STALKER7

An ongoing story about professional dungeon delvers and the dirty, dangerous jobs they do for their wealthy patrons.

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***

Chapter 7 – CROSSING LINES

 “You got a death wish, Shiver? Or does someone important want you dead?” Commander Lodna set Mikal’s travel permits down on her desk and stared, waiting for an answer.

Compact and hard as a fist, she was a middle-aged woman with black hair and startling green eyes the color of spring moss. The first ranger, a man named Jakks, had herded Mikal and his crew into the central building inside the fort, into a small, low room. There, the commander was seated at a large, heavy desk that in Mikal’s mind, could easily have doubled as a street barricade. On it, multiple stacks of paper and cloth-bound ledgers were arrayed at neat angles like a military formation. Dressed in the dark green cloak and stained leather armor of the King’s Rangers, a single brass chest tab was the only thing that marked her as an officer. That and a brusque, perpetually annoyed air. If Edna Loke at The Short Shovel had had a sister, Mikal thought she would feel a lot like this woman. 

“I have a contract,” Mikal answered politely. “A job, a crew, and a deadline.”

The commander placed a finger on the paperwork. “This says your delve is in the Kermir March. Where, exactly?”

“Details like that are confidential, between the patron and myself.”

“Details like that are my job, digger man. When I have to send my people to retrieve your bodies – or what’s left of them – they’ll need to know where to look. Answer the question, or get on the next wagon south.”

Mikal hesitated. Vera stepped up. “A place called Yash Vyat,” she said. “A day north of here, give or take.”

A glance passed between the commander and Jakks, followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. “I know where it is,” Commander Lodna said, finally. She tossed the bundle of travel papers back to Mikal. “Forget your contract. Take your crew and get on that wagon.”

“I can’t do that,” Mikal said.

“Sure you can.” She eyed Mikal up and down for a moment, then sighed heavily. “But you won’t, will you?”

Her gaze turned to the ranger, Jakks. “What the hell are they thinking in Osbet, sending people across the river like this? Stupid is spreading down there quicker than a rash in a whorehouse.”

Jakks only shrugged.

Mikal debated telling her the King and Council had revoked the Edict, but decided it wasn’t the time, nor was it his place. “We were told it was safe there now. Safer, anyway,” he explained instead.

“Safer…  Skode shit. Horror clings to that place like a foul odor. They should have burned it to the ground with Horiach Tien.” Commander Lodna waved a hand at Jakks. “The sergeant here is a real pain in my arse, but I wouldn’t willingly send him to Yash Vyat, no matter how bad he pissed me off.”

“You sent me to Osbet that one time,” the soldier mused. “Almost as bad.”

A smile flickered on the commander’s lips. “True, but still. Yash Vyat… of all the sites in this cursed place.”

“Scenic view, at least,” Jakks offered.

The commander snorted, looked at Mikal, Vera and the rest of the crew one by one. “Only seven of you? 

“There a problem?” Vera asked.

Commander Lodna shook her head, disbelief mixed with disapproval. “A full crew of Bluebacks crossed a month ago. A dozen men, with armed guards. They flashed the same kind of royal permit, and played the ‘confidential’ card with me, too. Flat out refused to divulge their destination. Well, they were due back last week, so now sergeant Jakks has to take a squad of new boots to find them.”

She glared at Mikal and the others one more time like she was about to have them arrested, then relented. “Your permit is good. Permission to cross the Black Line hereby granted to Shiver and Funk, Salvors and Surveyors from the city of Nagront. Crew of seven.”

She scratched a note in one of the ledgers on her desk. “Jakks is ferrying over tomorrow morning. You can accompany him and his squad as far as the Bone Road. After that, you’re on your own. May the fates be kind and your devils be blind.”

“Thank you.” Mikal tucked the permit packet back in his vest pocket.

“Don’t thank me yet, Shiver.” She shifted her attention to the nearest stack of papers. “I’m just hoping I don’t have to send Jakks out in another month.”

Their meeting was over.

***

Mikal was up before the sun. He’d barely slept, but he was strangely alert. Laying on a cot, in the dark silence of the empty barracks room, there was a familiar, steady thrum in his chest.

He was loathe to admit it but the truth was he never felt more alive than on a delve. A husk addict once told him she got the same feeling right before she lit a pipe. He’d laughed it off at the time but deep down he worried it was the same kind of need.

After all, he’d sworn to retire a dozen times but always found himself shouldering his pack for ‘just one more’. Which was exactly what he and Vera had argued about that night, six months ago – just another row in a long line of heated exchanges that became the last one without Mikal recognizing it. The one where Vera had been dead serious and had walked out when he confessed to signing another contract without checking with her – after he had sworn he wouldn’t – the contract for a small job on an estate for some pompous ass named Raderburg.

Last thing Vera said that day was there was a thin line between ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’. Now, here he was, on another job, signed with another broken promise, about to cross another line – the Black Line itself.

Gods damn, Shiver. Way to put a crimp in your day.

He rose, dressed quickly, gathered his pack and headed out the door. Prepare and concentrate. That’s how the job gets done. Come back with your crew intact and items in hand. Show the Union, show Stralla and Savoy, show the whole of Nagront that Shiver and Funk are back in business.

Outside in the growing light, the fort seemed far larger, thicker, than he’d realized the night before. The walls, doors, gates, buildings… everything was heavily reinforced and a head bigger than usual, like it had been built for a full regiment of giants. Just then, all Mikal could see were a handful of normal-sized guards pacing the ramparts in the cold, sharp air.

Outside the fortress, the sky was high and hard, the blue gray of old steel, towering over tall, jagged mountains and dark trees that stretched as far as his eyes could see. The river itself, the Fekete Ver, was broad and black, and directly ahead, a series of gigantic, uneven stone columns rose out of the water and marched, two by two, toward the far shore. Old support pillars for a bridge that was demolished a hundred years ago.  

At the river bank, a large, cow-bellied longboat was tied to a short pier. Three young rangers were stowing packs in the rear as Sergeant Jakks sorted crossbow bolts from a crate into four rigid leather cases. He glanced up as Mikal approached.

“Saw someone in your crew had a crossbow. Need bolts?”

Along with a flanged mace named ‘Grin’, Vera carried her father’s old hunting crossbow. She preferred bodkin points on her quarrels. Cheap, simple, they were strong enough to pierce skode hide and bandit armor. The ones in the crate had stubby shafts with tight fletching and odd, four-bladed, dark steel heads. Mean looking bastards. A quiver-full would be another thing to lug, but Mikal wasn’t one to turn down free gear.

“If you can spare them, sure,” he replied.

“The Commander told me to offer what I could. There’s a bundle of rations in the boat for you too.”

“Appreciate that.” Mikal continued. “Those bolt heads. I’ve never seen that kind before.”

The sergeant held up one of the quarrels. “We forge them here. Broad head with four blades for penetration and heavy bleeding. Barbed so it can’t be pulled out without tearing the wound bigger.”

Jakks nodded north across the river. “An old make from the Founding War. Supposedly designed by Domokos himself, back in the day, if you believe that. Whatever the case, they’ll stop just about anything you might run into over there.”  

Mikal eyed the bladed heads. “What about things they won’t stop?”

Jakks handed a fifth hard leather quiver to Mikal. “Don’t run into those.”

Mikal hefted the heavy case and decided he’d carry it; no telling what Vera would think of the strange bolts and since he wanted things between them to go back the way they’d been before everything went to shit, he figured he’d keep them out of sight, out of mind. Better to have them and not need them, than the other way around.

“When Stein hired me to keep an eye on you, I didn’t think it would involve so much gods damned walking.” Lomer Jon’s voice.

Speaking of shit.

Mikal turned to find the rest of the crew – his crew – waiting on the river bank. “Guess you should have read the fine print, eh?” he replied.  

Vera was making sure everyone had their own provisions as well as their share of the crew gear. Lomer Jon’s pack sat upright in the scrabby grass and he was eyeing it like it was a cut of rancid beef. Beside him, Shen was carefully arranging pouches across her back, chest, and thighs. “Balance is everything,” she said as Vera passed.

The farm boy Davorin pulled what looked like two packs onto his back without blinking an eye. He shrugged once to settle them, then grinned. “Found a good walking stick,” he said, and held up a tree branch as thick as Mikal’s forearm. It was sturdy enough to stun an ox.

Orba stood slightly apart with Gellert, rolling a blanket and waxed canvas cloth together into a bedroll, then slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re going on a hike, Gel. Remember I told you?”

Her brother nodded. “Is the scary lady coming with us?”

“What scary lady?”

“Last night. The one at the desk.”

Orba shook her head. “No, Gel. The commander is staying here.”

Gellert nodded. “Figured as much. She thinks we’re going to die.”

An awkward pause as everyone in earshot took that in.

“Oi, dim. How about you keep your mouth shut?” Lomer Jon said.

“Back off, Lomer,” Vera called out. “Kid didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Why are you pissing on me? You want that hex dogging our steps?”

Orba stepped in front of her brother protectively. “Gellert can read people, that’s all. It wasn’t a hex. He doesn’t check his words all the time.”

“He’s a joke.” Lomer Jon pulled one cutlass from its garish yellow sheath. “Why is he even here?” he demanded. “A mule would have been more useful.”

“He’s here because I want him here,” Mikal said. “You on the other hand…” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the boss,” Lomer Jon said, then pointed his cutlass at Orba. “He’s your problem, darling. Leash him, if you have to. I’m not risking my skin for a lackwit.” 

“I’m not your darling,” Orba said curtly. “And Gel isn’t simple.”

Lomer Jon smirked. “You sure about that?”

Shen, Davorin, and Vera each took half a step forward, ready to give Lomer a good kicking. The rangers all stopped whatever they were doing to watch.

“Alright,” Mikal snapped. “If you lot are done saying your ‘sweet, good mornings’, stow your packs and settle your arses in the boat where the rangers tell you. We’re burning daylight.”

Vera hesitated for a split second then let out a deep breath. “You heard the boss, grab your gear. Let’s move.”

One by one, Shen, Davorin, Gellert, and Orba filed down to the boat. Vera followed. Lomer Jon was last.

Mikal stopped him as he went to move past, but the knife man spoke first. “Save it, Shiver,” he hissed. “You think I want to traipse through the woods with a litter of runts and a burnt-out delver? I’m here because the Union wants a piece of this and I was promised good coin to see they get it, so don’t cross me.”

All at once, the morning’s earlier sharpness hummed in Mikal’s bones. “I’m crossing all sorts of things lately, Jon. Including the Black fucking Line. Outlawed for a hundred years and I’m the one they asked for when the time came. Not you.”

Mikal grinned. “You might be a hard man in Nagront, but we’re here now, in the wilds. So, stow your shit or I’ll leave you down in the dark and spin Stein a tale of your tragic demise.”

“Hey,” Vera called out. “We’re all waiting on you two. We’re ready to go across.”