High Gloom Read online

  High Gloom

  Eric Ugland

  Air Quotes Publishing Inc.

  Air Quotes Publishing, Inc.

  V 1.2

  Copyright © 2020 Eric Ugland

  Cover by Sarah Anderson/No Synonym

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of Fiction. Of Fantasy. All of the characters in this novel and series are fictional and any resemblance to people living, dead, or undead is purely coincidental and surprising. Mentions of places are incidental, accidental, and mostly inconsequential. The magic and spells have been researched in absolutely no way whatsoever, and any ill-effects after you attempt to cast them are completely on you.

  There’s nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

  Malorie Cooper,

  You and your gal pals

  made this book happen

  Thank You.

  1

  After a week of travel along bumpy roads and through torrential downpours, we came at last, to a break in the trees. There before us, stood the most magnificent stone gates I’d ever seen. Massive walls that seemed impossibly thick. And as we approached, the gates creaked up, revealing the glory of Raim behind it.

  A shit-hole. An absolute pit of a city built right next to an actual, literal pit.

  “Raim?” I asked.

  Nox nodded.

  Looking at the terrible little town and going over the events it took to get to the pit, I realized I had roughly one month before I was equal parts elf and corpse king.

  “I guess let’s go find my salvation,” I said, as eerie howls echoed out from the wilds behind us.

  Members of our caravan looked around, fear evident on their faces. Something wasn't right —the howls weren't normal. There were probably about five hundred yards between the end of the forest and the start of the walls.

  The caravan leader urged people to keep moving. “No need to gawp and dawdle," he shouted.

  Another set of howls echoed out from the forest. That did a much better job of getting the caravan moving again. Though there was still a sense of order — no one rushed forward, racing for the safety of the gates. There was just a newfound urgency about things. Drivers pushed their tired horses and oxen on, trying to get the exhausted beasts to move just a little faster.

  Up ahead, I could see people on the walls looking down at us. As we got closer, it was clear they were excited.

  Another set of howls echoed out. Louder. Closer. More numerous.

  It spooked some of the horses, who threw their riders and raced for the open gates.

  "Hold your mounts!" shouted the caravan leader. "There is no danger yet!"

  “Can’t help but notice the ‘yet,’” I said to Jørn, who was walking next to me.

  "I did notice that," he replied. He took a look around the area, concentrating on the forest and the darkness under the trees. He shrugged, but kept a good grip on the sword at his belt.

  We trudged forward, crossing the open ground quickly.

  I kept thinking something was about to happen — there was just that feeling in the air. But the veteran members of the caravan kept their heads down, followed the tracks in the mud, and made their way to the gates.

  More calls echoed from the trees, some quite distant, barely audible. I stepped out of the line so I could listen. Eyes focused on the woods around us.

  Raim was an outlier type of city, at least so far as I'd experienced. Everywhere else I’d been had some semblance of life outside the walls. Large farms and small hamlets gave way to villages and mills, which gave way to more buildings, until you got to the large city walls. But here, it was just a terrible road, going east and west, then wilderness, followed by clear ground, and finally walls. The walls were huge, and oddly white, a stark contrast to the nearly black mud and dark green grass. But not an elegant or luxurious white, more like chalk. It was quite obvious that Raim had, at one point, been a more elaborate fortress. Remains of towers still tried to reach the sky, but were all broken off at different levels.

  I had never seen a forest like the one around Raim either. It had giant trees, at least three hundred feet tall, with wide, spreading canopies that often completely blocked out the sky. And this was on the cleared road leading from Whitefell. Huge ferns grew everywhere across the ground, and in the darker reaches I could see mushrooms and other fungi that defied all boundaries. Mushrooms that were big enough to build houses out of — you know, if you were into alternative construction concepts. And willing to live in the dark wet forest. Wet was also a big thing. It rained every day, nearly all day long.

  But none of the noises I heard as we entered the city were noises I’d heard during our week-long trek. It was disconcerting. But, also, not a language either. Otherwise, I’d have learned it. Still, it certainly seemed that information was being conveyed.

  “You better hurry,” Mornax called after me. “Don’t get stuck outside.”

  I looked back at Raim and saw that I was basically the last member of the caravan outside. The final wagon was heading under the ma-hoo-sive stone arch that made up the gates, and Mornax stood outside waiting for me, his elk’s lead in one hand and Hellion, the mimic, tied firmly to the elk. I sighed, and jogged into Raim.

  2

  Once inside, Raim became really different than anywhere else I’d been. Just getting through the gate felt like a hike. The walls rose at least 80 feet into the air, so not the tallest I’d seen, but they were impossibly wide. Definitely the girthy-est.

  Raim looked to be an octagon, with eight walls and eight towers. And while the towers had largely fallen in disrepair, it seemed that the walls were actively maintained. But I did see people moving in and out of some of the towers, so they still used them in some way.

  The open space was mostly divided into two areas: a place where the people were, and a place where the animals were. The animals took up half the space inside, grazing around a large, fenced-in grassy area. There were mostly horses, but also some oxen, a few oversized rams, and what looked very much like a short-haired mammoth. A very large building stood at one end of the pasture, which I took to be the stables.

  Surprisingly neat cobblestones led us around the other portion of the interior. There was no trash anywhere, like Disney World. I spotted a building that was obviously a tavern or inn, given its signage, and a large building next to the most conspicuous and crazy feature of the whole city: the massive hole smack in the middle.

  It was about fifty feet across with a very small lip wall, about two feet, surrounding it. It made the thing look like an insane well. Nearly everyone who was new to the city stood at the lip and stared down. I did the same.

  It just seemed to go down forever. I couldn’t see a bottom. Actually, the only thing I could really see was something that looked like clouds. Light grey fluffy things at least three hundred feet below. Or more.

  A large square platform hung suspended over the hole, held up out of reach, keeping anyone thinking of jumping from doing so. It looked like a complicated sort of elevator system, with plenty of winches, pulleys, levers, gears, and all those engineering thingies that allowed the platform to drop incredibly far down. The side walls of the hole were, for the first hundred feet or so, made out of large rectangular stones, about two feet by six feet. I couldn’t think of how it had been built. Or why.

  I looked around and saw the rest of my party leaning over and looking down into the mists below.

  Jørn, the self-described greatest swordsman of all time, with just a slight smile on his face, grinning at both the impossibility of what he was seeing, and surely, the thought of how he would conquer it.

  Mornax, the massive minotaur fighter, part of my tjene and sworn to protect me and follow my orders, still holding onto the lead of his new best buddy, an elk big enough to carry the seven foot tall bull-man.

  Nox Kvist, also in my tjene, though so incredibly far out of his depth out here in the world instead of holed up in a library, reading ancient tomes by flickering candlelight. His face was pale and he seemed a bit ill, almost like he was about to throw up in the hole. Which, frankly, was something I would’ve liked to have seen.

  His adopted sister, Lux, definitely one of the prettiest people I’d ever seen, looking rather odd in a gown that somehow seemed to repel dirt. Like Jørn, the site of the hole made her smile in a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

  Garnish, a bugbear, standing a head taller than everyone but Mornax. Shaggy thick fur covered his body, but he still dressed like a sailor with short pants and a vest. I could feel him channeling magic through his body, something he seemed to do instinctually. Maybe he saw something down there.

  Our previous captain, Aldwen Crutchley, a dark-skinned man with hard muscles and a mean face, scowled at the hole like it had wronged him.

  Dahl, Crutchley’s first mate, and a man of few words. He stared down at the hole, but I had the distinct impression he was somehow seeing more than any of us, that perhaps his skills from days in the crow’s nest translated to this.

  The newest member of my tjene, Denitza Bogomilova Zhikova, looked into the hole, but her face betrayed no emotion. She had been unwilling to open up to anyone during our little journey, preferring, it seemed, to keep her own council. She was still a mystery.

  Also a perpetual mystery was Harpy Sarden. An ancient-looking sailor with a long white beard and heavily-tanned skin cri
ss-crossed with scars upon scars, obliterating nearly all his old tattoos. He looked like he was ready to jump into the pit, like he was dying for the experience regardless of consequences.

  Lastly, there were the truly weird members of the party: Hellion the mimic, currently a chest on top of the oversized elk, and Grim the grimeling, who was curled up in my hood, snoring softly.

  A motley group brought together under my de facto banner. Now that we finally made it in Raim, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. I knew I’d be going into the hole, hoping to find someone with enough power that they could help me get rid of Master Tungan, the corpse king currently trying to take over my body from the inside. But I didn’t want to force anyone else go down if they didn’t want to.

  “So,” I said, “should we head down?”

  Nine faces turned to me, the elk included. There was no clear answer in any of their eyes.

  “I think,” Crutchley said, running a hand across his black mohawk, his dark skin wrinkling as he frowned a little, “it might be better if we, uh, took a night to think over things. Maybe see what this town is about.”

  I glanced down at the hole, thinking about the growing presence inside me, about how it had almost taken over my body once already. Did I have time to wait a night?

  “Seems like a good idea,” Jørn said. “Are party funds high enough to get us an actual bed to sleep in?”

  “I would kill for a bed,” Lux said.

  “Seems a bit steep of a price,” Jørn replied.

  “Depends on who I’d need to kill,” Lux replied.

  Jørn smiled.

  “A bed would be a welcome luxury,” Nox said. “And a night here might give me a chance to learn a little more about Raim. Perhaps giving us an advantage living here. Or below.”

  “Eh,” Harpy said softly, “might be more fun to go down. That’s where the excitement and adventure lie.” He pointed into the hole. “That’s where we need to go.”

  “Do we?” Crutchley asked. “Is it really necessary?”

  “It’s where I have to go,” I said. “That’s my path.”

  “And I’m not saying it’s not,” Crutchley interjected, “I’m just asking if we are all still, you know...”

  There it was, the question that had gone unasked since we’d walked out of the Great Erg.

  “If we are still going to be a party,” Jørn said.

  All eyes were on me. I just shook my head.

  “Not a question I can answer for any of you,” I said. “I have to go down. You guys can choose.”

  “You know I am going,” Mornax said, nodding his head.

  The elk snorted, which could have meant he agreed, or that a fly went up his nose. Equal chances, really.

  “As am I,” Denitza said with a nod.

  Both Mornax and Denitza glanced over at Nox expectantly.

  “What?” He asked. “How exactly might a man like me be useful down there?”

  Mornax frowned and tilted his head somewhat.

  “Fine,” Nox snapped, “I’m going down the big hole as well, though I don’t know what I could possibly do down there that—”

  He shut up after a sharp look from the minotaur.

  “Might be something I need a moment to think on,” Crutchley said. “What with being underground not exactly a specialty of mine.”

  “I’ll go,” Garnish said quietly. “I want to see it.”

  Crutchley looked over at the bugbear, eyebrows raised.

  “But,” he said, “you’re a windlad.”

  “Might be use for me down there,” Garnish replied. “Might find something else to do with myself ‘sides make wind.”

  I hid a smile, and held my hands up to stop the talking.

  “I think,” I said, “it would make good sense to actually take a bit of a break here. We have been going non-stop, and yeah, maybe we should take a minute to think over everything before going on to whatever comes next.”

  I got a few nods.

  “Okay then,” I said, “on to the inn.”

  We went, as a group, to the singular inn-looking building. As we got closer, I could make out the somewhat ominous name: The First Rope Inn.

  Pushing through, we came upon a crowded and warm inn. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Lots of small tables spread about a large open area, almost none of them empty. A long bar took up the near wall, with three people working behind it. Two women and a man with a no hair on top of his head, but a large red beard covering his face. He smiled at us, and gave us a wave over.

  “Welcome!” He bellowed at us. He had the sort of wide smile that made me think he only knew how to speak loudly. “Come in!”

  With that sort of a greeting, how could we refuse? We walked over to the opening at the bar he made for us, and sat down.

  “Now,” the bearded man roared, “who’s the leader of this fine group of adventurers?”

  All fingers pointed to me.

  “Me, I guess,” I said.

  “Welcome to the inn,” he said, again, “what can I offer you?”

  “Rooms?” I asked. “Maybe with beds?”

  He nodded, scratched his cheek, and then looked over at one of the women to his right who were definitely doing a lot more work than he was. The younger of the two held up four fingers.

  “Got four rooms left,” he said. “You want those?”

  “Suppose it depends on the cost,” I replied.

  “Aye, smart lad,” the man said with a wink. “What kind of coin you got?”

  “Gold?” I asked.

  “Country?”

  “Ah. Carchedon.”

  He walked over to a small book laying open, and peered down. Then ran his finger along the page until he found what he was looking for. He tapped the paper and nodded again.

  “Right, that’ll be five gold a night,” he said. “Per room.”

  I blinked a few times. That seemed rather steep.

  “Twenty gold a night,” I said, taking a breath and nodding. “Must be some special rooms.”

  “Best in Raim,” the man said.

  “Are there any others?” I asked.

  “Not for the likes of you.”

  “Me? What—”

  “He means the other places are reserved for those with jobs,” said the younger barmaid, walking over to us. “Caravan guild members have rooms in Tower Three. Caravan guards get rooms in Tower Four. Raim Guard have Tower One and Tower Two.”

  “Ah,” I replied. “Makes more sense that way.”

  “If’n you’re a guest here,” the man said, “to the town I mean, this here is pretty much what you have to take. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to sleep outside the walls.”

  “What about the stables?” Mornax asked.

  “Suppose you’d have to ask them if you’d be allowed to sleep there,” the innkeep replied, looking over at the minotaur.

  “I meant for my mount,” Mornax clarified.

  “Then you’d definitely need to ask them.”

  Mornax nodded, and glanced at me.

  “Go on then,” I said.

  Mornax left quickly, with a smile. He seemed to like his elk more than anyone else in the party.

  “Don’t forget the chest,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Now,” the innkeep said. “You want the rooms?”

  “Yes,” I said, getting the gold out of my pouch.

  He took the gold with a smile, and seemed to pull keys out of thin air. They jangled as they hit the bar top.

  I let the others snag the keys, choosing, instead, to take a seat at the bar. I probably wasn’t going to sleep, and I didn’t see the point in fighting over what beds there might be.

  As soon as the rest of the party was gone, the bearded man came back over.

  “You need something else?” He asked.

  “Bite to eat, something to drink?” I asked.

  He pointed to a chalkboard hanging above the bar, listing the day’s food.

  “Lucky you came in with the caravan,” he said, “got a good selection today.”

  I ordered roast fowl and a milk.

  There was the slightest eyebrow raise at the milk, but whatever.

  After a few minutes, the young barmaid came over with the food and set it in front of me, along with a large mug of milk.