Tearing The Shroud (8 page)

The battle seemed to pause at the sound of a loud crack. The Warrior looked up as a tree he had inadvertently cut through fell toward him. Trying to avoid it, he caught his foot on a corpse and toppled to the ground. The tree landed on his helmeted head with a sickening crunch. The big elf, seeing his opportunity, jumped forward with battle-axe raised, screaming his war cry. An arrow whistled through the air entering his mouth and exploded out the back of his neck. He stood for a moment as his head flopped backward, before crumbling in a heap.

With the fall of their champion, the remainder of the dark elves turned and ran. ‘No, let them go,’ Mike’s dwarf cleric called to Emily’s thief.

Fiona rushed to the Warrior. ‘Help me get it off.’

‘It’s no use,’ the cleric said as he leaned on his shield. ‘Even if we could get him to a temple, a crushed skull is beyond the means of any Healer.’

‘He’s dead?’ another voice asked. ‘Can’t you resurrect him or something?’

‘There’s no coming back from that kind of brain injury,’ Knife’s words floated across the scene.

‘Dead?’ he recognized the voice now — it was his own. ‘He’s dead — ’

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, buddy. You okay?’ Flea asked.

The forest and battle dissipated before him and Vincent squinted at the harsh lights. He looked around. ‘Yeah...it’s just...man, that was a good story.’

‘By the way, nice kill, Julie,’ Mike said, as the rest, even E.T., nodded and smiled.

Knife said, ‘E.T., you can roll up a new character with Vincent tonight.’

‘Why don’t they do it now,’ Mike suggested.

‘Yeah,’ Emily said. ‘It’s almost 10:30, and I have an early class tomorrow.’

Knife looked around. ‘Is that what everyone wants?’

Julie glanced at Vincent with a half-smile. ‘Well, I’d like to see Vincent’s character before I leave.’

Flea nodded.

‘Okay. I’ll figure your experience points later, and we’ll pick up the scenario here next time.’ He opened one of the thick notebooks, took out several sheets of printed paper and handed them to E.T. and Vincent. ‘E.T., do you want to go first?’

‘Nah, let him. That way, we can all enjoy breaking him in.’

Knife nodded. ‘Vincent, here’s how it works. You get four d6’s and roll them all at once; then you use the three highest for each of your character’s traits. So there is a possible eighteen points on each one; the higher the number, the better the stat. Simple enough?’

‘I think I understand. So, if I rolled a seventeen on,’ he said looking at the character sheet, ‘let’s say Dexterity. Then he’d be nimble fingered?’

‘He wouldn’t have the skills yet, but he would be able to learn them, or any dexterity-based skill if he wanted, and he’d be a natural.’ Knife turned to the box and removed a leather pouch, shaking it. ‘I brought some dice for you to use until you get your own.’

Flea smiled. ‘Oh, he has his own. Wait ’til you see ’em.’

Mr Brown had given Vincent a purple velvet bag, saying that such unique dice didn’t belong in just any pouch. He reached into his coat pocket, brought it out, and let the dice spill into his hand.
Crap
. His hand was shaking so he let them fall onto the table. Everyone leaned in, their heads nearly touching, to see them.

‘Nice.’

‘Cool.’

‘I like that one.’

‘Hey,’ Flea said, ‘where’s your d4?’

‘Oh.’ He pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the table with the rest.

Emily’s eyes lit up. ‘Wow, that’s awesome. Is it wood?’

Flea couldn’t contain himself. ‘Yes, but that’s not even the best part. May I, Vincent?’

Not be the center of attention? You bet.
‘Sure.’ He smiled.

He placed the d20 in his palm. ‘This one Mr Brown has seen only one other time. It’s actually a double ten; we marked it to show which numbers are tens.’ He displayed the multifaceted die, holding it like a jeweler might a precious gem. ‘The one you so aptly noted, Emily...’ He smiled, causing her to blush, and took the silver-marked d4 between his thumb and forefinger so they could see it clearly. ‘Mr Brown has no idea how it got into his shop.’

‘Wow.’

‘Are you kidding?’

The chatter and speculation went on until Knife settled them down. ‘Before we allow any new dice, we need to make sure they aren’t loaded. Not that you’d do that on purpose. But...you never know. Mind if we test them?’

‘Sure, no problem.’ He looked around the circle until his eyes met Julie’s then handed the dice to her. ‘Umm… Would you do the honors? Maybe it will give me luck…or…’

‘My pleasure.’ She shook the lot in her hands and tossed them to the table. Various sides of the d6’s showed; the d4 landed on a two, and the d20 on a seven. She gathered them up and rolled them once more; again, all of the numbers were random and, this time, different from the first.

‘That looks good to me,’ Knife said. ‘Everyone satisfied?’ They all nodded. ‘Let’s get started.’ He reached into the box, bringing out a fat, three-wicked candle, and set it near the center of the table, lighting it. ‘Flea get the — ’

‘Lights,’ Flea finished. ‘Already on it, boss.’

Vincent looked around nervously as the lights went out.

‘Don’t worry,’ Knife said. ‘Nothing weird going on; we just like to set the mood when someone rolls up a character.’

Everyone grew quiet as Flea returned and their eyes adjusted to the candlelight. Despite Knife’s reassurance, Vincent felt like something strange was happening. Some kind of important event was taking place. He couldn’t have explained it, but he could feel it.

He tried to grasp it with his mind, but the edges were indistinct, like something that’s seen out of the corner of your eye but gone when you try to look at it directly. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he looked at the group, he knew that no one else noticed it. They were being quiet to help make the moment fun and see how his character came out, but they didn’t sense how important this rolling of the dice would be. They couldn’t tell, but he could.
Why?
The tips of his fingers tingled and his pulse thumped in his ears.

He could see it.

In their eyes.

Dice had eyes. Didn’t they?

He looked at the cubes Knife held in his palm. The markings were like little spots of fire — blood — set on black sparkling diamonds. Knife was speaking, and Vincent struggled to make out what he was saying.

‘The dice you’ve received from Mr Brown are special...’

The red dots drew Vincent’s gaze.
Why? Do you know, Knife? What’s going on?
Vincent’s mind raced and he tried to speak, to tell them something was off, but couldn’t. His voice wouldn’t work.

‘...from now on, don’t let anyone use your dice. No one but you.’

He handed Vincent the pile. They felt cold, like they’d come from a freezer. The d20 sat near the candle; he didn’t remember putting it there. The four black d6’s were in his right hand, and he clasped the wooden die in his left like a talisman.
How did that get there
? Vincent tried to move again, to shake this weirdness, but was unable to.

His hands held the dice.

The universe held him.

As Knife’s hand moved back, it seemed to slow down. Everything slowed with it; then suddenly moved at normal speed and back again to a crawl. Pulsing. Knife spoke, and his voice followed the same pattern.

‘Reme...mber only one throw fo...r ea...ch...trait. Keep the di...ce on the ta...ble.’ Knife’s head turned slow-fast to the rest of the faces circled about, hovering in the darkness, illuminated by the candle.

‘Y...ou all must be tota...lly silent during the thro...ws; I’ll call the...resul...ts. If you ca...n’t b...e still, leave no...w.

Flea’s hand clapped Vincent on the shoulder, the sound amplified; it seemed like a gavel falling. ‘D...o it good bu...ddy.’

Vincent tried to nod, tried to talk, but the fog in his mind seemed to fill the room. The faces of his friends faded; his mind was somewhere.

Somewhere...

Not.

Here.

The fog thickened.

‘Ro...ll,’ something whispered inside his head. And he did so. The dice fell to the table like feathers floating on the currents of a breeze then accelerated striking with a deafening pounding which slowed again, finally coming to rest. All four of them were sixes.

‘Stren...gth,’ Knife intoned, but Vincent heard it as chanting voices in the distance. ‘...Eighte...en.’

A hand — his? — moved and picked them up, rolling them again. They pounded against the table.

‘Dex...terity,’ Again the chant, half of the chorus saying the first word, the other voices the second. ‘Ei...ghteen.’

The hand moved.

‘Constitu...tion.’ The voices. ‘Eighteen...’

They grew louder. ‘Intel...ligence.

‘E...ighte...en.’

‘Wisdo...m.’ It sounded like they were getting closer; the voices became a dull throbbing ache in his head. It was unbearable, but something had snared him. ‘Eigh...teen.’

The hand.

The Dice.

Pain.

Terror gripped him. Something was fighting the movement of the hand.

Vincent knew he had to make the final throw, that the moment must come to completion. He added his strength to the effort, and saw his hand move slowly to the dice. The pain had become extreme, the effort enormous. Somehow he — or they — managed to get the black cubes into their palm.

And drop them one last time.

‘Char...isma.’ The approaching throng was here, unseen, around him, in him, voices ringing, ‘Ei...ghteen.’

The chants and pain and fear snapped like a rubber band and were gone. Time, movement, sound had returned to normal. Vincent found himself surrounded by another clamor of voices, totally different from those that had departed.

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘It’s impossible.’

‘You’d better leave for Vegas tonight.’

He couldn’t distinguish whose voice belonged to whom.

‘The dice have got to be rigged.’

‘The dice are
not
rigged.’ Knife’s voice brought Vincent back to his senses. ‘We
all
saw them tested.’

Everyone was standing and talking at once.

Flea was pounding him on the back. ‘Geez. You really did it. I mean, I told you to do it but I didn’t think you could do
that.
I didn’t think
anyone
could do that. How did you do that? I mean, I can’t believe it. Not just all eighteens, but every roll, every dice, every time a six. All of them.’

It was the first time he had ever seen Flea completely out of control of his mouth. The pounding on his back seemed to break whatever held him, because he could move once more. ‘Flea, settle down, stop hitting me before you break something.’

‘Huh? Oh. Sorry. It’s just...man, I can’t believe it.’ He sat down, put his elbows on the table and head in his hands.

‘Yeah, I can tell.’ Vincent laughed. He felt different somehow, lighter, happier. He couldn’t begin to explain what had happened to him. Besides, who would believe him? He looked at Julie as she came around the table toward him. She smiled like he’d won her a stuffed animal at the fair. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Vincent wasn’t very experienced in these things, but heck, he wasn’t about to turn down a hug from a beautiful woman, so he hugged her back. He could get used to this.

‘All right, all right, everyone ease up. I’ve still got to figure up points for this guy. This has
never
happened before.’ Knife sat at the table looking slightly dumbfounded. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though; this character is going to be something special.’

Vincent couldn’t have agreed more.

Chapter 8

Awakening

He drifted in a wonderful dream. A beautiful woman smiled at him, speaking softly while rubbing his body with exotic oils. When he forced his eyes open, Coleman knew he wasn’t dead. Dead wouldn’t be this painful. Even his eyes hurt. The light, though muffled by white curtains, seared his vision, and the muscles required to open them protested. The effort was worth the reward, though; he wasn’t in some beast’s cave, and that was a tremendous relief. He sighed.

Ah, that hurts, too.

The ceiling above him was tongue and groove, oak, by the look of it, done by someone who knew their job. His father was such an artisan, and Coleman had learned the skills as a boy, though it had been years since he picked up a tool. Father, Mother; he hadn’t seen them in some time. He needed to correct that.

Randolph came to mind and his chest constricted with sorrow and regret. The last time he’d seen his Second was at the start of the battle.

The beasts came out of the mist, their talons clacking over the rocky soil. They were randomly assembled, a disjointed collection of nightmarish animals. Sharp teeth erupted at all angles from their gaping maws, some piercing their own faces. Serpentine drool oozed from their mouths, hanging in long strands before finally plopping to the ground. Where it struck, fires burst into life, as if they brought the flames of the Abyss with them. Strangely, the creatures smelled of mint, as if they had freshened up before setting out on wanton destruction.