97. Welcome to Rotgard

  Just when Serac had thought her little Wayfaring party might grow into a quintet, it disbanded itself without warning. First with the unannounced departure of Renate, followed by the Tomasen twins running off in ‘pursuit’.

  “This here is Rotgard.” Lars at least had the decency to offer a hasty explanation. The news didn’t necessarily come as a surprise to Serac, who’d already taken note of the barren landscape around them. As for the freshly refilled river, no doubt it was directly connected to the phenomenon they’d all just witnessed inside the Realm-cave. Lars went on, “My brother and I must travel upstream. Go back to Town Market. I suspect Finless will target Jorgen & Sons in our absence.”

  “Should Zacko and I come with?” Serac asked numbly, for want of a more obvious choice. “Technically, we’re still on a ‘job’ to capture the Finless, aren’t we?”

  That was when Serac suddenly remembered why she and Zacko had been recruited in the first place. Palmr Jorgensen had identified them as ‘unknown quantities’, a pair of rookies who had the element of surprise on their KL-60+ superior.

  Well, so much for that surprise. In their combined efforts to smite Mulaharta, Wayfarers both new and old had bared all. When (if) they next met, Renate would know exactly what to look out for.

  At Serac’s question, Lars at least had the decency to hesitate—but only briefly.

  “No,” he said, even as he passed COASTER to Hans to make new ice on the river. “You will only slow us down. Oh, and before I forget, this is yours.”

  With that, Lars tossed Serac a jute-woven pouch that had been tied around his belt. Serac caught it, nearly losing her balance from the sheer weight of the thing. And no wonder, for it contained all the gelatinous goo she’d [Harvested] from cave-dwelling Wildspawns, some of which had come from a giant tadpole monster.

  Before Serac could thank them, both sturgeons hopped onto the block of ice, conveniently turtle-shell-sized. They then began to make quick, short COASTER passes between themselves—STROKE-SIDE to BOW-SIDE then back again. After several repetitions of this, it became clear that at least the Tomasen twins had one more trick up their sleeve:

  [COASTER Spell: BREAKAWAY]

  The block of ice—with the sturgeons on it—zoomed up the river with a burst of speed. It mattered not how fast the river was flowing in the opposite direction, for the twins had generated their own localized dynamo to propel themselves upstream. Faster than a gawking Rakshasa could ask ‘how did you do that?’, the Tomasens disappeared into the distance.

  Which left Serac and Zacko all by themselves with no local supervision. They’d ascended as a duo, and it seemed they’d continue as a duo—at least for now. It took Serac a while to come to terms with the abrupt lack of direction.

  “Should we follow them?” she asked aloud, but was happy for either one of Zacko or Trippy to chime in. “I mean, now that we’re out in the field, we could summon Ash and see if our castle’s any good at climbing trees.”

  “I’ll go along with whatever you decide, princess,” Zacko said breezily, showing none of Serac’s concern. “But I just wanted to remind you. We’re still under that ‘moratorium’ thing that prohibits us from foraging, and right now, we just happen to be on our own with no one to watch us. That was supposed to be the twins’ job, but they’ve obviously decided that going after Bubblegum is more important.”

  “Good point,” Serac said with a nod, readily seeing the value of their accidental freedom. She then wondered how they might put that freedom to use, and the first thing that came to mind was: “I’m also really curious about this here Rotgard. We’ve heard so much about it, and there’s obviously something strange going on here that can’t all be explained by Mulaharta. The soldiers. The lies about Renate. I want some answers, and I want to find them for myself.”

  “I thought you might say that,” Zacko said, albeit this time with a small sigh. “But I also want to remind you of this. We’ve had a loooong day, and I don’t know about you, but I’m just about ready for some sleep. At the very least a nap.”

  Only then did Serac’s attention turn to the ambient lighting.

  The Wayfarers had originally departed for their ‘mission’ at around midday. Now, the sun had just peeked out over some hills in the distance, thus brightening what had been a forest-green sky into something a little more closer to seafoam. Serac didn’t need to be Pretjordian to know that this was the dawn of a new day.

  “You’re right,” she murmured weakly, marveling at just how long they’d spent stuck inside the Realm-cave. “Okay, how about this? We do some light exploration and foraging, and once we’ve managed to top up our [Satiety] a bit, we find somewhere quiet to rest.”

  “What about the stuff you got in that bag?”

  Serac opened the jute-woven pouch, then nearly gagged from the smell. While the bag was soaking wet, its contents had remained more or less dry. That didn’t stop the Rumpe-goop from assaulting the senses with an acrid mixture of dried blood and—was that gunpowder?

  “If you wanna try this thing raw, be my guest,” she spoke through a pinched nose.

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  Zacko leaned in, took one look at the contents of the bag, then said, “On second thought, a foraging run sounds like a good idea. Looks like it’ll be slim pickings around these parts, but even berries or some such would be preferable to whatever that is.”

  “If I might make a suggestion, Wayfarer,” Trippy did chime in then, “consider familiarizing yourself with the skill of cooking. That way, as long as you have the raw ingredients, you’ll always have a source of [Satiety] at hand. Not now, of course, but something to work into your plans. As long as you’re in Pretjord, I’m sure this won’t be the last time this would come up.”

  Serac couldn’t rightly argue with that. She made a mental note, adding ‘cooking’ to her growing self-improvement checklist. And with that, she and Zacko were off on their foraging run.

  Contrary to Zacko’s hopes, Rotgard—at least this portion of it—offered very little in the way of ‘berries or some such’. Despite the raging river the Wayfarers had washed up on, the surrounding terrain was arid, rocky, and lifeless, with its sparse vegetation amounting to nothing more than prickly bushes that barely reached Serac’s knees. The place lacked not only for nature and wildlife, but also for sentience—with no sign of civilization nor another living soul for as far as the eye could see.

  It was a far cry from the lush greenery and bustling activity of Stamgard’s Town Market, so much so it beggared belief that the two locales belonged to the same Realm. In fact, the closest reference point Serac had to compare with were the rugged Badlands of Naraka she, Zacko, and Ash had braved once upon a rescue mission. Minus the [Ossify] clouds (yay), but with the added, constant reminder of [Hunger] in the background (boo).

  What a busy day I’ve had, Serac reflected absent-mindedly. A near drowning. A wolf hunt in the forest. Haggling over quest rewards with an unscrupulous businessman. A turtle ride down the river. A cave expedition. A boss fight in a team of five. And now this… back to wandering a hellish wasteland. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Hm. Sounds like something Zacko’s mama might say…

  Speaking of Zacko, the man was starting to show clear signs of distress. It was he who’d first complained of fatigue, and despite his outwardly breezy demeanor, a noticeable edge now crept into his voice as he complained some more.

  “Shit, this place really is the pits, just like the Yakshas said. Don’t think we’ll be finding anything edible anytime soon, and I won’t lie, I’m starting to worry about my [Satiety] gauge again. Faster metabolism and whatnot. Do you think… maybe we ought to book it back to the Town Market? See if we can’t mooch some food off a kind soul or two?”

  Serac made a face, one made up of a mixture of emotions. Partly, she worried about Zacko’s state of [Hunger], desperate as she was to avoid another starvation scare. But an admittedly even bigger part of her felt nothing but distaste for the idea of crawling back to Palmr Jorgensen empty-handed and begging for a handout.

  “Let’s just go a bit further, shall we?” she said with forced optimism. “Maybe over them yonder hills is a forest with more wildlife for us to hunt?”

  “If this is going to take much longer, Wayfarer,” Trippy came in with another suggestion, “you should consider setting down a Waystation. Remember, the one you’re tethered to right now is flooded and gods know how many hundred feet under the ground. If anything were to happen to you right now, you’d need a safer, drier place to reconstitute.”

  Serac couldn’t rightly argue with that. Indeed, it was a small wonder she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  She was also reminded of the fact that she still had just the one charge of Waystation [Privilege]. In the free-for-all that had ended the Mulaharta fight, it’d been difficult to tell which Wayfarer had received the smiting blow bonus, but it evidently hadn’t been her.

  She ought to put down a Waystation and soon, like Trippy said. But surely, there was a better place to do so than here, in the middle of a barren nowhere. Perhaps, over those yonder hills, they could find a nice, private nook or grotto to settle in? Gods, she certainly was placing a lot of hopes and dreams on those yonder hills.

  And as Serac stared into the hopeful distance, she became aware of a sound that belonged to neither her nor Zacko.

  It began first as a distant rumble, originating from somewhere beyond those yonder hills. It seemed to travel through the very earth, like the locomotive vibrations of something large or perhaps many.

  Serac’s closest reference point was the irrepressible march of Ashvanaga, her very own mobile fortress. And while she couldn’t picture a blood-stained stone castle rumbling through the Roots of the Realmtree, she also couldn’t outright discount the possibility. After all, it’d only been a mere few hours ago that she’d had her first boss encounter in Pretjord against an ‘ascended’ Hellspawn.

  But as the sound grew louder and visible shapes emerged from atop the hills, Serac was soon reminded that reality was often much stranger than anything her imagination could conjure up.

  A group of Yakshas—at least several dozens of them at a glance. They sped towards the outrealmers en masse, with every individual riding on turtle—no, tortoise-back. Large, wrinkly creatures with bumpy scales, saddled shells, and dour eyes.

  Even a hell bumpkin like Serac ‘knew’ that tortoises were meant to be slow and heavy in their movements. But not so, this Pretjordian lot. Their wide-set quadrupedal legs waddled and shuffled with impressive agility, kicking up dust and tree bark debris as they carried their Yaksha riders across the bare terrain.

  The riders themselves were distinctive in their appearance—and instantly recognizable. For Serac had already seen a few of them yesterday, on her way down the rivers. One-piece suits covering collars to ankles, dyed in various camouflage patterns. Slender harpoon guns slung over every man’s shoulder.

  These were soldiers. They were coming for Serac and Zacko. And they didn’t come bearing gifts, from the looks of it.

  Guess I need to start a new list for Day 2. Serac thought absent-mindedly, a little too taken aback to be truly alarmed. ‘Surrounded by gun-toting soldiers’ sounds as good a bucket-list item as any.

  The soldiers and their tortoises did surround the Wayfarers now, in an evenly spaced formation and with coordinated movement. Up close, the Yakshas’ varied ‘typings’ were plain to see, with everything from salmons to halibuts to even a mackerel or two. But no matter the colors of their scales nor the shapes of their dorsal fins, they all joined in the same gesture now, readying and aiming their harpoons in unison.

  One soldier among them, a stout sea bass with facial scars who was clearly the ‘grizzled veteran’ of the group, now spoke with practiced authority.

  “You are trespassing on restricted land. State your business in Rotgard, outrealmers, and do not dally nor prevaricate, if you wish to walk out of here on your own two feet.”

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