Skye is the Limit by Phenomenal Pen (detective books to read TXT) 📗

Chapter 13: Negotiations

There was a flight of stone steps behind the fireplace. Blacksmith went deeper into the ground and the source of his anxiety switched from fire to narrow spaces. The stairs were so poorly lit it was all he could do to keep from falling and breaking his neck. He tried groping along the walls but shuddered and withdrew his hands. The walls were cold and wet like Hordo had said.

Blacksmith wondered if the chill he was feeling was due to the temperature or some otherworldly presence. He wanted to call out to Mage and Ranger ahead and debated with himself whether to wait for the other two like a scaredy-cat in a haunted attraction.

He felt relieved when he reached the bottom of the stairs because there was adequate light spilling from the left turn. Following the light brought him to a narrow passage illuminated by torch-shaped sconces bearing the same bright but harmless blue flame, which must’ve ignited upon sensing their approach. His relief was short-lived because now he could see that the walls were crammed with skulls. 

They were in a catacomb. As Blacksmith cringed, he felt something cold touch his elbow. He screamed.

It was Warrior, his eyes as large as saucers and their pupils dilated; below them his lips were a thin bloodless slit. Elf had the same look she had after slaying the Nidhoggr. It was a mixture of shock and incomprehension. Her fear was more health and sanitation-related but equally paralyzing. Who knew what type of bacteria bred in such a place?

“Pipe down, will you?” Ranger hissed, having poked his head out of another turn. 

Blacksmith swiveled his head back to the skulls embedded in the walls, Warrior and Elf very close on either side of him. There were piles upon piles of them; skulls of various shapes and sizes. Some human and others difficult to tell.

The whole inn is built on a graveyard, he thought and his skin broke out in goosebumps. In a corner, he saw the skeleton of a humanoid manacled to the wall and realized that not all that were buried there had died of natural causes.

The three Dreamwalkers took the next turn with more briskness in their steps. They kept their eyes peeled for something that resembled a wine cellar.

“Welcome to the Blue Room,” Hordo proudly greeted.

Three pairs of eyes widened.

 

****

 

The room looked like paradise – that is, if they were mercenaries and cold-blooded killers. From end to end, neatly arranged in rows of stands were medieval weapons, sorted mainly into shields, helms, armors, gauntlets and sabatons. But the most shocking thing about the room was the fact that it was completely blue. The floor, ceiling and walls were covered with some sort of magical curtain-like lapis material that kept flowing even in that draughtless passage.

Running down the middle of the room, there were all kinds of swords: seax, gladius, spatha, falchion, back-sword, hanger, spradroon, cutlass, saber, long sword, war-sword, edgeless estoc, great sword, bastard sword, rapier and two-hander. There were polearms of varying lengths: spear, glaive, halberd, the Far Eastern naginata, lance and bardiche. There were also flails, warhammers, maces and axes.

Blacksmith marveled at the extent of Hordo’s hoarding (or the power of global metasearch), which spanned at least a millenium of warfare.  As for the rest of the Dreamwalkers, they had never imagined there were so many ways to kill a person. Compared to the number of weapons, there seemed to be far fewer means of protection as evidenced by the small selection of shields, comprised only of kites, heaters, pavises, bouches, bucklers, scutums and targes.

<Why would we need weapons?> Ranger asked. <If we have use of our Anima bracelets?>

<Dreamcraft weapons are reliable,> Hordo answered. <They’ve been hammered and wrought by our most talented Dwarven metal-workers. They are unlike your Anima constructs, which come and go depending on the strength of your imagination. Or fear.>

Hordo smiled mischievously while looking at Ranger in particular. Ranger felt a chill because it seemed as though the troll could probe right into his soul.

<The merchant adventurer speaks the truth,> Mage said. <Your Anima is what you call mana in gaming terminology. It is a natural, indestructible part of you and is your greatest attribute. However, it ebbs and flows depending on the state of your mind.>

<What are these?> Elf asked from across the room while peering down into a glass display case.

Glass was rare inside the Blue Room and the glass on the case looked rough and unclear. Some tribal accessories lay inside: necklaces, rings, earrings, bangles, armbands, anklets, bones that were supposed to go through the nose and so on.

<Ah!> Hordo exclaimed with the gusto of the dream world’s first ever sales psychologist. <Those are charms, dearie.>  

<Charms?> Elf echoed. <Charms for what?>

<Why, for everything. There are charms to increase the damage you deal to your enemies, be it Base or Critical. There are those that boost your energy or your speed, leech the health right off your opponents or increase your chances of stunning them.>

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