wouldn’t fall out.
Easy to reload, indeed. Goktul had made this amazing crossbow absolutely idiot-proof, and as with Meryl, Drake suspected he could make a fortune if he somehow exported the talents of his blood thralls back to Earth. Was it possible Goktul had a rarity that let him make magic weapons? Or was he just really good at making weapons?
Regardless, any idiot could reload this thing, and Drake repeated the process with the remaining empty rail. He now had four bolts loaded once more, and could load one new bolt every ten seconds. He grinned. He was going to kill so many assassins with this thing.
He lifted Magnum with a grunt and carried it to the carriage. He doubted he could run with his weapon—the best he might manage was a lumbering jog—but still, he was more than satisfied with his magical revolving crossbow/hunting rifle.
Once he’d stowed his magnificent crossbow inside his carriage, he spotted Anna approaching with Robby in tow. He hadn’t seen her creepy wooden doll for several days, and its faux green emerald eyes gleamed in the light.
Drake chuckled when she arrived. “Taking Robby out for a morning stroll?”
“He does like his exercise,” Anna said. “But lord, I wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s up?”
“Could I ride with you and Lydia today?”
Perhaps she was just a little affected by being kidnapped last night. Now that Samuel wasn’t taking up an entire couch, they had four seats. “You bet, squirt. Hop in.”
“Oh, I will!” Anna grinned wide. “I just have to help the others finish packing up.”
“Sure. Just find me when you’re done.”
As Anna hurried off with Robby bouncing in one hand, Samuel cleared his throat. Drake hadn’t even noticed the man’s approach. He glanced at Samuel to find the man not watching him at all. He was watching Anna.
“Got a problem with her sharing our carriage today, old man?”
Samuel simply shook his head. “Before we leave, we should talk.”
He’d expected this. Samuel was still pissed about the murder last night. “Sure,” Drake said. “Where do you want to talk?”
“Behind your tent would be fine. We should remain inside the zarovian perimeter.”
Drake motioned. “Lead the way.”
Samuel strode off with what Drake could only describe as military precision to his steps. He’d actually been growing to like the man, but it seemed their honeymoon period was over. Still, until he had a decision from Lydia, he’d let the man think whatever he liked.
The next morning, the smell of fresh sausage roused Drake in his sleeping bag. He actually had slept—he’d slept just fine, in fact—and the fact that he had drifted off easily and had no nightmares after using a living man for target practice concerned him.
He should feel bad, shouldn’t he? He should feel at least some small measure of guilt after executing Suck, but perhaps, in addition to acclimating to this fucked up fantasy world in other ways, he was also growing numb to murder. At least the murder of his enemies.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled about this fact, but it was convenient. The less time he spent feeling guilty about killing assholes, the more time he could spend protecting himself and his people. Some back on Earth might call him a monster, but... they weren’t here.
He had a manor full of people to protect and ruthless enemies to kill. He’d worry about thorny questions of morality once he was safe and no one was threatening his people. Which, given the way things worked here, would likely be never.
Emily dropped to her knees beside his sleeping bag, already dressed in her battle maid best. She smiled down at him as she extended a silver fork with a sausage on it, then wiggled it under his nose. “Wakey wakey, Lord Gloomwood! It’s time to eat.”
He irritably pushed away the sausage. “I don’t need you to feed me.”
“I know.” Emily grinned. “But I would like to.”
“Just give me the fork and plate, please.” He’d thank Meryl for this bounty after he got done scarfing it down. “And go get yourself some food if you haven’t already.”
With a small but playful pout, she rose. “I have already eaten. So have the zarovians.”
“Oh? Good chow?”
“They devoured the assassin this morning. It was kind of you to give him to them. I think even Cresh was impressed with your generosity.”
Drake was suddenly not quite as hungry for sausage. “They ate him?” He was suddenly glad he’d remembered to harvest the man’s blood while he was still... solid.
Emily turned and walked away. “Cresh sent his apologies for not saving you a bite, but I assured him you would not mind.”
“Yeah... sure.” Drake glanced down at the sausage on the fork, mentally debated as disgust warred with delicious smell, and then took a bite.
Meryl remained a miracle worker. He scarfed down two sausages and ate the fruit as well, then wiped the juice on his sleeve. Feeding his would-be assassin to his zarovians was, he supposed, a good way to disappear a body. This was actually going to work out rather well.
Given how few people in Drake’s camp had actually seen them lug that man into his tent, Suck’s “Gilded Blades” might never know what happened to him. Drake could do without assassins taking a personal interest in him. He had enough assassins taking a financial interest.
Slipping out of bed in just the light tunic and pants he’d gone to sleep in immediately made him shiver. It was even colder in the morning, on the road, than it was in his manor. Fortunately, someone—likely Lydia—had stacked a fresh set of dark silverweave clothing on the chair beside him. A heavy fur cloak sat on the chair back. His steward rocked.
Drake grabbed the clothing and stumbled into the private area in the big tent set aside for changing. Once he was suitably attired for manor lord business, he stepped out and stretched. Given he’d had his blood sucked out last night, he felt absolutely fine now.
Better than fine. He felt perfect. Despite sleeping on hard ground again last night, he felt none of the aches and pains he’d come to associate with roughing it in the wild. Every muscle in his body felt both alert and energized, and he suspected he knew why.
This was Samuel’s rarity. The burnished regeneration now filling his body extended even to basic aches and pains. Given what he knew about aging and how human cells wore out over time, he wondered if this ability could even make him immortal. Would he want to be?
No. Not in this world. Sooner or later, everyone he liked would be dead and all he’d have left was constantly dodging murder attempts. And if he did eventually settle down with someone like Sky, or some other hot and sexily murderous woman, she’d die of old age as well.
He’d be alone. Being alone sucked. So no immortality, even if he survived all this. Eventually, he’d switch rarities and shuffle off into comfort or death.
Before he’d been trapped here he’d hardly ever thought about the future—it had been a struggle simply to keep an apartment and a construction job—and now, there seemed little point in planning for more than the next few weeks. Still... the fact that he still actually missed his mother and some of his friends back home assured him he wasn’t actually evil.
He still felt things. He just didn’t lose sleep over murdering child-killing assassins. As for the “I store vials of my defeated enemies’ blood” bit? That was just planning ahead.
With his latest minor morality crisis resolved, Drake lifted the tent flap and stepped out into what was already a busy camp. Most of the other tents were already down, and servants were busy packing up the wagons. He also didn’t miss the zarovians arrayed in a protective ring in all directions. After last night, Cresh and his people were taking no chances.
He and Emily had been the only people in the tent when he woke up, but a brief visual survey spotted Anna eagerly helping two women pack up a wagon. She was grinning and even laughing as they worked, so no ill effects from being abducted last night. At this point, the poor child must be more than used to it.
After a brief debate, Drake walked back into his tent and grabbed Magnum. As large and heavy as his crossbow/rifle was, he wasn’t about to leave it in the wagon another day. It was going in his carriage as of today, and he remembered then Magnum only held two bolts.
Reloading. It was time to learn how to reload while his people packed up. He hurried back out of the tent once more and searched until he found a man he recognized.
“Hugo! Morning.”
The man he’d met yesterday night seemed surprised to see him, and even more surprised to see Drake actually remembered his name. “Lord Gloomwood? Is there trouble?”
“No trouble. Just need to grab my crossbow bolts. I test-fired my weapon for the first time yesterday night, so I need to reload.”
Hugo nodded and hurried for the back of the wagon. The man grunted again as he attempted to lift out a large wooden box. It must be heavy.
Drake grabbed the handle on one side of the box. “Don’t throw your back out. Grab the other end and we’ll lift it together.”
Hugo stared. “But lord—”
Drake grinned at him. “You think I can’t handle a box?”
The man blinked rapidly and then grabbed the other handle. “Of course not, lord.”
“Three, two, one. Lift.” With Drake’s help, they easily lifted the box out of the wagon and then carried it to his carriage. The box was going in his carriage today too. He needed bolts.
“Just set it down here.”
“But, my lord—”
This man really was protesting endlessly. “Lydia can help me load it. You’ve got more important things to do, don’t you? Like packing up the rest of my wagons?”
“Yes, lord!” Hugo snapped to attention, pivoted on one heel, and hurried back to his business. Still, he didn’t look frightened, just eager to please. Drake would take it.
He knelt beside the box and opened the latch. It wasn’t locked. Once he looked inside, he whistled. There must be at least fifty bolts in this box, which explained the weight. Unlike arrows, which were wooden except for the tips, crossbow bolts were heavier.
Given how easily the single bolt he’d fired had gone through Suck, Drake wouldn’t complain about the weight. His memory of the wet crunch vaguely nauseated him, which made him feel even better about not being evil. He picked out two bolts and closed the box.
He walked back into the tent and set the bolts on the table, then examined Magnum. Goktul hadn’t sent any instructions, but this couldn’t be that hard to figure out. The first thing he’d do was put the “safety” back in its original position. That made the most sense.
He next tried rotating the barrel mechanism manually, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed firing a bolt was the only way to rotate the mechanism, and he didn’t want to impale some hapless servant through the wall of his tent. He was only just getting them to trust him.
Still, Magnum was easy to rest on its side—Goktul had likely designed it that way, since the “limbs” on each of the four sides were narrow—so he settled it with one empty rail facing up and pulled on the empty strings. It wouldn’t budge. How was he going to reload this thing?
Given how hard it shot bolts, Drake should have known he couldn’t string it manually without super strength. Did it have a hidden crank somewhere? He had asked Goktul to make it easy to reload, and the zarovian smith had done an absolutely bang up job with all his other requests, so he must have prepared something. Drake looked closer.
He soon spotted a small depressed circle next to the front of the mechanism, one just big enough for a fingertip. It was the size of a button, but it didn’t look like one. Still...
He pressed the little circle. To his delight, something whirred inside the mechanism, and then the bowstring, the “limbs” on either side of it, and the little moving rack on the rail cranked back of their own accord. Was this magic? Drake didn’t care so long as it worked.
Once it finished cranking all the way back, which only took about ten seconds, Drake grabbed a bolt and eased it into the notch on the rack, which sat just ahead of the now taut bowstring. It fit perfectly, and a faint snap assured him it wouldn’t fall out.
Easy to reload, indeed. Goktul had made this amazing crossbow absolutely idiot-proof, and as with Meryl, Drake suspected he could make a fortune if he somehow exported the talents of his blood thralls back to Earth. Was it possible Goktul had a rarity that let him make magic weapons? Or was he just really good at making weapons?
Regardless, any idiot could reload this thing, and Drake repeated the process with the remaining empty rail. He now had four bolts loaded once more, and could load one new bolt every ten seconds. He grinned. He was going to kill so many assassins with this thing.
He lifted Magnum with a grunt and carried it to the carriage. He doubted he could run with his weapon—the best he might manage was a lumbering jog—but still, he was more than satisfied with his magical revolving crossbow/hunting rifle.
Once he’d stowed his magnificent crossbow inside his carriage, he spotted Anna approaching with Robby in tow. He hadn’t seen her creepy wooden doll for several days, and its faux green emerald eyes gleamed in the light.
Drake chuckled when she arrived. “Taking Robby out for a morning stroll?”
“He does like his exercise,” Anna said. “But lord, I wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s up?”
“Could I ride with you and Lydia today?”
Perhaps she was just a little affected by being kidnapped last night. Now that Samuel wasn’t taking up an entire couch, they had four seats. “You bet, squirt. Hop in.”
“Oh, I will!” Anna grinned wide. “I just have to help the others finish packing up.”
“Sure. Just find me when you’re done.”
As Anna hurried off with Robby bouncing in one hand, Samuel cleared his throat. Drake hadn’t even noticed the man’s approach. He glanced at Samuel to find the man not watching him at all. He was watching Anna.
“Got a problem with her sharing our carriage today, old man?”
Samuel simply shook his head. “Before we leave, we should talk.”
He’d expected this. Samuel was still pissed about the murder last night. “Sure,” Drake said. “Where do you want to talk?”
“Behind your tent would be fine. We should remain inside the zarovian perimeter.”
Drake motioned. “Lead the way.”
Samuel strode off with what Drake could only describe as military precision to his steps. He’d actually been growing to like the man, but it seemed their honeymoon period was over. Still, until he had a decision from Lydia, he’d let the man think whatever he liked.
