Ritual combat, p.1
Ritual Combat, page 1
Ritual Combat
Contender Saga
Book II
By Dave Willmarth
Copyright © 2023 by Dave Willmarth
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters and events depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Falkor stood back and took in the view, Grelda next to him, holding his hand. “I can’t believe they’ve gotten so much done in such a short time.” She observed, giving his hand a squeeze.
The two of them had just returned from four days of adventuring. They’d been poking through the natural, monster-infested tunnels that connected to one of the lower levels of his mine. The purpose of the trip had been threefold. First, they wanted to map the tunnel system and determine how far it extended. Second, to clear the area of any monsters that might threaten the miners, and in the process, thirdly gaining experience to level up.
They’d taken Leroy and Lizbet along, the four of them a proper adventuring party. The group had started out with a shorter two-day trip sweeping the ruins of the original town of Riva, finding and killing a number of kobolds, goblins, snakes, oversized spiders, even a mutated spider with three heads, one of which spit acid at them. That particular encounter had forced all of them to return to the village to have Clyde the leather merchant repair their damaged armor. Grelda had managed to heal them all through the painful, burning acid damage during the fight, but just barely.
While they were waiting for their gear to be repaired, and the others were resting, Grelda had raided her little garden for ingredients to brew potions. She restocked her supply of healing potions first, then cooked up some poison cures, and several potions that would neutralize acid. The problem with trying to heal acid burns with healing spells was that the damage persisted, until either the acid was neutralized, or it finished eating through flesh and bone. She’d had to heal Falkor and the others repeatedly for the same wounds, or let them suffer until the acid burned out, then heal them back up. The acid neutralizing potions would prevent that situation from happening again.
With the ruins cleared, and the new guard recruits for both the mine and village arrived, Leroy was free to accompany them on a longer adventure. Falkor had chosen the tunnels. They’d loaded up with a week’s worth of food from Hope Corwin at the tavern, stopped to visit with the carpenters that constable Corwin had referred to them to build Falkor’s cabin, then continued on to the mine. The dwarves had tried to send someone along to help protect them, but Falkor had declined. The clan had more than enough work re-establishing mine operations and constructing homes for themselves, and needed every able body they had.
By the time they emerged from the tunnels back into the mine four days later, the group was exhausted, but happy. They’d encountered several goblin hunting parties with four to six goblins each, a whole den of sixteen kobolds that had taken up residence in a small cavern with a natural spring, and a variety of other underground beasties. Which included a large worm, the length of four wagons end to end, with a hide as hard as stone that had tunneled right into them while they’d been resting,
The worm had nearly crushed Lizbet when it dropped through the ceiling of the tunnel they were resting in. Its mouthparts, hard and sharp enough to cut through stone, had mangled her legs before it decided she didn’t taste good and released her. Leroy scrambled to his feet and bashed the monster’s face with his shield, stunning it long enough for them to roll it off of Lizbet. From there, Falkor shocked it repeatedly while Leroy bashed and stabbed, and Grelda frantically healed Lizbet with both spells and potions. The fight had been a close thing, but the two men had finally worn down the worm’s health and finished it. Twice it had broken Leroy’s limbs – his shield arm and left leg, and Grelda had healed him while Falkor had the worm stunned. Falkor had nearly perished when the massive worm convulsed from a lightning strike and rolled into him, crushing him against the wall, then pushed itself forward and ground him against the stone like a cheese grater for several seconds. Grelda had used the last of her mana and needed to drink a mana potion in the middle of healing him of that damage.
Though they’d all been injured repeatedly, and had gotten very little sleep, their time underground had earned each of them at least one level. As well as significant loot, which Leroy especially was looking forward to selling.
Not needing the money, Falkor had let his three companions claim most of the loot, only taking a few interesting crafting ingredients for himself. Items his companions would normally sell to Fartface the cantankerous old alchemist. Falkor didn’t want the man to gain any useful materials that he might use to profit off the villagers, so he kept them to himself partly out of spite. Corwin had promised to try and recruit another alchemist to set up shop in the growing village, so if Falkor couldn’t use the materials himself, he’d eventually sell them to Fartface’s competitor. Maybe even at a discount.
Falkor had earned two levels between their time in the ruins and their trip through the tunnels. He’d also leveled up several skills, and earned a few new ones. All in all, he was well pleased with the results over the past week.
Not the least of which was standing in front of Grelda and himself. They were staring at his new cabin, which looked to be very nearly complete! Falkor shook his head in amazement. The first thing he’d noticed was that the three young carpenters he’d hired through constable Corwin were not the only ones working on his new house. He spotted at least three other humans, along with two dwarves who emerged from the front door with heavy looking wheelbarrows full of stone.
After he’d officially claimed a large chunk of the land between the village and the mine, half of the crafters in the village and several of the dwarves had volunteered to help build his cabin and barn. Falkor had mentioned to Stonestriker than he planned to build his new home directly into the side of a hill, and the dwarf had nodded at the wisdom of that. The next day two wagonloads of dwarves and equipment had showed up and started digging into the cliff face. At the same time, the carpenters had been felling trees and begun framing the cabin around the opening the dwarves had made.
Falkor had given them a rough diagram of the cabin he wanted, a near exact replica of the farmhouse he’d grown up in. It wasn’t overly large or fancy, but it had been more than comfortable enough for his parents, his brother, Falkor, and his wife. The modifications he made were the same ones his father had planned, an expansion to the kitchen, and two additional bedrooms for the children he expected Falkor and his wife to provide. Falkor wasn’t presuming that he and Grelda would be producing offspring, though from the look she gave him it was clear that she thought he was. He’d blushed bright red at that, and awkwardly explained that he wanted to have lots of room for guests, like if Leroy and Lizbet wanted to rest there after returning from adventuring.
He'd rolled his eyes when Grelda snorted and said, “You only need one room for the two of them. Even if you pushed them into separate rooms at the start of the evening, they’d wake up in the same bed for sure.” The two villagers turned adventurers had grown closer during their time in the tunnels, with Falkor and Grelda doing their best to ignore the extensive canoodling during rest breaks.
Now, as Falkor and Grelda walked across the meadow hand in hand toward the cabin, one of the dwarves spotted them and waved, calling out. “Contender! Grelda!” The others all turned toward the advancing couple, and set down their tools to gather round them. The dwarf looked them up and down, seeing the dirt and damage to their armor. “Looks like ye had a good bit o’ fun in them tunnels!” He looked behind them, not seeing Leroy or Lizbet, and his face grew serious. “Did ye lose the others?”
Grelda giggled and shook her head. “They’re fine. They were just in a hurry to get back to Lizbet’s house to, uh… get cleaned up.” Her wicked smile told the others all they needed to know, and the group laughed along with her.
“You guys have made amazing progress here.” Falkor changed the subject, waving at the cabin. The exterior walls of stone and wood were finished, complete with framed-in door and windows. A wide, covered porch had been constructed along the front of the cabin, extending out ten feet and stretching along the whole front face of the structure. Space enough to place several chairs, or even a long table for outdoor dining. The log walls were fully chinked with what looked like a mixture of moss and mud, sealing the exterior against weather and bugs, and offering some insulation against heat and cold. “This is so much more than I expected.”
“Bah! Ye ain’t see’d nothin yet!” The dwarf thumped him on the back and motioned toward the front door. “Step inside, lad.”
Falkor motioned for Grelda to precede him through the open door, the others all grinning at him. He wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation of his reaction to their work, or the fact that he was treating Grelda as if it were already her home as well. The entire village had quickly decided that the two of them would be announcing a wedding in the very near future. The stares from the villagers and dwarves still made him uncomfortable, as anytime he thought of marrying Grelda, memories of his late wife came to mind. He was working on it, and Grelda wasn’t pressuring him in the least, which he appreciated.
He was still crossing the threshold when Grelda began making appreciative “Oooh” noises. It took him several seconds to adjust to the lower light inside the cabin, but when he did, he sounded just like her.
The first thing he noticed was the high ceilings. There were thick support beams leading up to heavy rafters that soared to three times his own height. The ceiling was built of finely finished and stained planks, as were all of the walls. The exterior walls were made of stone from the ground up to about six feet, where the logs took over. Falkor guessed that the stone had been cut directly from the cliff face as the dwarves worked their way in.
To his left was a double-sided stone fireplace with a wide hearth. In front of it was a sitting area sufficient for two or three sofas and several chairs to be set around the fire. To the right was a dining table cut long and wide enough to easily seat ten people. Maybe eight if they were wide-shouldered dwarves, or Corwins. Beyond the table was the kitchen area, with ornately carved cabinets already mounted on the walls, and a sink placed below a window that looked out toward the pond.
The dwarf, whose name Falkor thought was Ironbender, pointed to the space on the opposite side of the fireplace. “When they finish the wall that goes there, that’ll be your bedroom. Plenty o’ room for a big bed, a wardrobe or two, plus a crib when ye need it.” He winked at Grelda, causing her to blush as deeply as Falkor had.
Not waiting for Falkor to react, the dwarf practically shoved them toward the back of the main room. There was a hallway that led to another bedroom on either side, and an indoor washroom. Falkor managed to spot a water pump and pipes in the brief instant he had before the dwarf hustled him on past. There was a clear demarcation point where wooden walls became stone, and Falkor knew they’d passed into the cliff face. He immediately felt a temperature difference as they took another dozen steps down a stone corridor, at the end of which was a heavy iron door set on hinges thicker than his wrist. The dwarf drew a hand axe from his belt and rapped the door with the butt.
“This be yer last line o’ defense if yer home be attacked and yer forced to retreat. Stone n iron! Even if they burn yer cabin to the ground, the fire won’t reach ye here.” He shoved the door, and Falkor noticed that it didn’t make a sound as it swung open. The dwarf motioned them inside, and this time Falkor led the way.
Beyond the door was a wide, round chamber that didn’t speak to any particular use, except for the fireplace cut into the back wall. It was wide enough to cook in with two or three pots at once, or roast a small pig over a spit. Seeing the direction of his gaze, Ironbender said “It be vented up and out the front, right above yer other fireplace.” Falkor nodded in appreciation as he took in the rest of the space.
There were three other openings in the room, two to the right, one to the left. The one to the left was only about six feet deep, and there was rubble on the ground around it. The dwarves were obviously still working there. “That one’ll be the bath n shitter.” Ironbender offered before turning to the other two openings. “Both o’ those lead to rooms ye can use fer sleepin’, or whatever purpose ye like.” He then turned and pointed to the bare section of wall on the left, next to the partially completed room. “That way will be yer back door.”
“Back door?” Grelda asked.
“Aye. No self-respectin’ dwarf digs a hole to live in without a back exit!” He grinned at her. “Can’t be gettin’ trapped inside, now can ye?” He pointed at the blank wall. “We’ll be placin’ a second iron door there, along with a few stonefalls ye can trigger on yer way out if ye need to. The exit will be hidden in the forest, among some boulders we’ll place there.”
Falkor blinked a few times, recalling the layout above. The clearing extended a good distance all around the hill they were standing under. “That’ll be a long tunnel.” He observed.
“Aye, it’ll give ye lots o’ room to expand o’er the years.” The dwarf nodded, completely serious. “Dwarves don’t build fer ourselves, or even fer our wee ones. We build our homes to last fer our great, great, great grandchildren. We build strong, and with room fer growth!” His gaze again drifted toward Grelda as he mentioned grandchildren, and the others who’d walked along with them snickered quietly.
“It’ll take a few months to dig that tunnel, so don’t go makin’ trouble with any bandit clans or kobold hordes before then!” He thumped Falkor on the back again, making him splutter.
“Th-thank you.” He managed after he finished coughing. “This is much more than I asked for. How can I repay you all?”
“Oh, ye’ll be getting’ a bill!” The dwarf roared, smiling greedily at him. “But don’t worry, ye can afford it.”
Falkor grinned back at him. The dwarf was right. In addition to the ten thousand gold that House Goldleaf had paid him to return their stolen treasures, he’d earned another four thousand from the auction of the mana crystal, after the auction fees and the percentage paid to the Contender who’d arranged the sale. That Contender had reported that the bidding had been enthusiastic, which boded well for sales of future, larger crystals. Falkor had only hoped that the crystal would sell for about half of what it actually brought in.
A significant portion of his ready cash had been withdrawn from the Harborage bank through Rivan, and given over to Corwin and Stonestriker to help pay for the additional guards and supplies for both the village and the mine. Falkor had also ordered several items from Togglebottom, by way of the merchants in the caravan that had accompanied the dwarves. The first of which had been additional storage devices with higher capacities. One each for himself, Grelda, Leroy, and Lizbet. If they were going adventuring long term, Falkor wanted them to be able to carry a month’s worth of supplies and loot, or more.
Togglebottom had gleefully created a list of all the gear Falkor wanted for his companions, then charged him an only slightly obscene amount of gold for it, citing shipping and handling costs with a smile. Falkor chuckled at his business partner’s enthusiasm for taking his gold in what was, in comparison to the profits they’d be earning from the mine, relatively small amounts. He happily allowed the gnome his small victories.
Falkor had, as promised, purchased the elven-crafted spear from Rivan, giving the avatar enough gold to pay workmen from the village for repairs and improvements to the harborage. He’d also purchased a few dozen high quality healing and mana potions from the avatar, preferring to give the coins to Rivan over Fartnel. Besides, the coins would likely either be paid back to him as quest rewards, or to workers from the village.
One of the carpenters spoke up as Falkor led them back into the wooden portion of the dwelling. “The rest of the furniture, at least the basic necessities, has already been ordered. Beds, chairs, and the like. All of it should be delivered by week’s end.”
That was only three days away, Falkor thought as he smiled at the man. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t expecting to be able to move in for another couple weeks.”
Another man, one whom Falkor couldn’t recall ever meeting, pointed out the door. “We’ll be starting on the barn next. And a small split rail corral. Your first six cows and the bull will be delivered as soon as those are finished.”
Falkor looked down at his feet, slightly embarrassed as he thanked the men again. The villagers had, upon hearing that he was setting up a permanent home among them, thrown a party in the village square in his honor, and gifted him with all kinds of things. Including the cattle the stranger had just mentioned. Word had spread quickly that he was investing a significant percentage of the mine proceeds into the village coffers, and that the village would quickly be expanding into a proper town again. Nearly all of the villagers stood to benefit in some way from his generosity, even if it was just the added security of extra guards, and had offered what they could to thank him.
Noticing Falkor’s discomfort at receiving the many gifts during the celebration, a half-drunk Leroy had cynically informed him that at least some of the gifts weren’t given out of pure gratitude. “Most of them want to get in the good graces of the man who owns the mine, and controls their destiny. For the near future, at least. If it weren’t for Grelda, half of them would be trying to foist their marriageable daughters off on you.”
