Page 36 of Bull Moon Rising
Grumbling, I get to my feet.
We march for a little longer, until we’ve circled the upper quadrant of the city again and returned to Magpie’s home. At Hawk’s instruction, we deposit our packs by the door for tomorrow’s drills, and then head inside after him. To my surprise, we enter an empty, narrow chamber. If I put my arms out on each side, I’ll be able to touch both walls at the same time. At the far end of the room is a weapons rack.
“If you’re not wanting to build your endurance, we’ll have to work on your combat skills,” Hawk tells us. “Each excavation team sent into the tunnels consists of five people, and each person on the team has a particular job assigned to them. Someone will be the navigator, ensuring you don’t turn in endless circles. Someone will be the healer, in chargeof keeping the party healthy. Each team will have a gearmaster in charge of supplies. A good gearmaster won’t let you run out of food three days in. And then we have our combat members, our sword and shield. The shield—or bulwark—will protect the other members of the party while the sword takes point on combat. Even if you’re not the assigned sword for your group, you’ll be expected to handle yourself with your weapon of choice. Sometimes the sword gets killed early on and someone else has to take over the role. Understand?”
Mereden raises her hand, trembling.
“Speak,” Hawk says.
“Do we have to fight ratlings? Or will they leave us alone?”
“Not just ratlings are in the Everbelow,” Hawk says, voice ominous.
“What else?” Lark asks.
“Spiders, for one,” Hawk says. “Big, nasty beasts with too many legs that come out of nowhere and crawl over your shoulder. Monstrous things.”
“How monstrous are we talking?” asks Gwenna, a frown etching her face.
“Monstrous enough.” Hawk shakes his head and moves over to the weapons rack. “And ratlings, of course. They moved in when Old Prell collapsed, and they’re not keen on anyone digging around in the ruins. If they hear you in the tunnels, they’ll come after you. You will need to be on guard. And then there’s other teams.”
“Wait, did you just say ‘other teams’?” I blurt out. “They’d attack us?”
“It’s not unheard-of. We all know of teams that die down to a man and yet someone else makes it out with a fantastic artifact but they can’t exactly describe where they found it. No one would accuse them directly, but…it’s best to be careful.” He gestures at the weapons rack. “Does anyone have experience with any of these?”
I stare at his broad back, agog. I knew that there would be ratlings in the tunnels. I knew that there would be other problems, like collapsing paths and rockslides and things nature presented to us as we crawled leagues under the earth for ancient treasures. It never occurred to me that other teams might attack and rob us simply to get what we’ve uncovered. Gooseflesh pimples my arms and I rub them tightly. I wonder just how common “accidents” are in the guild.
“Anyone?” Hawk turns to look at us, and I’m pretty sure he’s frowning.
Kipp moves forward and grabs a sword from the rack. It’s the smallest one. Actually, it’s probably more like a dagger. He twirls it around his wrist expertly and then sheaths it, gazing up at Hawk.
The Taurian glares down at him. “You want to be the sword?”
Kipp shrugs.
“You’re half the size of anyone else, and you’re still wearing your house, despite me reminding you repeatedly that you can’t do so. If you won’t listen now, what makes you think I’ll trust you to listen when your team is in the tunnels?”
Kipp shrugs again, and this time the twirled shell of his house slips off his back in a fluid motion, clanging to the floor like a dropped bowl. He flourishes the blade again and then races up the side of one of the narrow walls, then onto the ceiling, his sucker-like toes clinging to the wood. When he’s upside down, he twirls the sword again and assumes a warrior stance.
Hawk sighs heavily and tugs on his nose ring again. “Fine. Great. You’re agile. I meant it. You’re not a team of one, you’re a Five. Understand?”
The slitherskin licks his eyeball, his long, sticky tongue darting out. He sheaths the tiny blade at his waist and crawls over to a corner, watching.
Our teacher turns back to us. “Anyone else?”
Gwenna raises a hand. “I’m good at cooking. And mending. Used to be a maid, right up until I came here. I could manage the gear.”
Nearby, Mereden claps her hands. “Oh! I could be the healer!”
“What, I’m supposed to navigate?” Lark asks, belligerent. “I can’t even find my way out of a pub. I should be the sword.”
Kipp growls, the sound adorably cute instead of alarming. He clearly doesn’t like that idea.
“You could be the shield,” Gwenna tells her in a reasonable voice. “Aspeth can’t.”
“Why not?” Lark demands.
“Yes, why not?” I ask.