Finish the Job So We Don't Have To

By Brian Wakeling

Whenever you kill an evil wizard, there are three things you should remember:
Kill his bodyguards and sidekicks *as well*;
Steal *all* his treasure;
Have an escape route planned *in advance*.
So ... Second time lucky?

A second chance arrives for Cullan and his companions to loot the Tower or Morss - not that they really want to go back there, after what happened last time. Especially with an invading army in the way. Oh, and having to kill the three most well-protected people in a besieged city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781326232962

Book preview

Finish the Job So We Don't Have To

Finish the Job So We Don’t Have To

Book II of the

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

series

A NaNoWriMo Novel

by Brian Wakeling

About the Author

Brian Wakeling was born in the Midlands, bred in the Home Counties, raised in Yorkshire, and went to university in Edinburgh, where he studied fencing and drinking at QMUC – from where he was finally kicked out for the second time in May 2000. He returned to Yorkshire nine months later where he tried to get a life but couldn't afford one. In summer 2005, following his ambition to get a job in a theatre, he moved down to London – and almost completely failed in this ambition. He has been writing in one form or another for most of his life. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome in March 2009.

Other Books

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

Please Kill the Neighbours

Finish the Job So We Don’t Have To

All’s Fair in Love and Politics

Things Never Go Smooth

Cult Following

Customs & Duty

The Dragon, Shrouded

The Dragon, Rising

The Dragon

Copyright

Copyright © Brian Wakeling 2007

I, Brian Wakeling, hereby assert and give notice of my right under sections 77 and 78 of the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. Any unauthorised copying, lending, distributing or hiring is prohibited, whether by electronic or by any other means.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The GURPS rules and system used as part of the creation of this work are © Steve Jackson Games. GURPS is a Registered Trademark of Steve Jackson Games.

Cover art by and © Ann-Cathrine Loo 2008

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Edition 2008

Second Edition 2009

Third Edition 2010

Fourth Edition 2015

Fifth Edition 2016

ISBN 978-1-326-23296-2

This forms part of The Published Works as defined in the SOAUL

(http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/soaul.html)

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel is a Trademark of Brian Wakeling

http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/Hsaswt.html

http://www.catroll-art.co.uk/

Map

Dedication

For random old schoolfriends

who pop up out of the blue

and offer encouragement.

Finish the Job So We Don’t Have To

The small cart rattled as it was pushed along the narrow mountain road. The howl of the wind covered most of the noise of the rattling, and it also didn’t help that it looked like it would start pouring with rain in a few minutes. The three figures surrounding the cart were swathed in cloaks that were well-fastened against the cold. They turned yet another corner, and the leading figure raised their arm and said something that was immediately lost to the wind. The cart stopped, and one of the two pushing it yelled out, What?

The lead figure turned and made their way back past the cart so that all three of them could talk without shouting so much. The Temple! she shouted. About another mile!

Thank God for that! replied the slighter of the two pushing the cart. We can get out of this bloody wind!

The larger of the two men pushed back his hood and peered through the gloom of the late afternoon overcast. I can’t see a bloody thing! he muttered.

It’s not far - come on! The woman returned to her position in front of the cart, and started leading the way again. The two men bent to the cart’s handles again and started pushing.

It took them three-quarters of an hour to reach the ruins they were heading for, during which time the last of the light faded from the sky. They went the last quarter of a mile at an extremely cautious pace, lest they fall over the vertiginous drop to their left. They couldn’t light a torch, as the wind would have foiled any attempt at making flame while they were still unsheltered on the path. They pushed the cart into the lee of one of the half-fallen walls, wedged the wheels with a couple of bits of ex-masonry, and sat down against the wall, two huddling together while the third built a fire with wood that had been on the cart. When it was ready, he pulled a tinderbox out from somewhere under his cloak, and carefully made a flame, which he applied to the fire. It was soon burning merrily, and the three of them unwrapped their cloaks and began warming themselves.

After a short while, the one who had lit the fire asked, Why are we doing this? Why don’t we just knock?

Because we’re not sure what day it is. We don’t know if it’s been a year or not yet - the Sage might not let us in.

‘Year yet, or not’, he corrected.

What?

You said, ‘a year or not yet’, when you should have said, ‘a year yet, or not’.

Shut up, Cullan, sighed the big man. Use that oh-so-powerful mind of yours for working out whether we're in time or not, not for grammatical pedantry!

Alright, alright! Keep your hair on! Cullan sat in silence while he warmed his hands for a minute or two. Okay - when did we leave Doronatha?

The city, or the country? asked the woman.

The city.

’Bout a month ago, she replied.

Yes, but when?

I don’t know! It was ...

December the third, the other man supplied. We tried leaving on the first, but our Captain didn’t want us leaving until that last shipment of silk had gone, remember?

Cullan nodded. Right, okay, December the third. Took us, what, two weeks to get to Akallmil by the coast road, right?

Right. And those bloody Dwarfs held us up for a day at the border!

Now now, Alys - it wasn’t our fault we just happened to be passing when that happened.

Right, said Alys, and it also didn’t happen to be our fault that they were willing to pay us to help get their stuff back, which you saw as a brilliant opportunity to pay Kenyon back what you owed him!

Hey! It wasn’t my fault those tiles slipped! If the owner of that house had maintained his property properly, I wouldn’t have fallen and nearly broken my back. If I was earning for those two weeks I was laid up, I wouldn’t’ve owed anyone anything!

Except the price of the stuff you thieved, Kenyon smirked.

Oh yeah, like being a guard for a mafiosa is a noble job?

Pays well.

It’d have to!

Guys! Alys interrupted. You’re getting off the point! Fifteen days from Doronatha to Akallmil, takes us to December the eighteenth. How long from there?

Cullan unhooked his water bottle and took a swig before answering. "We followed the coast road again - which incidentally, why? Why didn't we just cut through the country? It’d’ve bin a lot easier!"

Because you know that Akallmil is in an almost permanent state of civil war between the Dwarfs in the mountains, and the Elves in the forests. We didn’t want to get caught up in all that.

Yeah, coast road was safest, Kenyon added. Remember when we got to Oryan’s Shoulder? We saw those attack ships burning just off the coast, and the sea beams glittering in the dark from the battle at the Tannhouser Gates?

Cullan nodded. Did look kinda pretty, he mused. Anyway, okay, war, yes, so, coast road. Took us a week to get round the Shoulder, then we left the coast and headed due west into these mountains, which took another week. So that's twenty-nine days - hey, the Turn of the Year!

Happy birthday, Morgan, Alys said, toasting her with a swig from her own water bottle.

She’s what, seventeen now? asked Kenyon.

Cullan closed his eyes and threw back his head in thought, trying to remember a conversation held in a cellar a little over a year ago. Yes, he eventually decided.

Right, so we’re in time then, Kenyon said, making to stand up.

We might not be, Alys put out her hand to hold him down, it took us a few more days to get to Darash then to here again.

We did, unfortunately, Cullan said. Let me think ... We crossed the border back into Turnobae on the Turn of the Year. We arrived at Darash the next day, got paid first thing next morning...

Stingy bastard, Kenyon muttered.

... and arrived here by carpet two days later. So that puts us at January the fifth - what day is it today?

Well, where’d we get to in our reckoning? Turn of the year when we reached these mountains, yes?

Yes. And we’ve been going through them for, lessee, six days. Great, Westnight!

January the sixth! Yes! We can knock!

They all got up. They unloaded the supplies they’d brought with them on the cart (mostly firewood and extra food & water, but there was a couple of helmets, a spare sword, and a greataxe as well), and with Cullan holding a stick from the fire for light, they found the still-intact portico that was the front door to the Ruined Temple of Rast, domain and school of the Sage Mordlin. Kenyon used the butt of his greataxe to hammer a couple of times on the blank stone of the back wall. They waited quietly, muttering things like, It’ll be good to see Morgan again, and, I wonder if Mordlin’ll have any work for us? After a few minutes, one of Mordlin’s typically silent guards appeared and beckoned them inside. They were led through the maze of underground passages to the same rooms they had been accommodated in last year, where they were met by an Elf they recognised as Fingolfin, one of Mordlin’s senior aides.

Greetings, he said, calmly. You are timely in your arrival. The Sage will see you tomorrow at eleven. In the meantime, you know your way around.

Can we see Morgan? asked Cullan, dropping his share of the gear from the cart.

Fingolfin hesitated only slightly. Of course. She is quartered on the third level, room seven. He made to leave again, hesitated, and turned back to them. Your personal luggage will be safe here, of course, but your cargo may be better off being deposited with the pursery. He smiled, and left.

Kenyon removed his helmet so he could scratch his head. Where's the pursery?

Back of the refectory, wasn’t it? asked Alys.

Probably, Cullan shrugged. He picked up his load again. One way to find out.

The pursery was indeed next to the refectory. They dropped their stuff off, stopped long enough for a bowl of soup, then went to find Morgan. They made their way down to the third level, found the student quarters, and went along the corridor until they found room seven. Cullan knocked on the old wooden door. For some reason, there seemed to be a sudden absence of a faint background noise that none of them had really noticed before. After a few seconds, the door opened a few inches, and Morgan’s flushed face appeared in the gap. The door opened wider, revealing Morgan standing there wearing nothing but a blanket held at her throat by her right hand.

Morgan!

Cullan! Alys! Kenyon! I wondered when you were getting here! It’s so good to see you! Her left hand appeared from under the blanket in an attempt to hug them, an attempt that was aborted as soon as she realised that this revealed what she was not-wearing underneath.

Good to see you too, said Cullan carefully, peering into the dark room. I hope that young Elf lad is treating you alright?

Morgan (and her smile) froze. Yes! He is! I’ll, er, just go and ...

Alys hauled her male companions out of the doorway by their collars. We’ll see you in the refectory in half an hour, she told them all, and gave the two men a push in the direction of away.

Thank you! Morgan called, and shut the door.

2

"Well, I suppose it is part of the traditional celebrations," Kenyon was saying in the refectory a little while later. They had just had a rather fine meal and were now nursing mugs of ale each, waiting for Morgan.

Oh, I know, said Cullan. "Thing is – we’re under a mountain, in one of the northernmost countries on the continent. Just where, exactly, did they get all those oranges?"

They all turned to look again at the huge display of oranges that a couple of servants had brought in a few minutes before.

"Mordlin is a powerful wizard - perhaps he conjured them?" Alys suggested.

I don’t think you can do that, Cullan countered, ’cos if you could, farmers’d be out of work.

Maybe he had them shipped in from Hadin or Demona or somewhere, Kenyon said. They’re the nearest places that do decent oranges. Okay, yes, there’s parts of Turnobae and Doronatha that grow oranges, but not that size, and certainly not at this time of year.

That’d take weeks, though! They’d spoil!

Maybe he placed an order with a merchant to pile them up, then cast a spell and brought them all here instantly?

He might very well have done that, Alys, said Cullan, it’d be easy for him, wouldn’t it?

Yeah - easy.

How are we going to know when it’s time to eat them, though?

I expect there’ll be some sort of signal at midnight.

Mmm. Right.

Morgan hurried in. She didn’t go directly to them, she stopped first by a young woman in robes at a table of other young people in robes, and after a brief exchange, made her way to the serving counter, where she piled food onto her plate. Then she came over and joined her old friends. Hello, she smiled, sitting next to Kenyon. I’m sorry I wasn’t really around earlier, but I was, em - busy, as you might have noticed.

Yes - you never did answer my question, Cullan grinned. Alys kicked him under the table.

What question was that? Morgan asked, tucking in to what looked like a piece of flambéed duck.

Whether your young chap was treating you alright, Cullan replied. Ow, he added.

And how do you know it was a chap? Morgan asked brightly.

Alys froze with her mug halfway to her mouth, her eyebrows rising. Kenyon swallowed his mouthful but didn't move his mug. Cullan licked his lips. I saw his silhouette as he tried to hide himself under the covers, he told her.

Morgan blushed. His name is Rassillon, he’s an Elf, and he’s another of Mordlin’s apprentices. And yes, he is treating me alright, not that it’s any of your business, thank you.

Is he the one who goosed you last time we were here?

Yes! She went back to eating.

Actually, it just might be our business, Alys said. Or, at least, these two will think it is, anyway. Specially if he’s not treating you alright – they’ll think they have big-brother-privileges, and beat the living crap out of him.

Morgan glared at Cullan opposite her. And if you did, Mordlin would turn you both into frogs and throw you through the Teleport Gate at random.

Cullan only hesitated for a fraction of a second before snapping his fingers. Teleport Gate! That must be how he got the oranges here!

Well, yes, it was, actually, Morgan deflated. She started attacking her food again.

So, Alys began brightly after a few seconds, any idea what Mordlin wants to see us about tomorrow?

Something to do with the war, I expect, replied Morgan between mouthfuls.

The war? He’s not sticking his nose in between those Elves and Dwarfs, is he? Cullan asked.

Morgan shook her head. No – didn’t you come through Turnobae?

Gort banished us, remember? That’s why we stole the carpet, we had to get out of Turnobae fast.

Of course! No, it’s not Akallmil, it’s Morat.

Morat! shouted Kenyon. We don’t want to go back there! We’re done with that foul place. We killed Abner, we got paid, job done.

Actually, Morgan summoned The Ravisher so that it could kill him, Alys reminded him.

And, as you yourself pointed out earlier, Cullan continued, we did not get paid much.

That Powerstone helped, though, didn’t it? asked Morgan. The one I gave you from Abner’s tower?

Yes, we got that fine! Cullan told her. Sold it for a couple of thou, got ourselves some new toys with the proceeds. Thanks.

So, what is it with Morat? asked Alys.

Some kind of invasion, I think, Morgan answered, between mouthfuls. Rumour has it that Gort has allied with some other rulers and has vowed to wipe out Morat and split it all between them. Personally, based on what I know of King Gort, I think that’s a bad idea.

So do I, said Cullan, the man was a twat! Is a twat!

A right stingy bastard, Kenyon added. He’s not going to get any more generous just ‘cos he's got an extra few hundred square miles of land.

Especially as that land will be mostly barren wasteland, Alys reminded them, referring to the windswept plain that formed a large part of the southern half of Morat.

Morgan shrugged. Whatever. I don’t really do politics.

Neither do we.

Anyway – I’m going with you, whatever it is, so we’ll all find out in the morning.

Smashing.

Morgan finished her