Jim Baen's Universe

Featured Article

Fantasy Stories

Bella of Ghostsea is Dead

Written by A. S. Fox

Illustrated by Jared Blando

The bar was dark and the barmaid wary. Max, as ever, drank something red. Grak leaned over his ale. "You've got to help me."

Max sipped. "I don't know." His pale face looked menacing in the shadows. "As I recall, you killed the last one."

Grak sighed. "Being paid to hunt down a succubus does not count as a date. And besides, I think I got this curse figured out."

One eyebrow on the vampire rose. Although Max did not smile in public, Grak knew from decades of experience this was a close second. Max sipped the liquid. "Do tell."

"Well," Grak took a gulp of ale, "I'm doomed to watch anyone I love die in front of me. So... I date someone who's already dead."

Max's hands shot up in protest. "I'm no matchmaker."

"But you know everyone Max." Grak finished his tankard and waved for more. The barmaid gave a startled nod. "You've been dead forever. If there's anyone out there for me... well, you'd know. And I've been taking communication lessons."

"Lessons?"

Grak gave a nod. His face lit up. "At the Elven Institute." He leaned forward and opened his eyes. "Do you feel I have a consultative listening style?"

Max laughed. "You're a half orc who kills people for a living." The barmaid swooped in, keeping her eyes on the table. Grak found his ale refreshed and Max, with a soft word, brought a smile to the woman's face.

"C'mon. One name. I haven't had a real date in almost four hundred years."

The vampire sighed. "No vampires right?"

Grak nodded. "Too draining."

"Emotionally?"

"No," Grak drank, "physically." Max gave him a nod. Somewhere in the bar two drunken dwarves started singing the praises of mining.

"Well..."

Grak perked up. "Yes, yes."

Max sighed and swirled the red liquid. He downed it. "I do know this woman." He held up a hand and Grak resisted speaking. "She's kind of in the same boat as you. Cursed, looking for a date, um... She's three thousand years old."

Grak smiled. "No problem. I'm at least two thousand. I like mature."

"Actually," Max bounced his fingers against one another contemplatively, "she looks it during the day. At night she's rather beautiful. If you go for that."

The half orc pushed aside his drink. He gave Max his consultive listening focus. "You could introduce us?"

The vampire moaned. "Okay. She lives in Ghostsea, which is a bit far for me to travel, but I'll send word."

"Isn't Ghostsea that cursed dwarven port?"

Max nodded. "You have no idea."

****

A week later, Grak had a fair idea. The half-ruined town nestled a once bustling port where the husks of several burnt and sunken ships lay tilted on their keels. Birds in massive flocks dived upon them feeding. Here and there, a dwarf lumbered. Haunted or not, the port still functioned as haven for the downtrodden, the criminal and the half insane. "Seems like a nice enough place," Grak informed no one in particular.

A raven cawed from a nearby dead tree. Grak pulled out the map Max had given him and reviewed it. His date lived somewhere north of the actual port in a ruined palace. Readjusting his uncomfortable formal cloak he began walking. It took an hour to find the place despite the humming of his blade. The last ten minutes he actually drew the sword and let its innate magic guide him towards death and ruin.

A slender woman greeted him at the gates of a huge estate. The sword in Grak's hand nearly screamed. He smiled and sheathed it. When she didn't speak he spent a minute acclimating to the place. The woman looked all of nineteen. She wore her midnight hair in a single braid. Her skin looked like white marble and her lips were a shocking blood red. Her clothing had an ancient cut but was in good repair. Her eyes glittered. "Well." She put her hands on her hips. "Speak already."

Grak coughed. He hadn't realized how nervous he was. "Is that a magical lipstick? It's quite fetching."

She laughed at him and grabbed the box he carried from under his left arm. "Oh, how interesting. You brought me roses." She pricked her finger on one and licked the blood. "I can make a nice potion from these."

Grak bowed as best he could manage. He'd gotten rather dismal marks at the Elven Institute in this regard. He just couldn't bring himself to give up the defensive advantage of having his sword hand in the wrong place. "Grak Bonesmasher."

She gave him a wan smile. "I know who you are. Maximus sent word of you." She studied him for a minute, frowning. "All right, you might as well come in." She led him through a series of despoiled gardens, filled with writhing vines and dead ponds. In some the skeletons of fallen warriors decomposed.

"Charming." Grak stopped to inspect the spear wound of one particularly nasty specimen.

"Oh," —she waved casually— "I have a decorator." She continued, making way for a stone arch set into one of the palace walls. Inside, candles flickered with ghostlight. A strange smell pervaded the place.

"Excuse me, is that gingerbread I smell?"

She nodded. "Where'd you learn to be polite?"

Grak blushed. This was definitely not going as he'd rehearsed. "Um, the Elven Institute."

She pointed to a large decaying chair and he sat. "Which one?"

"Cliffsedge. And Highcity. Oh, and Towerville."

She plopped into a similar chair near him. "How many times you take the class?"

Grak broke the clasp of the cloak while trying to unsnap it. He sighed. "Fourteen actually. But I've moved on to active communication. And I've only taken that class five times." He stared at her face, trying to gauge the reaction. Her white skin revealed nothing.

She smiled at last, revealing perfect teeth. "The gingerbread is from an old job actually. I used to be in the baking business."

Grak sat up. His instructor, Lord Kevin Something-Or-Other had been specific about pursuing his partner's topic of interest. Gingerbread was apparently it. "So, like cookies?"

She shook her head. "Gingerbread houses actually. I was doing really well until the whole sector collapsed because of one bad contractor. Bottom fell out of the market."

"And how did that make you feel?"

She gave him a look. He felt something in his spleen squirm. "Excuse me?"

He tried it another way. "Um, what feelings came up around that?"

Her jaw dropped. "Feelings? Feelings?" She smiled. "I smashed her head in with a pickaxe."

Grak's heart bounced. Max hadn't mentioned she had spunk. "Really? That's a pretty intense angle to swing one of those. Did you go overhead or from the side?"

She leaned forward. "Actually she was sleeping. So I only had to do a half swing. But being dead has its advantages."

Grak rubbed his head. "So you're definitely dead then?"

She frowned. "I never discuss my curse on the first date."

He felt three feet tall. Max had given him no instructions. "Um, yah, right. Sorry I guess."

She patted his arm. He noticed she lingered on the huge bicep. Especially the scars. "It's okay. Blind dates are hard. How long has it been?"

Grak did some quick calculating on his fingers. "Like four hundred years. Maybe a little less. How about you?"

"About the same. Obviously it didn't work out. Vampire. Too draining."

Grak nodded sympathetically. "Physically?"

"No, emotionally." She rose. "Let me fetch you some tea and gingerbread. Max tells me some interesting things about you and I'd love to hear all about it." She left and returned, tray in hand. A pile of gingerbread and two large mugs of something clearly not tea graced it. Grak took several slabs of the bread and sipped the decoction. It burned pleasantly. He drank more.

"Wow. This stuff's yummy." He devoured three pieces and shoved several more on his lap. Somewhere around the seventh piece he remembered that gentlemen ate slowly. He froze.

"So tell me about your sword." Between mouthfuls of gingerbread he gave her the whole story. She refilled his mug and he downed it giddily. She went away and returned with another larger plate of the bread. "So you're actually immortal?"

"Technically yes. That is, until the black blade's destroyed. 'Course seven wizards later, it's pretty much a done deal I'm stuck with it until a volcano erupts on top of me or something."

Her eyes glittered and he found himself thinking impure thoughts. Something in her countenance changed and he worried she might be one of those mind readers. "Nearly immortal, hmm. You know I've been wanting some dragon curry..." A loud creak jarred the house.

Grak felt his hand shoot to his sword hilt. "That normal?"

She shrugged. "The palace is haunted. Things creak."

He tapped the mug and she poured. "What is this stuff? It's good."

She gave him a wide smile. "Truth serum."

Grak blinked. He hadn't the heart to be angry. Must be the potion. His ears pricked as the sound of men's footfalls reached him. Something metal banged. A muffled curse echoed through the palace. He rose and drew the blade. "Those are living sounds." The sword began to hum.

She frowned. "They most certainly are. That's really odd."

Three figures burst into the room brandishing swords. A tall man with glamorous armor and flowing blond hair pointed at her. "Belladonna Dayhag we're here to destroy you." Several other shapes slinked behind them, clearly taking cover.

"Like hell you are." Grak grabbed an ottoman and tossed it onto the knight, knocking him back with a resounding thud. "This is the first time in four hundred years I might get laid. You're all gonna die." Had he said that? No more drinking truth potions. He casually weighed into them, smashing the hero to the left with the flat of the black sword. The man fell without a sound.

"Die hideous orc!" Several arrows flew from behind a loveseat. The elf behind them cursed just like Lord Kevin. Without thinking, Grak let the black blade knock them away. The remaining swordsman lunged and managed to slam his blade into Grak's chainmail. A pinprick of blood escaped. He decapitated the man in a quick swing and then tossed his sword through the elf's loveseat. A hideous scream let him know he'd made contact.

"Kill the orc. Kill the orc." Several panicked men scurried, including one obvious wizard. A crossbow bolt rammed his left shoulder. Two men sprang from behind a velvet curtain to slash him with their sabers. He drop-kicked the first and slammed the second man's head into a wall. Both fell in crippled heaps. The wizard began chanting. Before he got halfway through his spell, something black and sizzling slammed into him. The wizard exploded into charcoal. One by one the men all fell prey to the black energy. Grak turned to find an angry Bella with a wand in hand.

"I can handle myself!"

Grak pulled the bolt from his shoulder. "But, but... I was trying to impress you." Damn potion. The Elven Institute had not covered this situation.

Bella spoke a word and the ashes of the men were hauled into the night by a swirling vortex. Only his sword, pinned to the loveseat, remained. "Stupid men. Every time a woman is in trouble you just figure you can march in and save the day."

Grak sputtered and tried to control his battle rage. "Now look here, Belladonna or whatever your name is. I just wanted to be polite. Where I come from, when paladins in armor show up, you help your buddy kill them." He retrieved his sword and whacked it against a fireplace. Soot shook off. "Stop being such a bitch."

She stared at him with narrow eyes, her wand pointed. Grak felt his sword begin to hum violently. Max definitely hadn't mentioned she was sexy. She spit on the floor. "First, my name is Bella. Got that, Grak?" He nodded but kept his sword ready. "Second, you're out of here. If you want to come back, you better bring me a whole heap of fresh dragon meat." She put her hands on her hips again. Grak noticed with relief that meant the wand was now threatening the floor. "And not some shoddy old minger dragon. I want the good meat. That means a full adult and one with fire organs intact."

Grak did some thinking. He knew several annoying beasts that fit the bill. A few were actually ones he'd lost friends to. One actually had nearly killed him. "Okay, so do I get to eat this curry with you?"

Her eyes gleamed. "Assuming you're not on the menu, yes." Grak gave her the once over and wondered if she would be on the menu. A little voice in his head warned him not to speak.

"Now get out."

Grak showed himself out. He took some time to enjoy the gardens and also to let the last vestiges of the potion wear off. When he was feeling less giddy he checked his wounds and found them healing at their normal rapid rate. With a shrug he exited the palace estate and made his way down to Ghostsea. Along the way he found the expedition's horses and gear. He also found two terrified hirelings holding a map to the party's buried treasure.

****

A month later he stepped off a ship far to Ghostsea's east, rich and well dressed. He had a local wizard waiting. The ship's captain had been a man with the foresight to learn basic messenger magic. Word had gone ahead. The scruffy underling who met him bowed. "Zauron, Zammel, Zimm and Zief."

Grak eyed him cautiously. Messages could be intercepted. "Which one are you?"

The wizard made a tutting sound. "We bought the franchise. My name's Plunk."

"Right. Okay Plunk, you know what I've got in mind?"

The little wizard looked disturbed. "We've made inquiries. He wants to sign in person."

Grak cracked his neck. "Figures." When he'd slid into the waiting coach, Plunk signaled. The horses trotted them out of town and into the foothills. Grak mumbled something about rest and promptly