The Stone Seekers: An Unofficial Armello Short Story: Chapter One

Writing

The last of the stubborn soil crumbled away beneath the rabbit’s paws. Faint blue light shone through the hole. Amber sighed in relief.

Finally!

She had the hole enlarged in a wink. A gust of new air puffed into her face, carrying with it the faint scent of spirit stones and ancient dirt.

On second whiff, the spirit-stone scent in the new cavern was fainter than it should have been given the intensity of blue glow. Frowning, she slipped off her digging gloves and bent to the hole, peering through.

Empty. Even without a torch, she could tell that. She wiggled her way through the hole until she could stand up.

Blue moss gleamed on the roof of the cavern, looking like a turquoise river of stars. But it was just moss. Not what she was seeking.

But it’s Wyld-touched. Nothing glows that color without the Wyld. I’m getting close!

The cavern had three exits. Amber studied all three, trying to see if any one tunnel held more moss than the others. No luck; they all looked to have the same amount on their ceilings.

Her long ears angled left, right, straight ahead, listening for water. Where there’s Wyld, there’s water.

But there was only silence. She raised up on her toes, nose twitching. Maybe the scent would make a better lead. Instead, her nose caught something else in the air. Cold fear shot through her.

The Rot. Her paw went to her sword. She sniffed again. No, not Rot, but something rotting…

A sound echoed from the middle tunnel. Her ears turned towards it: something scrabbling, barely audible.

The rotting smell was coming from that tunnel, too. It mingled with the scent of the Wyld.

Is someone down here with me? Maybe someone had found the spirit stone before her. Maybe she could trade for it. Or maybe not—a single stone could cure the beginnings of Rot, but if the King were as bad off as the rumor said he was, it would take more than one stone to excise the soul-poison from him.

If this fellow had just contracted the Rot, it’s likely he wouldn’t part with it—and Amber wasn’t in any shape to fight, nor did she have much on-paw to trade. After five days underground, her supplies were running low.

She stepped forward anyway. She had to try.

The Stone Seekers: An Unofficial Armello Short Story: Chapter Two

Writing

The soil grew rockier the further in she went.

Treacherous, her cousin Elyssia would have said. I’d rather build on carrot custard.

Amber was loath to agree with her, but she had almost turned her ankle twice in twenty minutes.

And a lame rabbit is a dead rabbit.

She put on her gloves and went to all fours. She bobbed ahead slowly. The rocking motion of her gait turned into a trance. Her mind wandered as she continued forward. Then the scent hit her: a fully-formed spirit stone.

That’s it! She broke into a wild run, zig-zagging towards it.

The treacherous soil turned sandy beneath her feet.

She scrabbled, but it was too late. The bad ground pulled her down a steep slope, then she was falling through the air. She landed with a thud.

She groaned. Then:

Toes? She wiggled them. Okay. Ankles? She circled them. No pain. That’s good. Legs?

After a full tail-to-ears check, she pushed herself upright.

She stood in a steep pit with walls too sheer to climb. The spirit stone scent floated tantalizingly above her, but down here, the rotting smell was overpowering.

Rasp-scrabble.

She froze at the sound, eyes searching the dark. She could only make out a silhouette—but she could tell it was close.

Amber pulled her sword out of its scabbard and held her steel parasol-shield before her.

“You’ll find no easy prey with me!” she shouted into the darkness.

The shadow froze. Then, the first voice she’d heard in a week:

“You wouldn’t hurt an old rat, would you?”

The Stone Seekers: An Unofficial Armello Short Story: Chapter Three

Writing

Rat? He doesn’t smell like a rat!

Maybe he was infected—come down here to get a stone, heal himself—until he fell into the pit.

She lowered her sword—a little.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t hurt an old rat. Not unless he gave me a reason to.”

“Rest assured, my dear, I bear you no ill will.”

Her hackles rose. Strange—the charm oozing out of him wasn’t anything she hadn’t encountered in a rat-run inn.

“I’d say, ‘rat’s honor,’ ” the voice continued, “but I’ve seen that doesn’t hold any weight with you.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing down here?”

“Sargon the Veil Gazer at your service. As to what I’m doing here…you don’t happen to have a rope, do you?”

“I do. But there’s nothing up there for it catch on, even if it were long enough to land up there.”

“Ah. Well then, do you have the makings of a torch?”

Amber sniffed. “Of course.”

“That will be useful for our protection, but it won’t help us escape. Hmm…I didn’t see quite that far back…”

“Protection? From what?”

“We’re not alone down here. Every day for the past four days a multi-legged…something has been trying to make a meal of me, heh!

“I’ve been fending it off with my torches, but I used up the last of my fuel…let’s call it yesterday. You came just in time, Amber.”

Amber bristled.

“How did you know my name?”

“Oh,” said the rat. “That’s right. You didn’t introduce yourself yet. I’m afraid I get a little confused…”

“Confused about what? How do you know—”

A distant scratching turned Amber’s ear. The scratching turned into a hiss like rain. Whatever it was, it was big, and approaching quickly.

“Would you be a dear and light a torch now, please?”

Amber dumped her pack and felt for a stave. Using her teeth, she snipped a length of cloth from its roll and began unscrewing the lid to her fuel.

The scrabbling was getting louder. It sounded like the movement of an army.

“I know you’re going to hurry, but I can’t help but ask that you hurry a bit more.”

“Working, here!”

The lid popped off her fuel, spun away into the dark. She ran the cloth through the fuel, coating it in the flammable jelly. She wrapped the cloth around the stave, dashed her paws against the floor to get the jelly off, then grabbed her flint and steel from her pockets. She struck them together. Orange sparks popped in the air, died on the ground.

The chittering filled her ears. It was in there now, with them. The rotting smell was suffocating.

She smashed the steel again. The torch caught fire. The instant it did, the rat swept it up. Amber followed the motion of the light, saw the horror towering over them.

It was a giant centipede, big enough to fill a warren tunnel. Its segments were spirit-stone blue, and venom dripped from its giant pincer-mouth, hissing when it hit the ground.

Its mandibles clattered and it recoiled from the light of the torch. But Amber wasn’t quite within the circle of light.

The creature lunged for her. She threw herself out of reach and ran. The clicking of its hundreds of legs sounded like daggers hitting the ground. At least the torchlight kept her from running into the side of the pit. She rebounded off the walls instead and went into a tight turn. The monster ran up the wall, its legs chipping off bits of stone.

“Over here!” The rat waved his arms. The torchlight stretched his shadow crazily. “You’re too far from the light!”

The beast had formed a circle around her. Its head—or at least, she thought it was its head—was making its approach. Amber rushed towards it, then gave a mighty leap. She touched a paw down on the top of its hard carapace. Before the creature could change direction, she had vaulted over it and was next to the rat, in the firelight.

“You’ll be wanting your sword,” said the rat, tapping his foot where she had thrown it down to make the torch. As she took it up, the centipede made another circle around them.

Behind them: legs. To either side, legs. In front of them: the armored head of the monster.

“Hm,” said the rat. “I did not foresee this part. Before you arrived, I was keeping my back to the wall.”

She lifted her sword and steel parasol. Where she could strike was not clear: when she had vaulted it, the carapace had felt as hard as a crab’s shell.

“Don’t you have a weapon?” she asked. “A dagger, a stick—anything?”

“Well, they do say forewarned is forearmed…”

The centipede reared up, revealing its pale yellow underbelly.

A smile lit the rat’s face. “Ah! This, I foresaw!” He grabbed Amber’s arm. The rabbit jolted. Her fur began to glow blue. A heartening warmth spread up her arms, down her chest and through her legs. Suddenly, Amber felt like she could dig a thousand tunnels with one paw tied behind her back. The rat let her go.

“Run. And keep your sword up. It will work.”

“Got it!”

Sword raised, Amber charged under the beast.

Its legs closed in on her. She parried them with her shield, left-right-left. The legs’ sharp tips slid off the metal curve of her parasol easily, clang-tssp, clang tssp!

She ran the length of the creature, the tip of her sword splitting the creature from below. As she ran, fewer legs were attacking her.

“Yes!” The rat clenched his fist. “Glorious!”

The legs stopped moving. Amber dashed out from beneath it. The creature teetered, then collapsed on its side and was still.

Amber rejoined the rat in the circle of torchlight. She wasn’t even winded.

The Stone Seekers: An Unofficial Armello Short Story: Chapter Four

Writing

They pushed the monster’s remains to the nearest wall and used it to climb back up onto the main level. They both began walking towards the scent of the spirit stones.

Amber carried the torch. Its wavering light let her study her rat companion in detail: he wore a red mask and robe. But unlike all the members of rat clan she’d met in her travels, he had no fur. Dark spots blotched his pallid shining hide.

She sniffed, trying to make out the disease which had caused this, only to realize that he had no scent. The awful stench that had caught her nose earlier had belonged to the monster.

It wasn’t just eerie for him to have no scent; it was wrong. Her fur prickled. She was glad he was leading the way. No way she wanted him behind her.

“You still haven’t told me how you knew my name,” said Amber.

The rat halted so suddenly that she almost ran into him.

“Master Rat?”

He didn’t reply.

“Sir? Sargon?”

More silence. Then he shook himself.

“My apologies. What was it you were asking?”

She repeated her question.

“Ah, yes. I know your name because I can see the future.”

Amber wrinkled her nose. Liar.

“I saw myself talking to you. I spoke your name in vision…Therefore, I knew it when I saw you. Déjà vu!” He laughed, sounding delighted. Then he stopped again, turning towards her.

“You don’t believe me, of course. But I invite you to examine me closely. Do you notice anything different about me?”

It wouldn’t be polite to speak of his lack of scent—and Amber wouldn’t have mentioned his skin disease for all the gold in the mountains.

“You have me at a disadvantage, my good rat.”

“Don’t be shy! Go on. Have a good look.”

He’s crazier than a moon-bitten hare. Better humor him. She glanced around his face—then gasped.

“What happened to your eyes?!”

They hadn’t been gouged out; rather, there was only white where she expected a beady gaze.

Her paw flew to her mouth. Blurting something like that out! Amber, you have no idea what will set him off! “Oh—please, good rat, I beg your pardon!”

But the rat smiled and waved her off. “No need for that, my dear. I only wanted to show you the price I paid to see through the veil.”

Amber didn’t speak until she was certain her voice wouldn’t waver. “What veil?”

“The veil of time—which is neither Wyld nor Rot. Anybody can do it, if they’re willing to pay.”

“But…if you’re blind, how are you walking around down here?”

“I get by on my nose.” He wiggled his snout. “And my ears.” He clenched his teeth, making his ears wiggle.

Amber wanted to be sick. Instead, she smiled. “How…fortunate for you.”

“You have no idea.” He turned away and began walking again.

“They used to be brown, you know.”

Amber’s paw had gone to her sword again. “What did?”

“My eyes. You were going to ask that, weren’t you?”

A breath of laughter escaped her. She hoped he couldn’t detect the nerves in it.

The Stone Seekers: An Unofficial Armello Short Story: Chapter Six

Writing

On their way out, the guards smashed every blue stone they saw. The clanking of their armor faded as they marched into the distant chambers. The glow of the remaining stones turned the cavern red.

Amber stared at the shards of the once-perfect spirit stone. She shook her head over and over.

That could have cured the King.

She turned on the rat. “I thought you said you could see the future!”

“I most certainly can, my dear. I just can’t tell you when—or where—it will arrive. I foresaw those gentleclaws destroying a stone—but I didn’t know if it would happen in this cavern or another; a year from now, or ten minutes from now!”

Amber scoffed. “Then what good—”

“—is my power? Perhaps not as much as you’d like, my dear. But good enough.”

Amber dove into the half-formed stones. She began digging. They might have missed one, near-formed, just under the dirt, worth waiting for…

Sargon limped to a rock, sat down, and drank out of the canteen on his belt. While she dug, he slowly bent and stretched his leg until his knee cracked.

“Ah!” he sighed.

Amber came up twenty minutes later, empty-pawed.

“The King should be seeking these stones, not destroying them!”

“The King is very ill,” said the rat.

She looked at him. “You knew?”

“Rats and rumors go together like rabbits and hay.” He took another sip from his canteen.

She shook her head. “I’m not going to find another stone here.” She went to her satchel, opened it, and began preparing another torch. “The bears will know,” she said. The bears knew all about the spirit stones. Legend said they could even conjure them from time to time.

“You’ll be going back to your warren, then?”

“I have to!” It would take time to collect a diplomatic party, gather gifts for trade…then Amber would have to go seeking again, this time for a clan that was often on the move, hidden in the forests of Armello. She shook her head. She had to leave now.

“Hm. Yes,” said the rat. “Well, then this is where we part ways, my dear.”

Amber slumped in relief—but only for a moment. “But don’t you want to get out?”

“I’d be a poor rat indeed if I couldn’t get out of the places I took myself in to. Besides, the spirit stone wasn’t the only thing I wanted that’s down here. I must go deeper.”

He lifted his canteen in a toast, water sloshing. “But it was a certain pleasure meeti—”

He stopped speaking. Amber waited for him to go on, but when his eyelids began to flutter, she bolted over.

She bent down. “Master Rat?”

His face had gone slack, but the canteen trembled in his grasp. She waved her paw in front of his face. Nothing.

“Master Rat, are you—”

One hard blink.

“—all right?”

The rat’s head swiveled, nose twitching until he found Amber. He grinned up at her, all yellow incisors. “I’m fine, my dear,” he said. His white eyes narrowed to delighted slits. “In fact, I bring good news from beyond the veil.”

Hope stole into Amber’s heart. Could it be about the King? Her mission to the bear clan?

She forced her voice to soften. “Do tell, Master Rat.”

The rat’s smile changed. Now he looked like he had a nasty secret.

“You and I will be working together again.”

He’d seen more than that—but this was all he was going to tell her. She could see it on his face.

The day flashed before her: killing the horrid centipede monster, finding the spirit stone, the betrayal of the King’s guard. But the worst memory was the rat’s snarl of rage when Amber had tried to stop him from getting what he wanted.

Dread filled her. What else has he foreseen?

The rat grabbed her paw. Clammy flesh. Amber shuddered.

“See you then.”

THE END

Special Thanks…

…to Kristin G., for proofreading and making me aware of the difference between loath and loathe.

…to Emily New, for improving the cover typography. The title looks fabulous!

…to the League of Geeks for developing a great world to play around in!

…to you, for reading this! If you liked it, please leave a comment!

The adventure continues in The Heroes of Houndsmouth: An Unofficial Armello Novella! Click here to read it online!