“Even a blind sow gets an acorn once in a while.”
JIM KREMS
Walking the same street for the tenth time that evening, Captain Corbyn Cauldron of the King’s Own 25th Lancers couldn’t believe the orders in his hand. The Captain cut a dashing figure in his green, perfectly tailored lancer uniform. Six foot, eleven inches tall, massively broad shoulders displayed corded muscles running down his arms; the Captain was the perfect example of the best type of officer. While the uniform bore the rank of Captain on the shoulder lapels, the medal insignias filling his chest spoke of a warrior having seen many successful battles.
The Captain fumed at his Sergeant, shaking the orders in the Sergeant’s face. “I realize we must obey our commanders. By the high moon above, why in this world or any other is a lancer regiment off their horses, searching like madmen through the basements and attics of every ducal manor in the royal quarter of the city? Are there no infantry divisions to tread into people’s homes?”
Sergeant David Wise, hiding a smile behind a military expression, nodded sagely at his commanding officer. He took the crumpled orders from his Captain’s hand and gave them off to Private Donont for the fifth time that night. Wise was almost as tall as his Captain. While his green uniform wasn’t as neat as his leader’s, he bore almost as many medals on his chest. As an officer, Cauldron had to be clean-shaven, but a Sergeant could sport a thick beard and long hair, and that’s what Wise liked to do. A few gray hairs coursed through the beard, but Wise was fond of saying, “I’ve earned every one of those hairs in the King’s service.”
With the moon high, irritation at silly orders forced Cauldron into a nervous pacing. Wise stood back, waiting to carry out orders and remembering many a time when his leader rode into the thick of battle, displaying not the slightest bit of tension. The good Captain showed himself to be a coiled spring of irritation now.
For some strange reason, unknown to the normally in-the-know Sergeant, his leader displayed more power and deadly capability when the moon was full and high. The Captain’s magical ability proved itself greater during the times of the full moon as well. Magic-using battle leaders weren’t that uncommon in the King’s regiments, but his Captain was something special.
Corbyn proved himself a deadly swordsman and a crafty spell-user in the service of the human empire of Dulse. In past conflicts, Wise witnessed Corbyn’s eyes glow the color of the moon and saw moon-colored lightning leap from Cauldron’s hands to burn enemies massing in front of their battle position.
Known as a lucky officer among his men and the other cavalry regiments, there wasn’t another leader in all the armies of the King that Sergeant Wise would rather follow. “I can see you don’t like what we’re doing. Begging your pardon, Sar, but this work detail is easy as details go. You could look at it this way: we’re saving the lives of servants in these manors who would be forced to fight and die at the talons of zombies.”
“True, I’ll give you that, Sergeant,” Corbyn replied. “The zombies are crazed things; their best attack seems to be a charge straight ahead with talons extended. So far, troopers with a good blade in their hands have been able to down such monsters with practiced strokes.”
Wise munched on the last of the pastries he grabbed from the manor kitchen they had just inspected. His Captain was relaxing so the Sergeant could as well. “Besides, there are excellent kitchens in every rich man’s home, and everyone knows zombies often hide behind freshly baked cream puffs,” Wise said with a mouthful of food.
Both men laughed, and the lancer regiment continued searching.
In the hours that followed, they found several zombies on Gold Street and dispatched them. The head of a zombie had to be cut off, or the creature rose again, no matter how many wounds it suffered in a battle.
“Sergeant, what do you think is causing all of these zombies to rise?” Corbyn asked, knowing the answer but wanting to discover if his Sergeant knew as well.
“There are several ways to make a zombie,” Wise replied. “An evil priest can raise the dead. Some powerful wizards skilled in death can make them. Those that we’re killing are from a demon. Common knowledge dictates when a Nevil Demon feeds, it sucks the life out of a person, leaving an enchanted corpse to rise and search hungrily for its lost life essence. Zombies in their hundreds, appearing all over the rich quarter of the city in the past few weeks, speak to an unusually powerful Nevil Demon doing its evil mischief.”
On this pleasantly warm summer’s evening, with the full moon rising in the sky, the regiment marched onto Silver Street. Corbyn turned to the long column of men and shouted his orders. “Corporals, each of you take ten men and search these manors. Don’t take no for an answer. When servants try to stop you, mention the orders from the King and proceed. Sergeant, you and the remaining men and I will take the White Goose Inn for ourselves.”
The squad walked to the end of the street. Porters and city watch roamed the area with weapons ready. This White Goose had been left alone in past searches, more orders from above. This time, Corbyn was going to search it as well.
The good Captain snorted, noting night watchmen going by. “These streets are guarded better than some of the forts we’ve been in.” Corbyn gestured to the many mansions all around them. “I see night watchmen. I see Ducal guards at every mansion gate. Some of them armed and armored better than we are. By the gods above and below, was there ever such a waste of time?”
Then, the Captain’s eyes fell on the inn. Famed all over the city, the White Goose Inn presented the best in food and entertainment for the elite of Sanguine. The inn was also a place reserved for the rich and royal of the kingdom to play and have fun away from the lower classes. Normally, a Captain and Sergeant couldn’t get near the establishment.
“Sergeant Wise.” Corbyn turned toward his Sergeant with a gleam in his eye.
“Sar!” Wise said, coming to attention.
“In the last nine times, we’ve searched this street. We haven’t gone to the White Goose Inn, have we, Sergeant?”
“No, Sar!” Wise rolled his eyes, knowing the look and tone of voice. The massively muscled Sergeant enjoyed a good scrap as much as the next man, but he didn’t enjoy dealing with royals. His big, calloused hands clenched tight as he dreaded the orders he knew he was about to hear.
“I think it’s time we obeyed the orders we have to the letter. Follow me.”
Wise would normally have cautioned his Captain about the folly of entering a royal establishment. The set of his leader’s square jaw and the look of pure bedevilment in Cauldron’s gray eyes told Wise not to bother. We’re in for it now.
Smiling, Captain Cauldron stepped lively to the double doors. The inn was a huge, two-story stone structure more than five hundred years old. A sign displaying a white goose in a copper kettle proclaimed the name for any passersby. The connecting stable had long ago been converted into a gambling den and theater for the rich. The fresh white paint on the stonewalls and the many stained glass windows displayed an elegance not found in most inns.
People in the know claimed the current King loved this place, but Cauldron doubted it. He thought the King would never be able to fit through the double doors of its entrance.
Dressed in white, the doorman stood beside the large portal. With a disapproving grimace, the lackey walked in front of the inn doors. An impressive, well-used mace appeared in the liveryman’s hand. The powerful weapon’s handle displayed wear; the business end clearly showed lots of use. “Why are you at our door, lancer Captain?”
There was a smile on Corbyn’s lips as he shifted position so that the porter would have to take a wide swing to hit him instead of a short jab. It would be a very long swing to reach Corbyn, and the lackey would be dead long before the mace landed on its intended target.
Corbyn tried to defuse the situation with a bit of humor and goodwill. “We’re on the King’s business, don’t you know. My orders are to search every house for zombies and their like. My men and I will disturb your guests as little as possible. Please, won’t you let us inside?”
“I’m sorry, Captain. Only military Colonels and above, with their retinues, are allowed to cross this threshold. There are no zombies in here, I can assure you,” the lackey answered.
“The nerve of the idjet.” Private Stonefist shouted, his blood up. “It’s been a long night already. I’ve been ripped by a zombie claw a street back. Let me at ‘em, Captain. I’ll soon . . .”
“Steady on Private,” Sergeant Wise interrupted. He shifted to his Captain’s right, brandishing his nine-foot-long halberd. The weapon was a twig in the big man’s hands. “Our Captain’s up front doing his job. You remain in the ranks and do yours.”
Suddenly, with a hand signal from the Sergeant, they all drew their curved lancer sabers, the hiss of steel sounding deadly.
The eyes of the door steward grew wide. “Ahem, I see. I’ll tell the mistress you are here. Please wait outside.”
The lackey went in. Corbyn turned to his men. “Sheath your blades. There’ll be no waiting at this door. Who knows how many zombies are escaping out the back of this place right now?” The huge grin on his face showed he wasn’t serious.
“Left column, search this floor and any basement or wine cellar you find. Be discrete. Right column search upstairs--if there’s roggering going on in a room, it won’t have zombies, so leave them to their fun. I don’t want any Duke complaining to the King that one of my men rousted them from their important royal endeavors. Sergeant Wise, you come with me.”
Corbyn pushed open the door and walked into a riot of light. The front entrance to the inn dazzled the senses. Blazing hearths sparkled with firelight. Blindingly reflective copper kettles hung from the ceilings everywhere, each holding an ivory goose. The place clearly deserved its silly name.
“Never been in a room where I’ve sunk in the carpet like this,” Corbyn said.
The place smelled of flowers, without a single flower in evidence. Corbyn cocked his head and sniffed. “Magic or clever architectural design, I wonder. Most inns smell of beer and sweat. This place smells like Teka roses.”
“I thought only elves could grow Teka roses,” Wise mused.
“You know, David, a hundred years ago, I favored sleeping under an oak covered in Teka vines.” Corbyn shook off the memory, indicating he was back to business.
A gorgeous longhaired blond and her companion, the famous Duke of Tens, rushed to confront Corbyn. The Captain’s men ignored the Duke and filtered up the stairs and into all the chambers off the first-floor landing, seeming ignorant of the wealth and nobility around them. All the troopers in the King’s armies knew the Duke of Tenn. He’d served for years in the King’s regiments in the cavalry and was the commander of all the infantry armies. The Duke grew famous for his love of being in the thick of every action. Retired now, he still commanded respect.
“Captain, I must protest,” the fair lady at the Duke’s side spoke in an excited rush.
Corbyn silenced her with his hand and a winning smile. The worried lady strained the Captain’s eyes as he drank in her beauty.
Her ample bosom overflowed the dress, and her long blond hair spilled onto her bodice in curly waves. The lady’s cheeks shone bright crimson from her irritation. Her fan, studded with gold and gems, was easily worth more than Corbyn made in ten years on a Captain’s pay. It moved with stunning swiftness across her bodice.
Corbyn offered a courtly bow to the lady and the Duke. His eyes never left the Duke’s face.
The Duke was a swordsman, evidenced by the well-used grip on his expensive rapier. Corbyn moved to the unweaponed side of the Duke, a move the Duke acknowledged with a turn of his body and the shifting of his stance.
“Is this search really necessary, Captain?” the Duke asked. “Surely this inn, filled with the Dukes and Counts of the land, harbors no zombies.”
“I’m positive you are correct, my Lord,” Corbyn’s tone was polite. “The men will be in and out as quickly as possible. I’m sure you realize when the King orders every building in the city searched, his wishes must be obeyed.”
“Err, well, hurmph,” the Duke replied. “You are jolly well correct, sir. I served in the King’s regiments myself and know a good officer when I see one. Lady Eve, we must let the men do their work. Come, Captain, and sit with the Lady and me at our Blood & Guts table while your men go about their business.”
“But Percy, there are delicate negotiations upstairs. What of them?” the hostess protested.
Corbyn took her tiny white hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. He noted the red of her cheeks increasing somewhat. That was all right with him because he liked what he saw.
Corbyn found the innkeeper far too lovely to keep distressed. “The lancers are following orders to be discrete, and they will be. You have my oath as a gentleman and King’s officer on that dear lady. No one wants to interrupt spirited negotiations.”
The Duke put a protective arm around her, and she rapped him with her fan to show she didn’t want protection.
“There you have it now,” the Duke told her. “When a king’s officer gives his word, you have nothing to worry about. Come, come, Lady, and bring the good Captain and his capable-looking Sergeant some of the house biscuits. I wager they haven’t had their like before. Searching houses is hungry work, what?”
The gambling chamber of the inn held ten large Blood & Guts tables. The huge room showed itself lined with tables heavy in food and drink. Kettles of all sizes, covered in gold, hung from the ceiling and walls. The gold brilliance of each light-shedding kettle stunned the eyes as each increased the illumination given off by the lanterns and fireplaces. The food smelled wonderful, and servants constantly removed cold platters, replacing them with warm ones. The jewels and wealth displayed on the ladies and men in this chamber could pay the salaries of entire armies for years.
Corbyn was sure there wasn’t royalty less than a Duke among the fifty men and women playing at the tables. He recognized several court Earls and Counts among the throng.
Naturally, the Duke led them to the center table. Three other lord types played there. One of the lords was massive, easily as tall as Corbyn with plowshare, handle-wide shoulders, and a deep booming voice.
Corbyn noted the man’s weapon was an unusual axe. The weapon’s long handle rested against the gambling table at the side of the Duke. Corbyn’s moon-enhanced powers sensed magic about the weapon. Axes were not the usual weapons of choice among royals. As Corbyn looked at the axe, his magically enhanced vision showed it to have a dark mist all around the blade. He could also smell a bitter odor of dark magics on the weapon. Whatever it was, the blade was dangerous. All the rest of the Lords wore swords at their hips, even the older players.
The other two men at the table were local Earls, men who followed the King and helped collect taxes. They smiled politely at Corbyn but clearly dismissed him as unimportant.
“Will you play a few hands, Captain?” the Duke of Tenn obviously tried to be charming, and Corbyn appreciated it. Blood & Guts was one of Corbyn’s favorite parlor games, and an offer to play with such powerful men wasn’t something to refuse for a Captain of the King’s lancers.
“What’s the buy-in, my Lord?” Corbyn asked.
“Oh, we like to keep things simple here. It’s a hundred gold for the red and two hundred for the white. If you can’t afford it, we’ll understand. I’d offer to take whatever marker you wished to give, but as you know, that’s forbidden at a Blood & Guts table.”
The buy-in was a lot for a Captain in the King’s 25th Lancers. For some reason, Corbyn didn’t want to appear any less in the eyes of these men. He also wanted to observe the big axe-owning Duke during the game. Corbyn twisted his hand, causing a large moon opal to appear in his palm with a slight of hand trick, and threw it to the dealer. The opal was easily worth two thousand gold. The dealer gave him a red and white token, a silver round player marker, and seven hundred gold in seven sliver-thin gold bars. He was shorted a thousand gold but expected nothing less in a gambling establishment. Corbyn wouldn’t be in for many hands at this rate.
Blood & Guts was a kingdom-wide popular dice game with many strategies. Each player bought into the game getting a red marker (blood token), a white marker (guts token), and a colored player marker. Each player had their own particular color to mark them from the rest of the players. The gold was spent on tokens collected at the center of the table for the winner of the game. One of the players rolled two dice into a bladder at the center of the table. The bladder prevented dice cheats, allowing the dice to tumble down a long tube and out onto the table. The number rolled out determined what the roller could do at the table.
Corbyn loved the game because he was a lucky roller. He also liked to see how others handled the roll of seven. One could tell a lot about a person by how they played Blood & Guts.
Corbyn was introduced to the Duke and Earls, but the big axe man, the Duke of the Eastern Forests, held his attention the longest. The Captain instantly took a disliking to this Duke. Corbyn acted on his deadly hunch. He motioned for Sergeant Wise to come over and whispered: “The good Duke over there, the one with the bloody great axe, stand a bit behind him. If and when I dance with him, I’ll signal you and the dance will start with you ripping that axe away.”
Not blinking or showing his surprise, Sergeant Wise nodded and slowly moved about the room, getting into position.
Corbyn’s dislike was just a soldier’s hunch. Still, there was enough evidence in Corbyn’s mind to make him wary. Dukes were rarely as heavily muscled as this one was. Generally, as a group, they didn’t have time to do physical things, being too busy governing their lands or enjoying themselves. The magic on the axe was another sign. The humans of the empire didn’t generally like magical weapons. Magic put intelligence in the heart of a weapon. Often, that intelligence demanded a price for service. Finally, there was a deadly look about the Duke of the Eastern Forests. Even as he smiled at Corbyn, the Captain could sense death and danger hanging about the man like a black cloak.
As the new player, he rolled the dice first. He picked up the two wooden cubes, hesitated for a heartbeat, and tossed the dice into the top of the bladder. Smiling, he watched a seven come out at the bottom. The others sighed, not liking the roll and what would happen next. He pushed four of his gold bars into the tiny circle, thus doubling the wager amount.
“Everyone roll.”
Corbyn, senses on high alert discovered something when he picked up the dice. The cubes were magiced in some way. Without careful study, he couldn’t figure out how the enchantment affected them. He reached for the dice on the table, needing to sense their nature with his own magic. Closing his eyes so that no one would see them glow, he held the dice for a heartbeat in his fist and coated them in the invisible essence of the moon. It was a minor mirror magic preventing anyone else from adding magic to the dice. He passed the cubes with his eyes closed to the Duke of Tenn.
Eyes open again, he watched the Duke roll a five.
“Damn it all.” The Duke forcefully tossed in his blood token.
“Bad luck, Percy.” The axe Duke picked up the dice, and as he rolled them, he grimaced. There was the slightest puff of smoke as he hurriedly tossed the dice into the bladder. The Duke stared at the red cubes as if they were his enemy. He’d rolled an eight, forcing him to toss in his blood token. The other two Earls rolled nines and tossed in their blood tokens as well.
Corbyn felt moonlight on his shoulders and looked up to see the full moon from a large transom in the ceiling. Welcoming its energy, he knew he’d need all its power tonight if his suspicions were true. He noted his Sergeant well positioned behind the Duke of the Northern Forests.
When it was Percy’s turn to roll, he made a ten, forcing him to throw in his guts token as well.
The Forest Duke picked up the dice with his fingertips and flipped the cubes into the bladder as if each was a blazing thing. Corbyn thought he noticed a darkening of the Duke’s flesh. It was very possible the moon enchantment burned his fingertips.
A roll of double fours allowed the Duke to make the wager eight hundred gold. Everyone but Corbyn turned in his guts token. Poor Percy threw in his all-in-marker and was out of the game. Corbyn threw in his blood token.
On their turns, the other two Earls rolled a six and a five, forcing them, according to the rules, to throw in their player markers.
“Lady Eve, could I have a large flagon of wine, please?” Corbyn asked.
The chamber was filled with punch bowls and tiny cups. Corbyn could see by the looks of the men around the table that he was thought incredibly boorish to order Lady Eve about like a tavern wench.
“Of course, Captain, I’ll see what I can find for you,” she graciously replied.
Before he rolled his next play, there was a large tankard of dark wine at his elbow. He rolled a nine and was forced to throw in his guts marker.
The Forest Duke smiled as he still had his last token. He reached for the dice and quickly tossed them into the bladder. There were clear burn marks on his fingers. A large cockroach crawled out on his sleeve. Such things were common everywhere. No one thought a second about the bugs, but this time, in the intense action of the game, the Duke slipped up. With tables full of food all around, he shouldn’t have reached down smiling as he picked up the cockroach. He bit into the bug with great relish, and Corbyn beheld a Nevil demon.
A seven came out of the bladder.
Corbyn raised his heavy tankard as if to salute the Duke and signaled Wise by balling his other hand into a fist.
The Sergeant pulled the axe away from the table and the Duke’s reach. Corbyn threw the entire contents of the large tankard into the Duke’s eyes.
Lady Eve screamed in shock. Corbyn rose, beginning the dance of death. Corbyn drew his sword and, in one smooth and perfectly timed lunge, sheathed it into the heart of the demon.
That didn’t end the matter, as his worst fears were realized.
The room filled with screams as chairs flew back and weapons were drawn. Those with common sense rushed out of the gambling hall.
The demon-Duke sat there laughing. With a sword in its chest, it slowly wiped the wine out of its eyes, and its body grew larger as it transformed.
“Well, it was fun while it lasted.” The deep base of its expanding throat revealed deadly menace. The creature’s voice rasped into a barely understandable growl. Tusks erupted from its mouth. Its manicured fingers turned into huge razor-sharp talons. Inhumanly large muscles burst through its silk shirt and pants. “Little human, you and I must dance for a bit. I really need to take your soul since you took away my fun.”
Corbyn stood his ground as the creature rose and reached for him. Using the essence of the moon, light streaming down on him, he cast a deadly spell. A huge crash of lightning erupted from his hands and smashed into the demon. The creature flew back twenty feet into the wall. Hitting it with a bone-crunching smack, the demon rippled down the wall to the floor.
Laughing, it got up and grew even taller and broader.
“You can’t kill me, little human.” The creature’s growing voice was terrifying. People around the demon froze in fear at just the sound of the monster’s words. “You don’t have a demon dagger here. I can sense those, and they’re all at the palace. I’ll be eating you, and there’s nothing you can do that won’t make me grow larger and stronger.”
Corbyn mentally sorted through his options, noting his sword still in the monster’s heart, not slowing it down at all. His deadliest spell made the creature grow more powerful. As the demon moved toward him with its talons outstretched, taking its time and enjoying itself, Corbyn signaled to Wise to try the axe.
With a huge swing, the tall Sergeant smashed the blade of his newly acquired weapon fully into the neck of the demon. A small weal of blood appeared on its throat, and the thing grew even more massive with the axe bouncing off its hide.
Dukes, Earls, and Counts rushed for the only door and jammed it up so that no one was leaving the chamber. Suddenly, intense fire bathed the demon from head to foot. Trying to protect a lady behind him, a Duke used a potent magical ring on the demon. While Corbyn respected the effort, all it did was make the monster grow even larger.
Corbyn’s only option seemed to be running, and he didn’t like the chances of getting away from an eight-foot-tall demon from the pits of hell.
Some of his lancers cleared the press of the entrance and rushed into the room with their swords drawn.
Corbyn shouted at them. “Men, throw wine in its face. David, to me!”
Corbyn jumped onto a food table and tried unhooking the largest cauldron in the room. It was a huge thing, coated in gold.
Sergeant Wise helped him get it unhooked; the weight of the thing required two strong men to move it. “What in the world are we doing with this thing?” Sergeant Wise asked pulling the china goose from the pot.
There was lots of wine in punch bowls all over the room. His men splashed the head of the demon with gallons of the stuff.
“Owe, that hurts!” The demon whined as it constantly opened its eyes, was dashed with wine, and squeezed them closed again to shed the stinging liquid. The demon blindly picked up two of the lancers and bent them in half. The sounds of their spines breaking were lost amid the shouts of fear as the last of the guests dashed from the room. The alcohol raised puffs of grape-colored smoke from the eyes of the demon, but the creature blinked the liquid away.
Corbyn and Wise rushed forward with the heavy cauldron and threw it over the demon’s head. The kettle barely fit.
Corbyn pulled his sword from the heart of the creature with a twist.
“Stab it! Chop it! Kill it!” Corbyn ordered his stunned men into action while he repeatedly lunged his blade into the creature.
His men chopped and cut as well. Wise used the magical axe. The weapon started screaming a battle song. The attacks failed to kill the monster, and the demon grew and grew. In seconds, the inches-thick kettle became wedged tight around the head of the creature. Its talons raked the metal and gouged grooves in the cauldron but didn’t penetrate all the way through the thick metal.
The size of the monster grew to fifteen feet, but the kettle held the massive head of the creature in a deadly vice the monster couldn’t tug free.
Wounds would close magically, but the lancers put hundreds more into the creature. The massive monster finally fell to the floor, twitching its last. It took thirty minutes of constant stabbing for the creature to die. At death, the demon turned to dust, and the dust vanished back to its demonic plane of existence.
In the quiet of the chamber, Corbyn looked around to see Duke Percy standing over Lady Eve with his sword drawn and a deadly look on his face. She’d broken her leg and fainted at his feet.
The mountain Duke, who used the magic ring, checked his still unconscious lady and rose up to shake Corbyn’s hand.
“It’s the damndest thing I ever saw. I’ll make sure you’re nominated for a King’s Commission for this, damned if I won’t. You’ve saved the lives of hundreds of royals. Damned clever, choking it in that pot. How did you ever think of that one?”
Corbyn wasn’t going to tell the Duke; he only wanted to put it on the demon’s head so that he could gather everyone up and retreat. “The King’s training, of course, sir. We’re supposed to think clearly in any situation. I was just lucky the effort worked.”
Percy handed him a large leather bag with a white goose emblem on its side. Later Corbyn would discover several thousand in rubies and diamonds, and his moon opal.
“The sack is just a remembrance of the good lady Eve and me. Well done, Captain. I, too, will make sure the King knows of your effort and considers you for a King’s Commission.”
Corbyn took his command and left the inn smiling. He treated his men to many rounds of drinks at a much friendlier inn. Corbyn Cauldron’s star was clearly on the rise.
