The bleeding tear started at Lothar’s right hip and ran partway down the outside of his thigh. Either a goad-hook or a rat talon had caught behind the rim of the plate and ripped the flesh underneath. Andrei and Soren were helping him tie a bandage to stop the bleeding. It was an awkward place to tie a bandage, and more hands would not help, so I turned my attention to the other problem at hand.
“We’ve made enough noise that the legion is probably converging on the treasury as we speak,” I said. “We need a way out of this room before they get here.”
“Then give me a boost,” Vogel said. He was standing at the end of the room opposite where we’d entered, looking at the ramp section that had swung up to cover the doors there. Having no ideas myself, I interlaced my fingers and provided a step so he could get closer to the mechanism. Slipping his fingers between the ramp and wall, Vogel pulled. It budged ever so slightly. Shifting his grip, he tried to climb into the infinitesimal gap. At first I thought there was something wrong with his thought processes, but as more of his weight was shifted from my hands to the ramp, it swung down. Vogel rolled onto the ramp segment and shimmied to the forward edge. With his weight on the end, it thumped into its down position, but threatened to raise again any time he shifted back towards the door. Grabbing the end of the ramp, I hauled myself onto it, providing the counterweight he needed. Vogel gave me a nod of acknowledgment, then approached the doors.
I looked to see how the efforts to bind Lothar’s injury were coming along. All I could see was Andrei’s back. I opted to keep watching what Vogel was doing. I didn’t want to be caught unawares if he triggered another trap. He’d finished his examination and was looking back into the room.
“You there, Ritter, bring me any pieces of broken weapons you can find.”
“What for?” Ritter asked.
“Because they’re disposable.”
Without further protest, Ritter set about searching the room.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
“The mechanism here is similar to on the other side, but if I can wedge the doors halfway, we should be able to avoid triggering anything.”
“Similar? But not exact?”
“I didn’t get a good look at both sides of the other doors,” Vogel said. Ritter returned with fragments of wood and metal that he handed up. “Get up here. I can only work on one door at a time and need someone to keep the other from swinging open.” I helped Ritter climb up on the ramp, and Vogel turned his attentions back to the doors. Below, Andrei was helping his father to stand. Evidently, they’d decided to use his armor to help hold the bandage in place, because the main sign of his injury was poor mobility. He leaned heavily on his halberd and hobbled about.
I didn’t hear the click when Vogel finished unlocking the doors, just an instruction for Ritter to hold one of the doors in place. On the other, he began wedging broken haft fragments between the door and frame, preventing it from moving in either direction. The other got the same treatment, and we were left with a view of a very short passage. It ended in an iron-clad door with steel bars running between brass and bronze locking mechanisms, no two of which looked the same.
“Huh,” Vogel said, idly stroking his chin.
“How long is that going to take?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Vogel said. “I mean, that’s a lot of locks.”
“Well, it is a vault door,” I said.
“Could we just open the wicket?” Ritter asked. We looked to where he was standing. The outline of the smaller door set into the gates was hidden within the lines of the iron sheeting. A single keyhole was the only sign that it was an entrance. It had been covered by a small circle of iron that Ritter had moved out of the way. Without the stark color contrast of the rest of the mechanisms, it blended into the gate.
“Give me a minute to investigate.” Vogel moved to the isolated keyhole and began to probe it and the seam around the door with a metal implement. I had no clue what he was doing, and stood there uselessly. Vogel cautiously opened the wicket, checking for any sign of a trap or of one being triggered.
Nothing happened.
The door was built to dwarf scale, and Vogel had to duck down to step through. Before he did, he carefully checked the space above the opening on the far side.
“What do you see?”
“Another treasury,” Vogel said. “I don’t trust the lack of another reaction.”
“It won’t be too long before the dwarfs come, so we can’t linger,” Hengist said, pulling himself onto the ramp segment. I helped to get Lothar on the ramp before vacating my post as counterweight and passing through the door. My eye was drawn along the glittering mass of objects to the statue at the far end of the room. A towering rendition of a three-headed serpent in gold, its emerald eyes stared avariciously over the lesser treasures arrayed around it. The objects of art were crammed in closer together than in the illusory collection from the room behind us. The pieces were more eclectic too, with styles ancient, modern, and so exotic that I couldn’t identify them. There were fewer chests, but more art, weapons, and armor. Everything gleamed, and all of the reflective surfaces amplified the light, making the room almost too bright.
“If that statue comes to life and attacks us, I’m done,” Lenz said. I hadn’t seen him enter, but I’d been entranced by the riches around me.
“Is this even the real treasury?” I asked.
“I hope so. I’m getting sick of this place.”
I took a closer look at the items on display. Despite the tightly packed displays, they were neat and orderly, with small plaques describing the pieces. Skimming the plaques, I tried to see if there were any details that were out of place. One caught my eye, and I stopped in my tracks. Looking at the sword above it, I blinked in disbelief. The guard of the blade was an abstract, stylized bird with a yellowed ivory breast. A worn leather wrap covered the handle, and the pommel was an unornamented sphere. What kept grabbing my attention was the creature depicted in the bird’s talons – a tiny rendition of an ox.
“What is it?” Lenz asked.
“The Sword of Jochen,” I said.
“Are you sure?” Lenz asked, “Why would it be here?”
“According to the plaque, it was ‘Captured from a barbarian warlord during the defense of Longue,'” I said.
“Is it even real?”
I looked around. Everyone was hesitant, waiting for someone else to trigger the next trap. “I’m going to see if we really made it,” I said, “Be ready.” I reached out and lifted the sword off the rack.
Nothing happened.
Drawing the blade partially free of the scabbard, I marvelled at the pattern welding of starmetal to a much darker material, creating a startling contrast and a wood-like grain in the metal. A line of glowing, red Ashman runes ran up the fuller. ‘Neckbiter,’ they read.[56] I slid the blade back into its sheath and slung it over my shoulder. Seeing nothing untoward happening to me, the others lost their hesitance and set about the plunder we’d come here to do. It appeared that a good chunk of the items had been previously plundered by the dwarfs themselves, though the chests did hold neat trays of raw coinage. Being the strongest, I ended up loaded down like a pack mule. I had to twice adjust where the Sword of Jochen sat so that I could still draw it. It ended up diagonal across the front of my torso with enough slack that I could strip the scabbard free and bring the blade to ready in a single motion. I wasn’t the only one who picked up a new weapon. If we were going to cut through a battle-hardened d
warf legion, we were going to do it carrying arms we were well practiced in.
The traps we’d triggered on the way in were less of an obstacle than they looked at first glance. Halberds and bullhooks pulled down the ramp segment in the false treasury, and a set of shelves was rudely pressed into service as a ladder. We broke the shelves, but we’d left quite a mess behind us anyway. The illusory infinite corridor was a matter of remembering the truth and forcing ourselves to walk through the part of the wall we didn’t want to touch. As we approached the garden, Vogel raised a hand and began slipping off his pack.
“Wait here,” he whispered. Slinking off into the passage around the corner, he disappeared from view.
“What is he up to?” I growled. He returned almost immediately.
“Good news – the dwarfs have decided to try to ambush us in the garden.”
“How is that good news?” Hengist asked.
“It means they’re not between us and our exit.” He donned his pack and opened a door we’d passed. A waft of heat and the odor of brimstone emerged. Inside sat a line of furnaces, their fuel slowly smoldering down to cinders. Bunkers full of coal lined the wall opposite. Shovels lay abandoned on the floor or in the coal.
“What is this?” Andrei asked.
“Hot water and hypocausts require a source of heat,” Vogel said, extracting the lighting element from one of the prism lanterns. “And they don’t tend to waste lights on aqueducts, so a few of you may want to grab lamps.” We followed Vogel’s lead, both in claiming lanterns, and in passing through the far side of the furnace room. I tucked the prism lantern I took into the straps of my pack and kept an eye on the sneak. For once I saw what he was following – a line of terracotta pipes near the bottom of the wall. These led us to a slightly warped wooden door set in undecorated stone. Prising it open, the scent of moisture and the gurgle of water escaped the darkness beyond. It was a small room next to the aqueduct proper, with a few steps down to the water channel.
I balked at the sight of the tunnel inside the aqueduct.
“I won’t fit in there,” I said.
“Sure you will. You just have to get low,” Vogel said, climbing into the tunnel and splashing upstream. Hesitant, I ducked down and crawled through the opening. Once facing the right direction, I was able to waddle through the freezing current and create enough room for the next person to enter. The tunnel was at most four feet tall, and with a bundle of pillaged treasure on my back, I was scrunched into an awkward position. Sometimes I had to resort to actually crawling. The ache and inconvenience of moving like some sort of worm or eel in an underground river was still preferable to trying to hack through the First Legion on their home ground. The harsh, actinic light of the bare prism lanterns didn’t help. It showed impermeable gray stone through crystal clear water, polished smooth and devoid of features. Thin lines of calcite deposits marked the sides of the passage, showing the variation in water level over the centuries.
“Lothar’s having a bit of trouble,” Soren called from somewhere behind me.
“How bad is ‘a bit’?” Hengist and I asked at the same time. It was physically impossible for me to even look back, as my shoulders spanned the width of the passage.
“I got his face out of the water, and he’s still breathing,” Soren said, “But he’s unconscious.”
“How far to an exit?” I asked, looking towards Vogel, who’d twisted about to see me blocking the entirety of the tunnel behind him.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Should we back up?” Hengist asked.
“I don’t think I can,” I said.
“Give me his hands,” Ritter said, “I’ll pull, you keep his head out of the water.”
I continued forward, prompting Vogel to squirm back around and move on. Crawling against the current of an icy underground stream in a near-featureless passage made judging time and distance impossible. A problem only exacerbated by the awkward posture and movements I was forced to make. Minutes, hours, days, I couldn’t tell how long I wormed my way along that aqueduct, though it was certainly shorter than it felt like. My legs were long numb by the time the short set of steps appeared to my right. Vogel disappeared up the steps, and I pulled myself after him. Finding an open floor beyond, I flopped onto it, unable to get my legs under me. At a nudge from Hengist, I dragged myself across the floor until I was no longer blocking the exit. The others were in no better shape than I was, and Lothar much worse. If not for a confirmation that he yet breathed, I could have taken him for a corpse.
The chamber was small, but felt cavernous. The floor we lay upon was pierced with metal grates covering channels full of lead pipes. Why these pipes were lead when those in the palace were terracotta, I was unsure and discarded the question.[57] The ceiling and doors were built to dwarf scale, and if I stood up, I’d be in danger of striking my head.
“Where are we?” Lenz asked.
“Underground,” I groaned.
“Let me check,” Vogel said, slipping off his pack. He creaked open the door we hadn’t arrived through and stepped outside. I disentangled myself from my own burden and shifted the weight to the floor. The others were examining Lothar, now that there was room to check on his condition. He did groan when his helmet was removed, but the wound on his leg was a discouraging color. Finding dry bandaging material after our stint in the aqueduct was a challenge, but putting the wet covering back in place wasn’t an option. The only suitable material we turned up that hadn’t been soaked were the cloths used to wrap stacks of coins. My usefulness exhausted, I stepped back and tried to get my own legs to stop wobbling under me.
The door opened, and Vogel stepped back in. “We’re in Skrael Town between the composter and the mushroom farms,” he said.
“We need to get help for Lothar,” Hengist said.
“That means making contact with the locals, and possibly alerting the dwarfs to our location.”
“We have no choice.”
“I think there are only two of us here that speak dwarfish,” I said. “I doubt it’s physically possible for us to speak the skrael tongue.”
“Do you want to go, or shall I?” Vogel asked.
“No offense, Kord,” Hengist interrupted, “But you would draw too much attention. Besides, I’d like your sword arm on hand in case everything goes wrong again.”
I nodded in acquiescence. “I will not argue. I simply do not like being stationary while we are still being hunted.”
Hengist put a hand on my shoulder. “I understand. But this is a time to delegate. It will take the legion time to realize where we went, and we will be moving again before they even start looking in Skrael Town. If what I have heard is true, it is a rather large and labyrinthine district.”
“From what I’ve seen, it’s true,” Vogel said.
“Get going,” Hengist said. “Time is still of the essence.”
I slumped against the wall and watched the efforts to rebandage Lothar. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked around. Spotting Andrei, Lothar motioned for his son. Andrei knelt by his father, and Lothar took hold of the back of his head, mussing the youth’s hair even more than the helmet had. I couldn’t hear the whispered words passed between them, and it seemed impolite to try. Whatever was said left Andrei shaken. Sitting back, he fought the grief and fear crawling across his features. Eventually, Andrei simply pulled on his helmet to hide his expression. Ritter sat down next to Andrei, but was unable to find any words of consolation.
I tried to remember back to the death of my father. I found I couldn’t. All I could summon from my memories of Arend Grosz was that he was a tall man. I couldn’t even picture his features. Even the concept of father brought forth mental images of Jost Castor. Somehow it felt like I had betrayed my real father.
[56] Ashman tradition holds that a weapon should be named for the deeds performed with it, and there are some records indicating Jochen the Decapitator named his blade shortly before crossing the Small Sea. Most are unaware of the Neckbiter moniker, and simply refer to the weapon as the Sword of Jochen. Probably because Prince Kord uses that name when talking about the blade.
[57] The lead pipes are newer and intended to carry a smaller quantity of water each than those in the palace. Small diameter terracotta pipes are harder to make and maintain than similarly sized lead ones.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Another interesting chapter. Thanks.
New homepage. Better than the old new homepage.
Took me several tries to get it to open. Is there a secret?
Have to hit the title, then things work
Except everything past two days ago is missing…?
If you blocked elements to mitigate against the original ‘upgrade’ to word press, you have to disable that block, otherwise you won’t see new content.
For me it goes back to the Thursday PM Links, with a link for older entries beneath that.
i.e. I had added a rule to uBlock:
http://www.glibertarians.com##.et_section_regular._section_0.et_pb_section
That I had to comment out (add an exclamation point in front of it) or delete it. If you didn’t actually add rules to a blocker, I’m not sure what the issue would be…
@Putrid
Ah, I must have got that from you. That was it. All good now. Thanks!
A harrowing (read “wet”) escape, but still beats the route taken by the Prisoner of Breakiron. šš¤¢š©
The hotel internet is down, so at best I can try to visit via phone, but phones suck for internet.
Seriously canāt read this. Iām partway through (not this far, though) on my Kindle.
Can you read it frivolously?
Woah. Lots going on with the home page.
Why would anybody believe that getting rid of the so-called net neutrality rules would lead to everybody’s internet bills being jacked up?
Only rich people will pay less.
/they probably believe this
Just noticed that Moses as portrayed by South Park looks a lot like the Master Control Program from Tron:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9aq7dub7Kk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KSEPZCjWxjw
I rather enjoyed this. Odd to say, I think your descriptions and crafting get better the longer your sentences are. A probable fake, methinky the sword is still more than it seems, though I also thought it may have been the warning trigger.
Of course the sword is something special; it’s got a name.
I love long, flowery descriptions in doorstopper books; which is odd because I avoid that like the plague in my own useless writings.
/wants to pick up the Shannara series again some day
Slutty Sunday After Dark.
https://archive.is/i7A4M/620d3e9b45d9a087222968bc70d3b69f6e3a0b6a.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/ZKeJA/558191ecef08d398637b4841c5b85b65b310e5fc.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/svya1/c6b214d1d98c6f794e3be01e3c0c0482213dfa73.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/fn9TZ/07ecc6c9a44d260e537a9176471e0c11c2654e6c.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/QuLqY/6473dfb9008dccd670092d19a04de976c4c90c8b.jpg
NSFW.
OT…
Mercy! Live tennis on ESPN!
Australian Open – Frances Tiafoe (good ‘Merican) is playing live.
lol I asked AI a question and got this amongst the response:
What a chatterbox.
lol He just puked on the court.
/I have never seen this in years of watching the game
Fact checkers rule! Without them, you might doubt the Truth. With them, you know that the only reason the Bald Eagle is our national bird is because of Minnesoda!
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2025-01-12/newsom-suspends-landmark-environmental-regulations-palisades-altadena-fires
Newsom suspends landmark environmental laws to ease rebuilding in wildfire zones
Requirements for building permits and reviews in the California Environmental Quality Act and the California Coastal Act will be eased for victims of the fires in Pacific Palisades, Altadena and other communities.
Newsom called for a California version of the Marshall Plan, the American effort to rebuild Western Europe after World War II.
Well, it’s a start.
Waivers of the environmental quality act, known as CEQA, and the Coastal Act could shave years off the process for homeowners in the Palisades, he said, but building permits issued by local governments represent another major hurdle.
āThose two banner ones are important,ā Dunmoyer said, referring to the state laws, ābut if the locals donāt come up with an expedited process, thatās where it could get stuck.ā
Now, make the waiver status permanamt and automatic, and fire the coastal commission.
“and fire the coastal commission.”
You getting soft there UCS? Usually you call for gibbeting or at the least public flogging.
Fired from cannon into the ocean . . . .
You getting soft there UCS? Usually you call for gibbeting or at the least public flogging.
fire [ fahyuhr ] Verb: to set on fire.
Launching into the sun is a kind of “fire” too.
Equal protection lawsuits incoming . . . .
Why should this landowner get a waiver, and that landowner be subjected to years of delay and six figures of added cost?
Because appearances duh.
Because one group of homeowner is a wealthy Newsome donor and the other isn’t.
Let’s start with flushing the California Coastal Commission right down the shitter. They’re going to do everything they can to prevent rebuilding on the ocean.
The Surf Rider Foundation nods it’s head and smiles.
I’m not sure I accept “scrunch” as a term in common usage in this universe. š«¤
Just wait until Kord reaches the Imperial Court and sees the royal ladies wearing their hair up in scrunchies! š
inorite? š„“
Freaking global warming! It’s been snowing for 4 days non-stop, and the week before the high was in the 20s. We really need to stop this runaway warming.
I guess I should change my handle. I have no idea what the weather in Denver is since I’ve lived in Michigan for the last 3 years. But, it’s mine I don’t want to change it
Never change.
/glad I never put my location in my handle
I kinda like GanderJ as a handle.
Is Jesse still in Manitoba?
/dense
And the morning guy will always be a sloppy Incan.
do you do the mitten map thing like the natives yet?
Lovely. Sunny and 40 today. We had a couple cold and snowy days but that’s history
DallasJ: confuse the hell out of everyone
DearbornJ: finally Kamala gives you some attention
DenverJ: way over on Lake Michigan
I haven’t lived in Evansville for ~18 years. City I’ve in next-longest is Daejeon. That don’t work no how.
Dental surgery tomorrow.
I hope I can sneak one more drink in before midnight. *hic*
I was told that vodka counts as “clear liquid” by my doctor’s office.
the dentist should have a bar at the office, part of the standard pre-precedural*
*works only for sweet drunks like me
Oban14, btw
NewWife working on some Tito’s
The Oban’s a nice dram for the price.
There is something about Tito’s that makes me blind stinking drunker than any other form of vodka.
I guess you get what you pay for.
Finally, an entertaining NFL playoff game. The Green Bay game wasnāt bad, but you just knew the Packers were going to lose. JLove just isnāt a top-tier NFL quarterback.
I was happy with the Bills game. š
The Redskins* were the first wild card team to win this weekend. I think the Vikes will be the second tomorrow.
*I don’t accept the PC name.
I hate to see the Commies win, but it was a good game.
Same. I can’t help liking Mayfield* but a good game.
* allegedly, Baker really wanted to go the Pats coming out of college. Probably agent-based negotiation bullshit but it would have meant a relatively smooth transition from Brady, who was already agitating to get out of New England at that point.
I’m not going to say I wasn’t at fault for making a joke that was, in hindsight, cruel, and hurt lefty Bro2 deeply. I was at fault. However, with regard to trans issues, I’ve been treated to two days of lefty Bro1 trying to persuade me why I am a horrible human being for believing as I do (I mean, I didn’t have to tell him what I thought, but I thought I was conversing in good faith), and Bro2 believing that I am Satan’s Cunt. No, rather, he said I wasn’t a decent human being.
It’s not enough that I can hold an opinion, but still be kind to people. It’s “insincere” and “performative.”
It’s not enough that I can accept people as they are, but still hold an opinion about their choices. It’s “judgmental” and in fact, NOT accepting them as they are.
Listening to them trash what I believe without saying anything is what I’m supposed to do, because their opinions are righteous and irrefutable.
My being judgmental is not the same as their opinions of someone’s beliefs. My judgments are wrong and bad and evil.
I’m half horrified that I kept shoving my foot in my mouthālike, when did I forget how not to be gauche? And half pissed off that they are completely unaware of their hypocrisy. Their opinion is Goodā¢ and mine is Evilā¢.
Bro1 is trying to hold us all together, at least through hospice and the funeral. I bent the knee for my stupid joke (involved Matthew Shepardāmade in the presence of a gay man). Made some brownie points following that, but then trashed THAT when I passed judgment on his personal choices (left his wife to go find himself in some other dude’s ass).
My first instinct is to run to mommy so she can commiserate, but mommy is not available ā¦ And then suddenly I felt so very, very alone in the world. Yes, I have my husband. But I was already losing my mom and now I’m losing my brothers because I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
Let me put lefty Bro1 in context. He has 4 kids. 3 of them are trans and the 4th hasn’t decided yet. So he’s “protecting his children” from people who believe the way I do.
That is tough Moj. After hospice ends then the stress levels will come down for everybody. I don’t think, based on what you wrote, that the rifts will end up permanent based on your joke.
I do feel sorry for Bro1’s kids from your short comments. Them numbers ain’t normal.
Mo, you know as well as I do that the odds of having 3 of 4 children who are actual, honest to god trans individuals is as low or lower than winning the lottery. Something else is going on there.
You shouldn’t have to bite your tongue and hide your thoughts around supposed family. Just my two cents. I don’t know what you said, but it doesn’t really matter much to me.
Yea, I agree with you completely on this, as I’ve said before. I have the same amount of sympathy for people who come out of the closet after starting families as I do those who have any other affair. Wider culture has somehow decided this is something that should be celebrated and it’s bullshit. I’m assuming kids are involved here or rather I seem to recall you mentioning in the past that they were.
But it’s irrelevant. You shouldn’t have to hide your thoughts around people you are family with. Doesn’t matter what the position is.
I’ll forgive you for using Bro in vain given your stress levels right now.
Sorry to hear about your mother, as well.
Thanks, dbleagle and BroFirst.
We were talking about our mother’s utterly incompetent PCP. I said, “I dragged his ass over gravel like he was Matthew Shepard.” I should have said cheese grater. I honestly and truly have no idea why I said “Matthew Shepard.”
No, Bro2’s kids’ numbers aren’t normal. He has 3 girls and 1 boy. I explained that my feelings about FtM are concerning puberty, confusion, hiding from men, the “male gaze,” their bodies changing, sexual assault, whatnot. I mean, these used to be called tomboys, but that’s not acceptable now, but whatever, I give the girls a pass.
But I also explained that my primary objection to MtF is their intrusion into women’s spaces and women’s sports. He said that was misogynistic because transwomen aren’t harming anybody and they’re a microscopic percentage of the population anyway, so why do I care? Misogynistic? Against a DUDE IN A DRESS??? It was at this point I realized he doesn’t care about how women feel at all. He cares that his kid gets to go in women’s bathrooms.
That said, I CAN have a calm discussion with him even if he isn’t listening. It’s not a war or a temper tantrum.
I deflected and mollified him by saying, “Look, I get that you are trying to persuade me to change my views, but I need to let this discussion cook. I can’t just go from ‘I believe X’ to ‘I believe Y’ in less than 24 hours.” He admitted that was a fair request.
He’s upset because he didn’t want to know what I thought. He kept asking me, “Why did you tell me that?” Um ā¦ because I thought we were conversing in good faith. He said it was a peek into the window of my soul and he didn’t like what he saw.
Yes, Bro2’s got kids. In his defense, his wife knew before they got married that he was gay so she knew this was a possibility. I just find it to be dishonorable even if she is on board. If somebody says something to me that is hurtful, but is TRUE, I might be hurt, but I’m going to say, “Well, yeah.” I made the mistake of thinking he would also react that way. That was just dumb on my part.