Lich for Hire-Chapter 23: The God of Fates Gift

A druid offering to help an undead for free and even willing to risk her life to protect him...

Ambrose could hardly count the number of absurdities in that claim.

He snorted. "Don't feed me such childish lies. Such freebies exact the greatest cost. Tell me your real goal, and maybe I'll consider working with you."

The druid glanced around and said, "Let's talk somewhere private."

Ambrose snapped his fingers. A veil of pure darkness descended, enclosing the two of them in silence.

"This barrier blocks sound and light," Ambrose said. "Most detection spells won't pierce it. Now, speak."

The druid's eyes widened. As a spellcaster herself, she recognized the level of mastery behind that casual gesture.

Casting required both incantation and gesture. That was Spellcraft 101. Silent casting alone was the mark of an expert, but Ambrose had even managed the spell in an instant. In battle, he would surely outpace the adepts of the famed Tri-Fireball Order, who prided themselves on being able to cast three fireballs within six seconds.

This undead was far stronger than she had imagined.

She had, it seemed, found the right person.

Taking a deep breath, she began, "My kin and I ventured into the sewers beneath Alkhemia. Down there, we encountered something... terrible. My people are still trapped inside. I need your help to rescue them."

Ambrose raised a brow. "Your kin are trapped, and you expect to save them alone? If you want me to get involved, it'll cost extra."

"You won't need to fight," the druid insisted. "I have my own methods. You only need to help me find them. You're undead, so you're especially sensitive to life force. You'll be able to locate them in the tunnels easily. In return, I'll help you find the slimes you're after."

Ambrose considered this. "How long have they been trapped?"

The druid fell silent for a moment. "...More than two months."

Ambrose: "..."

"Two months?" Ambrose blinked. "At this point they'd be bones, if that."

Seeing his skepticism, the druid's voice quickened. "My kin are strong! They can protect themselves. They're only trapped. If I can find them, I'll be able to free them. They're still alive... they must be!"

The last sentence came out as a whisper, half-choked with tears.

Ambrose found himself growing more curious about these sewers. Not only had the place drawn the Empire's paladins, but now druids as well. What was next, a legendary dragon nesting beneath the streets?

"What exactly did you encounter down there?" he asked.

The druid hesitated, clearly aware of the value of her information. "You'll have to agree to help first. Otherwise, I can't tell you more."

"No problem," said Ambrose. "I'll even sign a contract right now. If your kin are still alive, I'll help you find them."

He saw no reason to refuse.

Compared to the other two guides he'd interviewed earlier, this druid offered far better value for the risk.

After all, the choice of guide wouldn't change how dangerous the sewers were. And unlike the others, she had witnessed the horrors that lay down there and lived to tell about it.

The druid eagerly signed the pact.

Only then did Ambrose learn her name: Naomi Watts.

The surname struck him as odd for a druid. Most druids bore names tied to nature and to the particular circle to which they were associated. Moongrove, for instance, was a famous surname associated with a circle of lunar druids.

"Watts," on the other hand, sounded distinctly human, almost noble. Judging by the name, her family even likely had some connection to lightning.

The druid surely had her own share of secrets as well.

But Ambrose wasn't one for gossip. He cared only about what waited in the sewers.

"Now," he said, "tell me what's really down there, Miss Watts."

Naomi frowned in thought. "I'm not sure what it was. I was exploring the southern district's sewers when the filth suddenly... changed. One moment, it was sludge and rot. The next, a beautiful garden that looked just like home..."

Her description painted a vivid picture. To Ambrose, it sounded unmistakably like a large-scale illusion spell, a deadly mirage hiding unseen threats.

Biting apples that snapped back when touched, sheep that sprouted claws mid-bleat—dangerous, yes, but not insurmountable. The druids were likely trapped inside a phantasmal maze, unable to break free. As for Naomi herself, she had apparently been forced out by her companions and sent to find help.

Ambrose folded his arms. "So you came back alone? Where are the others? Don't tell me your entire circle's holed up in the sewers."

"That," she said curtly, "has nothing to do with our agreement."

"Heh. Fair enough. But from what you've told me, this monster doesn't sound too hard to deal with."

For all their annoyance, wide-area illusions suggested one thing: weak combat capabilities. If the creature had possessed raw destructive power, it wouldn't have needed such tricks. An adept from the Tri-Fireball Order could have turned those druids to ash—and probably collapsed half the sewers, too—in six seconds flat.

A dozen monsters adept at illusion magic flashed through Ambrose's mind. None of them worried him much.

"Then let's not waste time," he said. "We'll set off now."

He dispelled the barrier and filed their contract at the tavern's guild counter. Most adventurers' inns offered such services: the legal registration of contracts to prevent disputes. Cities across the continent recognized their validity.

Without these contracts, no sane man would risk his life on a stranger's word. Cheap ale and dwarven drinking songs were hardly enough to attract so many patrons.

Outside, Naomi was already hurrying toward the sewer entrance when Ambrose caught her arm and murmured a spell.

Both their figures shimmered, then vanished completely.

Naomi gasped. "What are you—?"

Her answer came when the tavern door creaked open again. Two men stepped out: the rogue and the ranger who'd "interviewed" beside her earlier.

And judging by the way they scanned the street, they hadn't left on a whim.

The ranger even whistled, summoning a hound that began sniffing the ground. But the animal circled in confusion, unable to catch a scent.

Of course it couldn't. Druids blended naturally with their surroundings, their scent indistinguishable from the wild. As though Ambrose was a lich, he abhorred contamination by dint of being an alchemist. Even his corpse had no odor whatsoever.

Still, the two men didn't give up. They set off toward the sewer entrance, clearly intent on trailing the lich and the druid.

Only when they were gone did Ambrose lift the invisibility.

Naomi frowned. "What do they want?"

"They tried the oldest trick in the book," Ambrose said with a sneer. "One plays a bad liar, while the other offers a ‘fair' price that's far too high. When I didn't bite, they decided to trail us instead. They're hoping to swoop in if we find something valuable—or just kill us and loot our corpses."

These were what adventurers were like. In lawless territory, they were little better than bandits.

"So what do we do now?" Naomi asked nervously. She was clearly new to this line of work. No wonder she'd been stuck in Alkhemia so long without finding a team. Desperation had even driven her straight into the hands of an undead.

Ambrose grinned. "We follow them. They won't give up. They'll go into the sewers sooner or later. They want to take advantage of us, so why shouldn't we take advantage of them?"

A sharp, delighted smile crossed his face. He'd missed his chance for a good double-cross earlier, but fate, it seemed, had sent him a second helping. A fine gift, courtesy of the God of Fate himself.