Chương 229: Arc 4 - Chapter 31

Fritz announced his decision to the crew and wanted to be Climbing in half an hour. Unfortunately, Trudge's condition wouldn't allow that. Although his attempts at standing for longer than a minute had grown into stretches of two, then three minutes, he couldn't walk at more than a plodding pace. It was a choice between letting the man sleep for a night and having him drink the healing potion they had only just acquired.

It would be a waste, seeing as there was another Well at the end of the next Floor, but resting when the crew were still able to Climb was also unacceptable. In the end, it was a question of time or gold. Fritz quickly came to the conclusion that he valued time more. Every hour on the outside was one he could use to further his greater goals and seed his strategies. Every day in the Spire was one spent trapped and tormented. It wasn't too difficult a decision.

"Trudge, drink the healing potion," Fritz commanded.

"Are you sure?" he asked uneasily.

"Yes. I've thought it over, and I want you hale for the next Door," Fritz stated.

"Even if you were to rest, I suspect your lingering injuries would keep you from fighting or hauling properly. And we need the strongest members of this crew healthy to carry all that gold. It won't be easy split across six people, and it would be worse if split amongst five."

"Alright," Trudge tentatively agreed. Clover handed him the potion, as she was the keeper of most of their healing supplies. He drank it down, then grit his teeth. His bandages bent and tore as small shards were pushed from his wound. They clinked on the ground, sticky with swiftly drying blood. The healing ceased, and the large-set man breathed a sigh of relief. Trudge smiled.

"Thanks, that feels much better."

"You're welcome," Fritz allowed.

"Though, let's not dally. We have a Spire to Climb. Only two more Floors and we're free." That thought buoyed the crew, though he could also see it worried them. Motes of apprehension flitted above their heads. They were probably wondering about what their fates outside would come to be. Fritz suspected he had their measure by now. And he guessed the quality of their character.

Still, there was always the opportunity that they would disappoint him, or show some colours he didn't care for, so he didn't offer them a place in the Refuge prematurely. That could wait until they were at the top of the Spire. Not that he could truly make the decision for Sylvia or the 'council' anyway. They were the ones who were responsible for such things. Fritz could only make some requests. Though as respected as he was, he doubted he'd be denied.

He swept his eyes over the crew; they had bundled themselves in their spare clothes and wore blankets like cloaks. Fritz checked to make sure they could swing their weapons effectively, even with the added bulk of the padding and the burden of the divided gold, and found them... passable. Then they Climbed. The icy ramp was surprisingly coarse, allowing their boots purchase as they ascended. Once they breached the next Floor, though, that stopped being true.

Fritz, unaccustomed to the slippery surface he now strode upon, felt his foot slide beneath him, and he nearly fell. Of course, his Grace saved him from such a blunder, and with a stern voice, he warned, "Watch out. The ice up here is treacherous." It wasn't just treacherous. It was cold. Freezing. Fritz's breath poured from his mouth in a cloud of white. He was grateful that it wasn't the sucking cold of the water in the silver fish Floor. It bit at his uncovered face, but didn't numb his skin. Not yet, at least.

The walls and roof were uneven, a narrow cave of white-blue ice. They were somewhere deep, maybe under a frozen ocean.

"Dark," Reed said. Fritz lit, then handed him the mana-lantern. He then signed his intention to scout and left. He pulsed his Awareness, and the vague location of the stairway hummed to his right. That way was all ice, so with a misty sigh, he crept forward, cautious of any lurking beasts. He scouted for twelve minutes before he discovered more passages. They were located in a cavern with a high roof, and they were accompanied by a pack of white-furred monsters.

The beasts most resembled goats, with curving horns and woollen hides. That was where the comparison ended, though, because these creatures had six legs, scaly tails and long muzzles from which crooked fangs protruded. They snorted and snuffled. Some gnawed on bloody bones and bleated and snapped when others of their kind drew too close. As for the bones, there were plenty of them. Broken, bitten and white as snow. Fritz didn't recognise what creature they came from, though they looked akin to fish.

After watching the beasts for a minute or two longer, Fritz cautiously retreated and returned to his crew.

"No way forward but through the goat-monsters," he explained.

"Don't worry. They're small compared to the glass beasts," he added when fear flickered in the air.

"Though they may be more vicious, so keep your guard up." With that, Fritz led them through the tunnels of ice. Occasionally, they slipped and slid, but thankfully, no one fell too hard. There was a moment when Reed tripped, dragging down Mel, who was walking in front of him. She also reached out desperately and grasped Clover, bringing her to the ground with them. It was lucky that they were still far enough away from the cavern that the crunching and cursing didn't alert the goat-beasts.

With some small struggle, they were able to stand again, then, more cautiously, they moved on. When they grew closer to where the monsters dwelt, Fritz had the distinct impression that it was too quiet. The cracking of bones and the blurting of bleating had stopped. He signalled to halt and skulked ahead, peering into the cavern. It was still, but he could see the beasts lurking, hunched close to the ground. Their rectangular, yellow pupils stared right at the entrance. Right where he was standing.

One huffed, then shuffled, before stilling again. Fritz held his breath and noticed one of the goat-things was only three feet away, crouching in an alcove and ready to pounce upon any intruder. He waited for the beast to attack; he expected it at any moment, but no such strike came. It couldn't see him, not under both his cloaks, real and ethereal. Relieved he hadn't been caught, he slunk back to his crew.

"They're lying in ambush," Fritz signed once he stepped into the light of the lantern.

"Eleven of them."

"Two each," Toby replied in kind. Fritz nodded, then addressed the crew at large.

"Toby and I will cause chaos by springing the trap early, then you will all charge as we're encircled. It should shatter the effectiveness of any primitive predator's usual tactics."

"Why not use our Defenders to 'spring the trap'?" Toby argued in a whisper.

"That's what they're meant to do, right?" Fritz couldn't argue the point. It was true, that was a Defender's Role. He looked at Reed and Trudge questioningly.

"I can do it," Trudge said.

"Got new armour, might as well put it to the test," Reed said. With that said, Fritz changed the plan.

"Reed, you take the front. Trudge, you're second. Then the Strikers attack." The crew nodded. With a beckoning gesture from Fritz, Reed led the way, lantern upon his belt. Soon, they were near the cavern, next to the opening. Reed stopped, steeled himself, brought up his buckler and borrowed axe and entered. He wasn't immediately attacked. The beasts waited for a whole three seconds before letting loose warbling howls and charging. Their claws scratched the ice, and they sped forward in a skittering rush.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A barrier slid over Reed, and he chopped the first of the beasts to come within his range. The blow landed right between the goat-thing's horns, bounding back with a thwack. It shook its head and appeared dazed rather than hurt, though blood poured from the deep wound and soaked its fur. Another of the beasts lunged.

It didn't lead with its head as its kin did, but reached out with its forelimbs, grasping the buckler that Reed put between them. It pulled, yanking the man off his feet with the superior strength and stability its added legs afforded it. Then it dragged him under its hairy bulk, burying him in bites and claws. Reed might have been lost if Trudge's hammer hadn't come down on the thing's neck, shattering its spine with a brutal blow. The beast sagged, its full weight falling on Reed.

The death only brought him a moment of respite; more of the monstrosities joined the fray, grabbing and goring the two Defenders. The crew jumped into action. Mel let loose a Shadow Bolt and lay about herself with her shortsword, cutting and stabbing into the thick hides. Clover threw one of her axes, it lodged in one of the beast's sides. Toby was next, darting into the dancing shadows and plunging his daggers into unprotected backs. Then it was Fritz's turn.

He had no Ability to dash into battle like Toby could, and had to rely on his stealth. Carefully, he skirted the conflict, blades in hand, waiting for opportune moments to strike. Those openings came swiftly, and he struck out with Quicksilver. It's jagged edge licking exposed throats and overreaching limbs, slicing them open with ease. One, two, three beasts fell to his blade before he was noticed sneaking and stabbing. He wasn't swarmed, as he'd come to be accustomed to.

Only one goat-thing charged him, and he skewered its eye and brain with a precise stab. With a graceful gesture, he slid his sword free and flicked the blood off his blade, then scanned the battlefield for his next foe. There were none. The very last living beast, covered in bloody cuts, had its hard head caved in by a hammer blow. Then all that could be heard was the heaving breaths of his crew. They bore a few minor injuries, but they looked to be fine otherwise. Now the battle was done, Fritz wasted no time.

"Let's get these things skinned. Their hides will be good for warmth, and they shouldn't go to rot too quickly in the cold. Horns and claws may be worth something, too." Soon, all hands were at work stripping the beasts. And while they all worked, Fritz reflected on the battle. His skulking assault was a deviation from his normal tactics, where he often was overwhelmed and attacked from all sides, and he had to admit, it was far more effective.

He'd killed just as many as he usually would have and with less than a third of the risk. Danger Sense had only warned him once of an impending strike, and that when the fight was all but over. He was glad that this crew could finally pull their own weight in combat. Really, Fritz realised, he had been carrying too much on his own shoulders. He made a decision there and then to not make the same mistake with the next crew of ne'er-do-wells. He'd been risking too much.

His life was worth more than the thugs and thieves the Nightshark tossed to him.

"Think this is good eatin'?" Mel asked, prying a strip of meat from a bone.

"Perhaps," Fritz allowed.

"Have we got any wood left to cook it?"

"No," Reed said, applying healing grease to a cut on his forehead.

"Used it all on the fish floor." Fritz nodded.

"Then leave the meat," he ordered. They obeyed, and in half an hour they had a pile of woollen hides. They were too wet to wear and were slowly stiffening as they froze. As with the more pristine horns and claws, they went into packs. It added to their burdens, but not significantly. Then they were off again, Fritz leading the way. They slipped less and less as hours wore by and they grew used to the icy floor; however, they also began to move more slowly.

The cold was sinking into their bodies, despite their warm garments and thick blankets. The sweat from their fights didn't help either, chilling them more completely. They encountered two more packs of goat-beasts, but skinned only one of them, having reached the limit of what they could carry in their packs. There was also the worry that they were also running out of time. It wasn't because of any looming disaster the Floor had sent their way; it was simply the ever-growing cold.

The battles were won handily, and although they accumulated more superficial wounds, they were gaining valuable experience. Even Fritz, who was used to slaying monsters, found there were some insights to be gleaned. Mainly that a skirmishing style was more advantageous with the powers he'd chosen. Though he'd known that intellectually, and put it into practise plenty, he hadn't truly internalised it. He'd become all too used to being hunted and singled out above all others. Always watched and by many sets of eyes.

It was irksome. Though, he didn't exactly desire to fade into obscurity either. Not at all. Another hour and another butchered pack later, they were shivering in truth. Frost bloomed in hair and dusted their clothes. Still, they ploughed ahead, following Fritz. He pulsed his Awareness and knew they were drawing close to the Stairway, when they discovered a great cavern with a horde of the horrible beasts within. Fritz cursed, then realised he'd felt a second Door.

This one was further away then the one ahead, though it likely was surrounded by less monstrosities. He led them to the left, through a cramped passage, until he came to a dead end.

"Clover, B-b-bolt," Fritz ordered, shuffling out of the way. Concussive ripples struck the ice in their way, cracks spread all across it, then Trudge beat down the weakened glacier with his hammer. A warm breeze blew forth from the newly created crevice, buffeting numb faces. He signalled a stop, then proceeded to scout the path. In the darkness, Fritz could faintly see a red glow and could hear a hissing. As he approached, ice gave way to stone and a haze of sulphurous steam.

He held his breath, wary of any bad air and continued on. The path grew warmer as he trod it. He soon found the mouth of a cave, and after he passed into it, discovered a lake of boiling water. In its centre, there was a pillar of black glass, with one thin bridge of that same material leading from its edge to where Fritz stood. He pulsed his Awareness. Just as he suspected, that's where the second Door lay. It looked to be hidden.

Even with his enhanced eyes, he couldn't pick out the stairs or arch that was usually apparent. He retreated, returned to his crew and informed them of the road ahead.

"We have a choice, it seems," Fritz said.

"A boiling lake and bad air, or a swarm of goat-monsters and the brutal cold."

"Boiling lake," Toby said immediately. None disagreed.

"It will be slow going, the bridge is only a foot across," Fritz warned. Still, no one wanted to brave the beasts instead.

"Alright, onward." They passed through the warm passage and were soon traversing the thin walkway between them and the pillar. The ice had prepared them well for the journey, their balance well honed for the slippery surface. It didn't, however, prepare them for the sudden heat or the foul air that stung their eyes. Sweat dripped like rain and soaked their clothes, and despite holding their breath for as long as they could, they eventually had to inhale. The crew coughed and spluttered as they crossed the bridge.

Each lurching step or choking breath could have sent one of them tumbling. Yet they endured and stayed the course steadily. Fritz was the least affected by the poisonous steam, his bones burning coldly, but even his nose and throat grew raw over the long, hot minutes. Eventually, he reached the pillar, then, through watery eyes looked for the door, or the mechanism for revealing it. Thankfully, he found it quickly. A simple copper lever. He grasped it and pulled it down, then immediately wished he hadn't.

Fritz heard a sizzling as the metal seared his hand, and he cried out a curse. A rumbling drowned out his voice, and a section of black glass slid down, revealing the Stairway. And so they Climbed. The Well Room was cool, though formed of that same black glass as below, which was a damn sight better than the ice Fritz had been expecting. The Well itself was a boiling pool. One deep enough to stand in and large enough to swim in.

A pulse of Awareness let him know that it was no trap, or timed room, as the knight floor had been, and he passed on the knowledge to the crew. Fritz was first to test the water with his burned hand, just beginning to blister. It was hot, but not overly so, and the healing energies surged through his body, soothing his burn and mending a cut he had taken in one of the battles.

"There's a chill in here," Mel complained in a croak, making her way to the Well, just as all the others did. As soon as each of the crew had absorbed the Well's power, packs were set down, armour was pulled off, and clothes were peeled away as they leapt into the bubbling depths. Modesty was not a consideration, not after the exhausting day they'd had. That and a certain level of trust and comfort had blossomed between them all.

Fritz joined the crew, wiping off the sweat, grime and blood that encrusted him with rag and soap. After some long minutes of soaking in the warmth, a conversation about Abilities arose. As this was the Ninth Floor, most of them, save Toby, and Fritz himself, were offered a choice. The talk was eager and excited, but also reserved. Yawns abounded between every statement and question, and some couldn't bring themselves to speak much at all, like Clover.

"Don't choose just yet," Fritz drawled.

"There's one more Floor. You will still want to pick the power that will let you survive." There was a chorus of sleepy, 'Yes, Captain's and 'as you say's. He wasn't too pleased with the laziness of their responses, but he couldn't truly blame them, as he too was weary. And he didn't detect a note of deception in their words. They pulled themselves out one at a time and got dressed.

Then, although they were tired, they attended to the beast hides they had salvaged, dusting them with preservation powder lest they begin to fester. After that, bedrolls were laid out, and they made to sleep. Snores echoed softly through the cold room. Fritz lay down and drifted into dreams. They were unpleasant. He was searching for something lost. Someone lost. But wherever he looked, they weren't there. Then he realised they were across the mirror. Across a lake. Across the dim horizon.

What was he searching for again? It was lost, and it was not yet time to find it. It didn't want to be found. Not by Francis. When Fritz awoke, it was to a terrifying sight. The ghost loomed over him, stretching. Inching ever closer. A hair's breadth away, then almost touching his skin.

"Clover!" he yelled. She startled awake and scuffled with her bedding before she shrieked, "Get away from him!" The spectre cackled; the scarlet circle that was its binding had dimmed to a worrying degree.

"The staff!" Fritz shouted, frozen in place, knowing that if he rolled, he would brush against the ghost's ethereal, grey flesh.

"It's empty!" she cried.

"We have plenty of gold just..." The necromancer touched him, his strength left him and his vision darkened. His body shook from the unimaginable cold seeping into his soul. His Sanctum seemed to freeze, its burning power flickering. It was a hollowing agony, dousing the spark of life deep within him. Evil eyes stared down at him, mad and ecstatic. It laugh rattled his spirit, and its maniac grin grew wider than the sea.

A leather-gloved fist, wrapped in a thin grey mist, struck it in the side of the head, breaking its jaw and flinging the spectre bodily through the air. It screeched in fury, but its assailant rushed for it and struck it again, pulverising its head and silencing it forever. What was left of the ghostly figure shuddered and shifted, then all that it had been was sucked into its centre, forming a dark mass that fell to the floor with a thunk.

Fritz attempted to keep his eyes open, but his vision darkened further, and the cold grew deeper. He struggled with the sleeve of his shirt, hand searching for his Slim Pocket and the healing potion within. Numb hands found nothing, and his breath slowed and his chest squirmed. Blackness took him. Then there was warmth. One that lay upon his chest in the shape of a hand. The heat flowed into him, his Sanctum brightened, and his heart, which had wavered, beat strong again.

Sound poured into his ears, and hot drops splashed onto his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Clover wept.

"Please wake up. It was my fault, I'm sorry. Please wake up. I'm sorry." Fritz opened his eyes to find her hand on his chest. It was glowing with that same ghostly haze. He could see that the power was taking its toll on her. Every moment she grew weaker, paling and trembling, tears pouring from her eyes as they lost their lustre.

"Stop," Fritz wheezed. She didn't hear him or heed him.

"Enough!" he ordered, this time wielding Dusksong. She flinched and pulled away, but soon a smile split her face.

"You're alive! Thank the Gods!"

"Of course, I am," Fritz scoffed.

"A ghost, no matter how ghastly, can't kill me." She was about to speak further when he sat up with a groan, then said, "And don't thank the Gods. You, seemingly, did all the work. No need to be giving them any unearned praise."

"See, I told you he'd be fine," Toby said, laying a hand on Clover's shoulder. She nodded, but she still wept fiercely.

"I'm so sorry," she began. Fritz held up a hand, forestalling her.

"I forgive you. Though more importantly... what did you do?" Clover hesitated, then spoke, "I used Spirit Touch."