Chronicles of Klept: Chapter XXX
The doors of the castle flew open with such force they slammed into the stone walls behind them. The crash echoed through the space like the opening bell of a very poorly thought out plan.
We stood at the threshold of a grand foyer. For a moment, nothing moved.
The room was cavernous, lit only by a very unsettling combination of flickering candlelight and the dull pink glow of the sky behind us that crept through the wide open doors. Twin staircases rose on either side, a sweeping mixture of dark marble, polished wood, and cracked stone, curling toward a landing above. At the top of the landing, a small nondescript fountain burbled from a curved balcony, the water catching just enough candlelight to shimmer.
“Interesting design choice,” Trunch murmured. “I’d have put the fountain down here in the foyer myself.”
Behind the fountain loomed a set of massive ebony doors, carved with the symbol we’d come to be very familiar with: a wilted dandelion in coiled thorns, gilded with silver so fine it gleamed even in the doom.
Above us, suspended from the vaulted ceiling, a black chandelier hung like a cursed stalactite, holding dozens of waxy candles. Their low, flickering glow danced across the stone walls, where smaller sconces cast narrow shadows that seemed to slither whenever no one was looking.
To the left and the right, on the ground floor, two wooden doors sat in silence, trying very hard not to be noticed, and failing miserably. While far less ostentatious than the grand set above, they were still a fine example of the exquisite craftsmanship available in the valley.
There were no guards. No footsteps. No distant chatter. The only sound aside from our hushed whispers was the faint drip of water from the fountain above, echoing like a countdown to an unavoidable confrontation.
“I don’t like this,” Din said, low and serious. “It’s too quiet.”
Bot cleared his throat. “Well, like I said, everyone’s preparing for the ceremony.”
“You mean the ritual.” Day corrected.
Bot waved a hand dismissively, “Same thing.”
“No. Ceremonies have catering,” Trunch replied. “Rituals have chanting.”
“Which way to the chanting then?” Day sighed.
“I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway. The upper doors lead into the castle proper. The side doors eventually take you to some servant quarters, the waiting parlour, the cellar and further down, the crypts.”
Yak reached into his robes. “Two gold, six copper and a half eaten pastry says they’re bringing back the old vampire lord in the crypts,” he whispered.
Wikis turned to him. “You’re on. The beams coming from upstairs. The ritual is up there.” She pointed to the upper doors and then reached into a pouch, pulled out her fist and opened it. “Three gold, 4 silver, some lint and.”
“The rusty ring?” Yak asked, looking at the rusted circlet of metal in her hand.
“NO.” Wikis plucked the ring from her palm and clasped it tightly to her chest. “You can’t have that.” Her eyes went wide and darted around the room before she raised the ring to her ear, nodded sagely, and carefully placed it into her pouch.
We split up, Yak, Bot and Day headed to the door to the left. Wikis, Trunch and I headed to the right. Din held back Umberto who was determined to head up the stairs.
“She’s up there,” he grunted, trying to push himself past an immovable pile of platemail. “I can smell her perfume.”
“No one can smell anything other than Bot right now.” Din grunted back. “We need to be careful.”
Carrie had fluttered back over the threshold and was hovering just outside muttering to herself.
“There’s someone behind this door.” Day hissed. “I can hear a conversation.”
“This side’s clear,” Trunch whispered as Wikis carefully opened the door and peeked through.
“It’s a passage” she said softly, “It’s empty.”
Carrie fluttered back, closing the castle doors carefully behind her, as Day, Yak and Bot joined us at the right door.
“Tufulla says the other group thinks the crystal is upstairs. The sarcophagus of old Ieoyoch is in the crypts – they won’t move it for fear of damaging it.”
“What? How do you know?” I asked
“I sent him a message, dummy.” Carrie said, to the doors that led outside and tapping herself on the head.
“Oh – that’s what you were doing. I thought you were just getting some fresh air.”
“Well, that too.” She waved her hand in front of her face while staring at Bot. He looked at her, smiled and waved.
There was a click – and a scraping sound.
“Ah shit.” Din grunted, lifting Umberto like he was a sack of angry potatoes and sprinting toward us. Wikis held open the door and we dashed through just as the great doors above swung open. She closed it behind, leaving just enough of a crack to carefully peer through.
“A. Little. Help. Please,” Din growled, straining to hold back a writhing Umberto, arms pinned to his sides. Yak rushed over and grabbed his legs. Day dove in and held tight around his torso.
“What’s happening out there?” Carrie whispered.
“Shhh. It’s that Eric guy,” Wikis murmured over her shoulder through gritted teeth. “And three heavily armored guards. Big guys. Naida just walked through. And Barbara’s with her.”
Time slowed. I froze.
There was a collective grunt as Din, Day, and Yak struggled to restrain Umberto, who was vibrating with rage. His jaw cracked open, and Din’s eyes went wide with horror.
A scream, deep and guttural, began to rise in Umberto’s throat. It was less a scream and more the charging blast of some ancient horn, like dragonfire made audible.
Just before he let it loose, Carrie raised a single finger and calmly whispered,
“Shush.”
The word hung in the air with unnatural weight. Divine. Authoritative.
Umberto froze mid-unleashing – mouth wide, rage bubbling just behind his teeth. He blinked once… and went utterly, murderously still.
Trunch joined the dogpile, grabbing whatever part of Umberto wasn’t already restrained. Umberto’s face turned a dangerous shade of plum. He glared at Carrie with the betrayed fury of someone who had just been magically told off by a friend.
Wikis raised a hand, her eyes still fixed on the scene through the crack in the door.There was the sound of muffled conversation through the door before Wikis gingerly closed it shut and turned to the rest of us. She stared quizzically at the group hugging Umberto in front of her and then shook her shoulders.
“Well?,” Carrie asked, voice low. “What are they doing?”
“They went through the other door, on the other side of the room. Most of them. Naida went back upstairs. Eric and Barbara are going to check on the vessel downstairs and make sure everything is ready. Naida said she would tend to the guests upstairs and get everything ready to activate the crystal.” Wikis nodded smugly, congratulating herself on a job well done.
Din let go of Umberto’s hands and shot him a look that said ‘Do not fuck this up’. He looked at Trunch and the others and nodded. I braced for rage but Umberto simply turned and headed toward the far end of the corridor, breathing heavily and casting long aggrieved glances at the rest of us.
“I think that confirms it,” Din said, voice hushed. “Ieyoch’s body is downstairs. The crystal is up.”
“I told you that already.” Carrie whispered angrily, “It’s what Tufulla suggested.”
“You said he ‘thinks’ thats where they are. Naida, Eric and Barbara just confirmed it.” Din shot back.
“So which do we go for?” Yak asked.
“I don’t think we should split up, we don’t have enough manpower and don;t know what we might run into.” Trunch added
“Good thinking,” Bot cut in, “Last time I was down in the cellar, albeit shackled to a wall, there were dozens of guards and undead – some of them were former friends.” The last words were spoken with a soft reverence.
I decided to throw my two copper into the pot, “If you…we, destroy the crystal – then maybe the ritual won’t take hold and they can’t bring Ieyoch back.” Trunch nodded, which felt like validation.
“If we deal with Ieyoch,” Day countered, “then the ritual won’t have a vessel to ground to.” I noted that Trunch also nodded at this suggestion.
“Which is it?” Wikis managed through gritted teeth, “Someone make a choice.”
“I think it comes down to which is closer.” Trunch’s brow furrowed, clearly trying to calculate something based on absolutely nothing.
Din and Day turned, slowly, to Bot.
“Well?” Din asked.
“Which is closer?” Day added.
Bot blinked, looked at all of us, then scratched his head with a dirt-caked finger.
“That depends,” he said carefully, “on whether you’re prepared to navigate your way through the unknown magical upper floor – it’s where I got caught trying to escape – or walk into the very known horrors of the crypts.”
There was a beat of silence.
“That wasn’t an answer,” Carrie said from in front of a large wall portrait.
“I know,” Bot whispered back.
“You’re serious about the magical maze upstairs?” Day asked.
“Oh yes.” Bot replied. “Some kind of protective spell I guess. I was totally confused by it, but now it kind of completely makes sense if they’ve got something valuable, like the crystal up there.”
“So…the crypts then?” Din said, sounding just a little too unsure.
We moved quietly down the corridor, passing a series of faded tapestries and dark, oil-painted portraits, all sallow cheeks, thin lips, and disapproving eyes that seemed to follow us as we moved. Carrie hung near the back, pausing to study a few in suspicious detail. At the far end of the corridor, At the end of the hall, Yak and Wikis leaned in to listen, checking the edges of the door for movement or sound. Din and Trunch flanked Umberto, just in case he decided now was the time for vengeance.
Day motioned for Carrie to keep up. I wandered back to fetch her, and caught her red handed.
She’d produced a charcoal stub from somewhere and was, with quiet precision, ‘suggestively enhancing’ several of the portraits.
One portrait now featured a woman with dramatically larger breasts. The eyes of the stern gentleman in the portrait adjacent having been edited to now be staring hungrily at them. Another now had a suggestively placed banana. A third, previously stoic noblewoman, now had an exaggerated wink and a well coiffed moustache.
Carrie looked at me innocently, charcoal gripped in hand.
“What?” she whispered. “They started it.”
There was a nod of agreement between Yak and Wikis. Wikis reached out and pushed. The door creaked open.
A breathless moment passed—
“Shit,” Yak muttered.
“Not empty!” Wikis hissed, already drawing.
Two guards stared at us from across the room, eyes wide, mouths opening.
The first guard inhaled to shout—
Thunk.
An arrow punched through his neck, silencing him mid-breath. He dropped, but Day was faster. He dashed forward and caught the man mid-fall, gently lowering him to the floor before his body could crash into the ceramic vase full of swords beside him.
The second guard froze for a split-second, then bolted.
“Wikis!” Carrie snapped.
“I’m trying!” Wikis fumbled with her bowstring.
The guard was halfway across the room, hand outstretched for the door.
Yak launched forward. In a blur, he vaulted a table, kicked off a nearby stool, and landed behind the fleeing guard. He reached out and slammed the man’s head into the stone wall just above the handle with a sickening crack.
The guard crumpled to the floor.
“You said it was clear,” Carrie snapped.
“I meant it felt clear.”
“That’s not a thing,” Din growled.
Yak, brushing dust off his sleeves, grinned. “On the bright side, that was very quiet. Ish.”
We all looked at the splatter mark on the far wall.
“…ish,” Yak repeated.
Trunch threw open a storage room door at the side of the chamber, revealing stacks of dusty crates and boxes.
“In here!”
The team sprang into action, dragging the two bodies across the room. And unceremoniously shoved him inside.
Wikis pulled the door shut behind them and leaned against it, breathing hard.
“No more sneaking around.” Umberto snapped. “It wastes time. We stick together, kick down doors and fuck up anyone in the way.” He unclipped his axe from the harness on his back. “Anyone opposed?”
“He’s right,” Trunch said, a little breathless. He was standing by a tall window, peering out. “We really need to move.”
We joined him.
Outside, a line of undead shuffled through an archway beneath us. Slow, aimless, and far too many of them.
“Oh – that leads to the crypts,” Bot said cheerily. “Looks like they’re still recruiting.”
“We need to get down there,” Din growled.
“Through there,” Bot said, pointing to a heavy wooden door. “The stairs to the basement are just beyond.”
Day looked at Wikis and Yak and gave a quick nod. They slipped ahead, taking positions on either side of the door, whispering and pointing like a pair of overly dramatic stagehands preparing for a cue.
“I thought we agreed, no more sneaking,” Umberto growled.
Then he launched himself at the door.
The impact was immediate. Wood splintered, hinges screamed, and the entire door exploded with a thunderous crash.
Umberto stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, nostrils flared. The hand gripping his axe had gone bone white at the knuckles.
“BARBARA! I’M COMING FOR YOU!”
Behind him, Din pressed his palms to his temples. “Oh fuck.”
Beyond the wreckage of the door lay a simple, windowless chamber. Square-shaped, sparsely furnished. A few dusty crates. Shelves lined with neglected boxes.
Bot stepped in cautiously.
“The door on the right leads to the servant quarters,” he murmured. “You won’t find much there. Opposite side’s another hallway, like the one we came through. Loops around to the parlor and back into the foyer.”
Schkt.
The hiss of a blade drawn.
Wikis had a dagger to his throat before anyone saw her move.
“You sure know a lot,” she whispered in his ear. “For someone who claims not to be Dan’del’ion.”
“I snuck around,” Bot said, hands raised. “A lot. Before they caught me.”
Umberto stormed forward, eyes blazing with a mix of rage and something dangerously close to lust. He stopped inches from Bot, axe raised, not to swing, just enough to make the point very clear.
“The basement,” he snarled. “Where is it?”
Bot flinched and pointed to a narrow stairwell tucked to the left.
“There! That’s it. Only way down from inside the castle. I swear.”
Umberto spun on Wikis.
“You said she was going downstairs!”
“That’s what I heard!” Wikis snapped, defensive and indignant.
“She hasn’t been this way,” Umberto growled, sniffing the air like a warhound with abandonment issues. “I’d know.”
There was a beat of confused silence before Trunch delicately stepped around the edge of Umberto’s fury radius.
“Let’s… verify before anyone else gets accused of deception,” he muttered.
Day joined him at the stairs. He knelt and extended one hand, eyes flickering with quiet magic. A moment later, a small raven shimmered into view and leapt from his wrist, wings silent as it drifted into the shadows below.
We waited. Umberto seethed.
Day’s expression grew still.
“They curve,” he murmured. “Stone steps. Wide. They open into a large chamber.”
He blinked. “Dozens. Maybe more.”
“Undead?” Din asked quietly.
Day nodded. “Ghouls, Skeletons, Zombies. Packed shoulder to shoulder. There’s far too many. We go down there now, we die.” The raven fluttered back into the room and then vanished in a whisper of feathers and magic. Day stood. “We need to find another way.”
A figure stepped into the room from the opposite doorway, tall, broad, and covered head to toe in dark armor etched with thorny scrollwork. The unmistakable glint of a Dan’del’ion insignia shimmered on his chest plate as he froze mid-step, taking in the scene.
“Shit,” Trunch hissed.
The armored guard reached instinctively for the blade at his hip.
He never got the chance.
Day surged forward with a shout. Trunch was right behind him. Bot, with a surprising burst of energy, followed, wheezing as he charged.
The three of them slammed into the armored figure, forcing him backward through the doorway before his fingers found his hilt. The hallway beyond echoed with the sound of steel boots scuffing against stone as the guard stumbled.
“Move! Let us through!” Carrie called, trying to push forward, but the bottlenecked doorway was now entirely occupied by Day’s ponytail, Trunch’s robes, and a surprising amount of Bot.
“I can’t—” Din grunted, wedging a shoulder in. “They’re blocking the godsdamn—”
A second guard stood in the hallway, sword already drawn.
Day raised a hand and spoke a word in a tongue I didn’t recognize. Light bloomed around him as a shimmering celestial shape that spun through the air like a radiant cyclone appeared in the doorway.
“What the fuck is that, Day?” Din yelled
“DON’T come in here!” Day barked over his shoulder. “You’ll get shredded!”
“You couldn’t summon it down the other end of the hall?”
“Slight miscalculation. Heat of battle. Just, don’t go near it.”
“I told you we should’ve gone upstairs!” Carrie huffed.
“Can’t talk right now!” Trunch yelled, hurling a blast of eldritch energy down the hall, clipping the second guard’s shoulder.
Then Bot raised his cracked pipes to his lips and played a long, reedy note.
At first, nothing happened.
Then … skittering. Dozens of tiny claws on stone. The walls seemed to ripple. Rats, filthy and sharp-toothed, poured from cracks, pipes, and gaps in the floor, swarming the hallway.
The second guard screamed as the swarm engulfed him. His sword dropped from his hand as he desperately tried to backpedal away from both rats and radiance.
Day stepped forward, sword in hand, the light of the spirit guardian coiling behind him like a vengeful sun. The first guard hesitated, torn between the very real man in front of him and the glowing, faceless horror spinning at his back.
Day struck first.
Steel met steel with a sharp clang, sparks flashing in the narrow corridor. The guard parried, then slashed, his blade quick, desperate, panicked. But Day was calm. Precise. Each of his movements was clean, calculated, economical – like a man who knew exactly how long it would take to win.
The spirit guardian circled behind Day, spinning, and seething with radiant energy. Its ghostly form flickered, tendrils of light reaching toward the terrified guard.
The man’s eyes darted between Day and the spirit, sweat beading on his brow.
Day feinted low, then drove his sword up in a tight arc. The guard barely blocked in time, but his footing wavered. He stumbled back a half step and caught sight of the guardian again just behind Day’s shoulder, whirling like a divine executioner waiting for its cue.
That was all the opening Day needed. With a sharp twist, he stepped inside the guard’s reach, locked their hilts together, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat. The guard gasped, too late, as Day wrenched the sword free, pivoted, and plunged his blade between the plates of the man’s armor.
The guard choked. Twitched. And dropped.
The second guard, flailing wildly to dislodge the swarm of rats, caught Bot across the torso, opening a deep gash that splashed crimson across the floor. Sword and hand swung, stabbed, swatted, but the rats kept climbing, tangling, biting.
Trunch raised a hand, muttered something low and cold, and a sickly arc of shadow tore through the air. It struck the guard dead center in the chest with a heavy, muffled thud, like a slab of wet stone hitting flesh. The rats clinging to his torso were obliterated instantly — vaporized in a bloom of dark energy and scorched fur.
The guard slumped where he stood, lifeless, smoke curling from the hollow in his armor. The surviving rats scattered, vanishing into cracks and pipes like they’d never been there at all.
Panting. Blood. Scorched stone. The faint sound of rodents skittering in the shadows.
The hallway fell into a momentary silence, broken only by the hum of Day’s radiant guardian and the final, pitiful squeaks of dying rats.
Then footsteps and the creak of a door opening. Two figures emerged from the far end of the hall. One tall and composed, the other: Barbara Dongswallower.
Eric’s eyes widened. His hand went instinctively to the sword at his side.
“Go!” he barked. “Get help from upstairs!”
Barbara flinched, then turned on her heel and ran.
Day’s eyes went wide. “She’s heading upstairs! Go back around! Cut her off!”
Back in the room, Umberto roared. “BARBARA!”
He lunged forward,directly into the glowing aura of Day’s Spirit Guardian.
There was a flash of light, a sickly slicing sound and Umberto staggered back with a bark of pain, clutching his ribs. Radiant energy scorched across his chest like a divine slap.
“I SAID DON’T COME IN HERE!” Day shouted.
Umberto’s eyes burned with rage.
Carrie, Wikis, Yak, and Din didn’t wait. They turned and bolted back the way we’d come, Din calling out behind him, “Klept! Make sure he stays there!”
“Sorry, What?” I blinked and looked to them for clarification.
But they were gone.
And I was alone. With Umberto.
The radiant hum of Day’s spirit guardian pulsed like a living wall between two very different hells.
Steel clashed again as Day parried Eric’s brutal overhead swing, their swords shrieking across one another. Eric was fast. Far faster than any armored man had a right to be, but Day fought like a man who’d already mapped the outcome. His eyes stayed locked, cold and focused, even as Eric drove him back a step.
Behind them, Bot stumbled against the wall, clutching his side. Blood wept through a tear in his robes, his pipes clattering to the floor. Trunch caught him.
“Stay behind me,” the gnome growled, then raised a hand. A pulse of sickly light surged from his fingers, slamming into Eric’s shoulder. The armored man staggered, and Trunch grinned.
Eric snarled and lunged again, only to meet Day’s blade and a shadow-forged one that flickered into the fighter’s off-hand. The clash rang like a cracked bell.
I took a single step back towards the door that moments earlier Umberto had shattered into oblivion.
Umberto’s glare could have broken stone. Scorch marks from the spirit guardian still smoldered across his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. All he saw was the door. The barrier. The thing between him and Barbara.
Then he looked at me.
He growled.
I swallowed.
“Move.”
“I… can’t,” I said. “The others—“
He charged.
Panic surged. I threw up a hand, the only spell I knew bursting from my fingers. Three glowing darts of force spiraled into being and rocketed toward him slamming into the floor inches from his feet.
The stone cracked.
Umberto skidded to a halt, blinking.
“What the-”
“I’m serious!” I squeaked. “I know more of those!”
His eyes blazed. “You’d choose them over me?”
“I’d choose surviving over being flattened!” I backed up again. My hands shook. My legs shook. Other parts shook. I may have wet myself. Just a little.
Umberto roared and turned, not at me, but at the wall beside the hallway. With a bellow, he raised his axe and brought it crashing down. Stone splintered. Chips flew. He struck again.
Behind the whirling dervish that was Day’s guardian Eric drove forward, laughing. “You think you can stop this? You’re too late! The glyph will be drawn, and Lord Ieoyoch will rise again.“
Trunch didn’t answer. He simply pointed.
A bell toll rang, low and mournful, and Eric’s head snapped to the side as if the source was inside his skull. He staggered again.
“Now,” Trunch barked.
Day lunged, both blades aimed true. His steel blade cut low, while the shadow blade arced from above. Eric raised his sword to parry –
Too late.
Steel caught flesh. Shadow pierced through armor. A gasp. A laugh. And then he fell.
Near me, in the room, the wall groaned.
Another of Umberto’s strikes dislodged a large chunk of stone. The next, left the blade damaged – tiny flakes of steel missing where the wall bit back. Dust swirled in the air, and I stood there—helpless, horrified, and just a little damp.
“Umberto, please,” I tried.
He didn’t answer. Just lifted the axe again.
From behind the spirit guardian, I heard Trunch shout, “We’re fine!”
Day ushered the struggling Bot to his feet. The three of them looked at me through the haze of the guardian, still spinning in the doorway. Then they looked at Umberto, mindlessly trying to hack his way through several feet of solid stone. “Keep an eye on Umberto! Don’t let him leave. We’ll loop back through the foyer. Stay put!”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving me alone in the small chamber with the aftermath of battle, the lingering smell of death, and a silent, primal, and thoroughly enraged Umberto.
He ignored me completely. His focus was entirely on the stone wall. He was hacking at it—not with any tactical goal, but with the desperate, blunt force of a child throwing a tantrum. His great axe, meant for cleaving armor, was beginning to chip and blunt against the castle masonry. He was oblivious to the damage, oblivious to the wound scorching his chest, oblivious to everything but the rage that replaced his breath.
A small, firm object was suddenly pressed into my hand. I looked down. It was a perfectly intact, slightly sticky pastry. I looked up, and saw Yak standing there, having somehow slipped back into the room unnoticed. He gave me a quick, confident wink. His face shimmered for a heartbeat—the usual unsettling sign of his shapeshifting power in transition.
Then Yak stepped into the center of the room, directly behind Umberto. He opened his mouth, and the voice that came out was melodious, slightly breathless, and deeply recognizable.
“Stop that, you silly little man.”
Umberto froze, mid-swing. The axe fell to his side with a soft thud on the dusty floor. He turned slowly, the feral fury in his eyes giving way to utter confusion, then a flush of genuine, desperate relief.
Standing before him was Barbara Dongswallower. Or rather, a perfect copy of her. Yak had captured every detail: the sweeping, dark hair, the confident posture, and the gentle, almost maternal disapproval in her eyes.
Umberto moved toward her, his heavy boots slow and hesitant now. “Barbara…. I—I saw them take you, and I…”
“You sweet little fool,” the figure replied, turning away with a flit of her hand, as if dismissing his entire fit of dragon-rage as a minor misunderstanding.
Umberto reached out, desperate for contact, and grabbed her wrist.
“How could you side with them?” Umberto pleaded, “With the court?”
“You couldn’t possibly understand,” she sighed, and turned to face him so quickly that her ample, generous bosom smacked him squarely in the face.
He staggered backward, briefly winded, gently rubbing the side of his face. Lower lip trembling. His face slowly moving from plum purple rage to baby pink wonder as realisation of what just happened sunk in.
Yak, as Barbara, simply stood there, a look of calm, utterly unconcerned pity on his face.
I discreetly adjusted my robes to hide my earlier ‘accident’ and stared openmouthed at what was unfolding before me.
Umberto stepped forward, his anger beginning to subside. His breath became more even. He lunged forward toward Barbara, throwing his hands around her waist and burying his face in her chest.
“There, there.” She said, patton the top of his head gently. She glanced at me and made a face that screamed ‘I don’t know what to do now’.
“Help me,” he whimpered, his voice muffled. “Help me to understand why.”
The rage was fading, replaced by something almost worse: need.
His shoulders shook.
With grief.
With relief.
With possibly inappropriate joy.
I dropped my pastry. It hit the stone floor with an unenthusiastic thud.
“We will,” she said softly. “We will, we just need to get back to the others.” She began to push him away. He sniffed deeply – the kind that follows tears, and his eyes darted up to Barbara’s face, sharp and investigating.
She lightly shook her shoulders and readjusted her blouse as Umberto leaned forward and sniffed again. His lips pursed.
“You fucking little…”
Yak began to shift, “I’m sorry dude,” he said, raising his hands. “Din asked me to help Klept and … well … we needed to calm you down. So I thought …maybe…”
“You…bastard.” Umberto’s color deepened, but the exhaustion won out. His shoulders sagged. He bit his lip. Then turned, and pointed a trembling finger at me.
“And you… not a single word. Spoken or written. To anyone!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, already bending to pick up the pastry, my mind already wandering.
He was fury incarnate. A storm bottled in mortal form, undone not by blade or fire, but by the soft hush of her voice.
“Stop that, you silly little man.”
And like thunder fading into hush, he turned.
There she stood. The countess, the enigma, the ghost in his heart. Her gaze, equal parts pity and fire, pierced the armor he had never worn but perhaps had always needed. His axe fell. His breath caught. His soul cracked open like the earth before a rainstorm.
“Barbara…” he whispered, his voice a prayer half-forgotten.
She smiled. Tragic. Beautiful. Inevitable. She smelled like secrets and crushed lilac.
“Help me understand,” he gasped, his voice a ragged tapestry of pain, passion, and poorly restrained desire.
She sighed. It was the sound of a candle flickering before the kiss of wind.
“You couldn’t possibly.”
And when she turned… and that glorious, moonlit chest collided with him like prophecy, the world changed. He did not cry out. He did not resist. He simply folded into her — a wounded knight collapsing into the velvet dusk of his sins. And there, buried in her impossible softness, he gently wept.
* Yak’s not the only one who can do a Barbara impression, I thought to myself.
Umberto’s boot came down. Crushing the pastry to paste a half-second before my fingers reached it.
“Not. One. Word.” he growled, before stomping through the shattered doorway and down the hall.
Yak leaned against the doorframe beside me, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Gods, he’s heavy. For a little guy,” he muttered. “That was the most emotionally compromised I’ve ever been. I think I pissed myself.”
“Me too,” I admitted, a little too quickly.
Yak glanced at me, “Really? Huh. Can’t even tell.” He straightened and patted my shoulder as he walked through the doorway, “You did good, buddy.”
We set off toward the foyer at a brisk, definitely-not-fleeing pace, keeping what we hoped was a safe enough distance between us and Umberto, just in case he found a second wind.
Behind us, Day’s radiant guardian still whirled in the doorway like a divine tornado waiting for round two.
We reentered the foyer to the unwelcome sound of a muffled shriek and Wikis hissing ‘hold her still’.
Barbara Dongswallower – bound, gagged, and red in the face – was slumped at the top of the stairs. Din was casually sitting on her back like a disgruntled librarian resting on a particularly uncooperative book.
“She was halfway through the doors,” Wikis said, boot planted on Barbara’s lower back. “This one caught her right in the—”
Sckthwick.
The arrow came free. Barbara screamed into the gag.
“—right cheek,” Wikis finished, holding it aloft. “Stopped her dead in her tracks.”
Umberto didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at her. He stared at the far wall, jaw clenched, eyes hollow. Rage gone. Only disgust remained.
He turned away.
I felt… spent. Completely. Magically, emotionally, digestively. I looked across at Bot, dishevelled, exhausted, emaciated from months of capture and torture.
“I’m going back to Dawnsheart.” I said firmly.
Carrie looked up, alarmed. “What? Now?”
“I can take him,” I said, stepping forward and pointing to Bot. “He needs medical attention, and rest.”
Bot gestured to his ruined tunic with still-shaking hands.
“Sounds good to me. I’d rather not end up back on a hook, if it’s all the same.”
Carrie gave Din a look. Din nodded. Then Carrie gently touched Bot’s shoulder, whispering a few words. A soft glow radiated from her hand, followed by a second glow from Din’s. Bot visibly straightened, some of the pain leaving his eyes.
“Thank you, friends.” He clasped a hand to his chest. “We could also take her,” Bot offered, thumbing toward Barbara.
Trunch blinked. “That’s… actually a good idea.”
“I was wondering what we were going to do with her,” Carrie said.
“We’ll take her to Tufulla,” I said. “For questioning.”
“You sure?” Day asked, wiping blood from his blade.
“Not really,” I said. “But I’d rather be locked in a room with her than spend one more minute dodging friendly fire from summoned guardians and Umberto’s unresolved issues.”
Carrie raised a finger. “There’s one more thing before you go.”
She shoved Bot into the fountain.
SPLASH.
Trunch and Day immediately jumped in, holding him down while Carrie started scrubbing at his shoulders with the vigor of a determined washerwoman.
“What in the name of the Seven—!” Bot gurgled, swallowing water as he thrashed.
“What are you doing?” Din cried.
Carrie glanced over her shoulder, arms still scrubbing. “Washing the Stinky Dwarf,” she replied with a cheeky smile.
Yak, leaning on the edge of the fountain, nodded knowingly. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Then they let him go.
Bot surfaced, sputtering and soaked, blinking wildly. Then he went still.
“…I feel amazing.”
He blinked again.
“I actually feel amazing.” He raised his hands, touched his head and muttered a word. A glow of radiant energy spilled from his palm and shimmered down his body. “Elaris’ blessing!” He groaned. “That feels good.”
We all stared at the fountain.
Yak stuck a finger in it. “Huh.”
“It’s not just water,” Carrie whispered. “It’s… something else.”
“Restorative,” Din confirmed, already filling his waterskin.
We drank. We filled flasks. We splashed our faces, and for a moment—just a moment—the castle felt less cursed.
Then I turned to the others, adjusting my satchel.
“We’ll see you back at the Grin for a drink.” Day said, offering a hand.
“I really hope so,” I said, shaking it. “Be careful.”
Bot clapped his hand over his heart. “I can’t remember the last time I had an ale,” he said with a crooked grin. “But I’d be honored to have one with all of you.”
He reached down, grabbed the rope tied around Barbara’s bound wrists, and gave it a tug.
Umberto still didn’t look at her.
He just walked to the far end of the foyer and stared at the wall.
“What’s the Grin?” Bot asked eagerly as we crossed the threshold back into the courtyard of cursed sculptures. “Is the ale good?”
“The Grin? It’s an absolute shithole.” I replied with a smile. “The best little shithole in the valley.”
“Sounds perfect.” Bot sighed.
Behind us, the door creaked shut, and the real madness continued.
The Chronicles of Klept 