Something (Full Murderhobo Book 1) Read online

  Something

  Full Murderhobo Book One

  Dakota Krout

  Copyright © 2020 by Dakota Krout

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Newsletter

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About Dakota Krout

  About Mountaindale Press

  Mountaindale Press Titles

  Acknowledgments

  To my Patreons who are supporting me directly, thank you all so much! Especially to Justin Williams, Samuel Landrie, William Merrick, John Grover, Jim Eleven, Mike Hernandez, and Garett Loosen.

  A big thank you to everyone who told me that my naming conventions wouldn't work.

  Here is Something for you.

  Newsletter

  Don’t miss out on future releases! Sign up for my newsletter to stay up to date. And as always, thank you for your support! You are the reason I’m able to bring these stories to life.

  Prologue

  “Shut th’ abyssal door!” a guest at the tavern bellowed at the traveler that had swung the heavy oak slab open to step inside. He grabbed an empty bottle to throw at the newcomer, nearly falling from his seat with the motion. “I jus’ get dry, and you decide to soak us again? Shut it!”

  “Kel, I think you’ve had enough.” The bartender deftly pulled away the empty bottle and tucked it under the counter. The Hollow Kingdom had put out a blanket hire of skilled artisans, which meant glass was getting harder to come by these days; no need to be wasteful. “This drink is on me, how about? I think your missus would like you home at some point tonight, so why don’t you go now?”

  The words were a clear order, and the drunk sputtered - and had to be slapped away when he started grabbing at a few drinks - before reluctantly complying. Turning to the soaked man pulling off his body-length rain cloak, the bartender continued in the same calm tone, “I apologize for that; all are welcome to share in my fire… so long as they have the coin.”

  He glanced meaningfully at the drunk he was sending home. The new arrival moved into the light for the first time since entering, and the bartender sucked in a shocked gasp as he recognized the raiment of a True Bard - a man trained not only to play, sing, and pass information, but to weave his magic throughout all of these, creating his art in the senses of those he chose. There was a clear hint of fear in the bartender’s eyes. Was… was this Bard bound?

  Slowly releasing his breath, the bartender ran a keen eye over the man in front of him, appraising the slowly fading glory of his once immaculate clothing. “You… you do work for the Hollow Kingdom? You know as well as I, we would both hang if I let an unbound True Bard…”

  The Bard touched his own face, and with a slight chiming noise, the Sigil of the Kingdom appeared over his forehead, visible to all. In the back of the tavern, a man scrutinized the newcomer, eyes widening as he looked at the sheer intricacy of the Sigil, then narrowing as he realized who the man must be. Though it was a fact only known to a few, Sigils changed shape over time to reflect the power, oaths, and prowess of the Ascender. Quietly rising to his feet, the grizzled drinker stealthily exited the main room, going unnoticed by almost everyone as he went up the stairs and out the window.

  “My thanks,” a musical voice flowed from the Bard as his eyes tracked the ‘sneaky’ man. “Though, I was hoping to save my coin, if possible. I was thinking we may be able to come to an… understanding.”

  “An understanding? Indeed! That, I can do!” Motioning one of his serving boys over, the bartender gave instructions to spread the word that a Bard would be performing tonight. With a quiet voice, he told the lad that he would get a bonus if there was a full house within the hour. The boy left as fast as he could, eschewing a cloak as he hurried to get as many people packed in as he could find. Bards were rare, especially True Bards, and quickly becoming more so. Bonuses were almost as rare.

  “Sit! I'll have you some hot food as soon as it is ready, and you have your pick of drinks. Will you be needing a room?” The bartender shrewdly calculated his incoming profits, hoping that he would stay at least overnight. If the Bard stayed a few days, his sales would be enough to more than compensate him for an entire week of free room and board for the performer, let alone a night or two.

  “Indeed, I will.” The Bard’s eyes were dancing at the audacity of the bartender. “My name… is Zed.”

  “Ha! I bet it is! Zed is the name of every Bard that has been through this city in the last five years!” The bartender roared with laughter as Zed’s face twitched. “So I guess that means you are telling stories tonight, not singing?”

  “Yes?” Zed was looking rather confused. “I… what?”

  Still chuckling, the barkeep announced, “My name is Bob, and I may look young, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Every Bard - True or not - who feels a bit ill, has a hangover, or just doesn't want to sing for some reason, is ‘Zed’ these days. No worries; I just hope you can tell a story well. The last ‘Zed’ in here nearly got my Inn burned to the ground when the crowd turned on him.”

  “A good story? Well,” Zed responded quietly as he examined the spiced cider being handed over to him, “I don't think that will be a problem.”

  He sat down, allowing Bob to administer to his needs. By the time Zed had eaten and warmed himself, the building was nearly full to bursting. Bards were rare in this part of the world, especially since they were so close to the front lines of the last battle of the far-too-recent war with the Dynasty of Dogs. Everyone was clamoring to see him, and a few people who had been waiting at a table were drunkenly shouting for him to hurry up and get on with the entertainment.

  Despite being exceedingly boisterous, as the Bard rose from his seat, the crowd quieted in a manner similar to a tsunami moving away from the epicenter of an earthquake. Turning to view the
guests, Zed settled into a place where he could be heard, seen, as well as remain comfortable. Quietly, deliberately, he began his tale.

  “The war is over for the better part of a decade, and only now do we learn that we have been living in a golden era! All of this is thanks to a man that you all adore, and those who stood with him. The choices of The Four have brought about peace and security for those of us lucky enough to live.”

  The crowd roared in approval; stories of The Four were always well received.

  “The Archmage, the Terraformer, the Mindbender… and the Murderhobo. What strange names we have been given over the years.” Here Zed paused and took a deep breath, his trained voice shaking with emotion. “But… as you may have heard - and yet simply choose to ignore - there is a fact that will soon become evident. The Ascenders have begun to lose hold of their power and authority.”

  The crowd was silent for a different reason now: this Bard had just spoken treason and heresy in a single breath. Even the most drunk patron was listening with rapt attention, caught between hearing everything, and fleeing before the guards could arrive. “This world, this entire civilization… is ending. Tonight, I will tell all of you why.”

  “It started in what was once a small town named Woodswright, now the largest city after the capital itself.” Motioning to the fire, swirling gold-tinged mana spread from his hand. The flames grew in size, until all could see them resolve into images that slowly gained clarity. “We shall begin on the day they realized that their lives were about to change, with the previously unknown origin story of the first among The Four: Luke, the Murderhobo.”

  Chapter One

  - Luke -

  Luke moved through the forest, being careful not to startle anything that might be nearby. It was mating season for boars, and unexpectedly showing up near one of them tended to get a person gored. Intestines rotting away due to a tusk in the gut was a particularly nasty way to die. Actually, there were lots of nasty ways to die that Luke had been watching for recently.

  A war had just started on the eastern front of the Hollow Kingdom, and while volunteers were appreciated, conscripts were far more numerous. In a few days, a King’s Legion and Ascender corps were due to arrive, and anyone of age was to be tested for magical potential. Luke swallowed, remembering that he was of age. If he was found to have ‘potential’, then he would be pulled into the secretive training to which Ascenders were subject. After that, it was said that power, wealth, land, and all your desires were within reach.

  However, anyone without the power of myth and legends would be joining the Legion as either a volunteer or conscript. To hide meant death for the entire family of the ‘coward’, but to join was equally dangerous to the individual. As it happened, dying on the front lines wasn't even an assured way out of the war, as Necromancers on both sides were apt to use the fresh corpses in some foul ritual.

  Hearing a rustle from the undergrowth nearby, Luke froze, then slowly reached for the bow strapped to his shoulder. With only the rustle as a warning, a singular of boars burst from the brush, squealing as they raced away. Realizing the danger, and having been prepared for the charge, as it was that time of year, Luke leapt as high as he could, catching a branch and pulling himself onto it in time to avoid the screaming boars running beneath him.

  “I love trees. Didn’t even realize how much until now!” Attempting to catch his breath as his heart beat wildly in his chest, Luke started laughing as his adrenaline spike slowly abated. He had been feeling so confident with his bow, but this was the first time he had remembered that he had it with him. He searched the forest floor but swung off his tree after not seeing anything that might have startled the creatures. Patting the wood in thanks for the rescue, Luke continued on his way much more hastily. Coming to the last set of snares he had set, he found a plump rabbit, as well as a fox; both struggled in the thick twine of his traps. “Well, there’s a story they won’t believe!”

  He chuckled as he finished off the animals, collecting the small bodies into a leather bag after gutting and cleaning them. Resetting the traps, he started his careful journey home, not wanting to run into the same situation of being forced to scramble into hiding. Returning to safety would only take about ten minutes, since he tried to arrange his traps to loop him around the forest. That way, he would be dropped back home at the end of each excursion.

  “Today was a nice day,” he spoke aloud, causing the birds in the area to go quiet. “I’m bringing dinner, didn’t die, and I’m done early. Hmm. Yup. Good day.”

  Walking through the verdant woods allowed his mind to wander, and he was nearly surprised when he broke through into the clearing around the village. Large town, more like. Plenty of people were pouring into the area these days, since the King himself had commissioned a keep to be built on the outskirts; he had claimed the town to be a strategic location for defense. Upon hearing this, carpenters, stonemasons, and artists had all rushed to the town, driving the price of day-to-day living into the non-feasible range for most of the established citizens.

  Luckily, the influx of hungry people had also drawn the attention of traders and merchants from all walks of life. As they set up their shops, even more people were needed in order to get their shops built and staffed. Huge amounts of resources were being poured into the town, which only made the demand higher. Food was now far too expensive a luxury to buy at a store for the likes of him, but luckily, business was starting to pick up.

  Luke, like the rest of his family, was a leatherworker. He had been trained to create beautiful, as well as functional, armor from nearly any hide that he had. As metal was notoriously expensive in the forested area - the main export from Woodswright being wood - he had a solid collection of people that would pay top coin for a few more layers of protection between them and possible death.

  Arriving home, he slammed the door open, shouting, “The fu~u~un has arrived! I’m back, Mom! Dad! Mom? Cindy? Anyone? No? …Okay, then.”

  Grumbling about underappreciation, he stalked into the kitchen and started making a stew from the available vegetables, then cut some rabbit meat and added it into what would hopefully be a nutritious, if not tasty, dinner. If he were lucky, someone else would notice that he was cooking and come to season the meal. The fox wasn’t as lucky, most likely the meat would be discarded and the pelt would become a scarf.

  “Luke?” He heard his dad shout. “You in here?”

  “Yeah!”

  “We got an order; the advance unit for the Legion came today, and they need boots.” His father, John, appeared in the kitchen. “The girls are mixing up some tanning fluids. We need to get some deer hide stretched, or we’re going to miss a good chance here. They are paying gold.”

  “Gold!”

  “Yes; something about the boots they have not holding up too well around here. I guess they were designed more for a city with plenty of cobblestone. I took some measurements, and their feet are horribly blistered. Lots of blood.” As an afterthought, he added, “Pus, too.”

  “Bleh.”

  “Yup. Anyway, hurry up. I’ll send Cindy to take care of the food. I need you out there, and we both know your food tastes like sipping a muddy cesspool. Two good reasons to keep you out of here.”

  “Thanks; so glad that I keep you fed. Maybe I should focus on learning proper cooking instead of catching the wild game that we eat?” Luke’s dry monotone made his father roll his eyes. “How many sets did we get an order for?”

  “Nearly fifty pair, and all other orders are on hold. The King’s Legion takes precedence. Always.” John muttered darkly as they walked behind the house. He stopped himself before he went on a tirade; there were better ways to die than the consequences for speaking treason. The workshop was closer to the forest than the house, situated at the bottom of a hill in an attempt to minimize complaints about the smell. Luckily, they didn’t use urine and feces, as did some other tanners in nearby cities. Instead they used bark liquor, composed of finely ground bark store
d in twenty gallon barrels of water, which was left to ferment for several weeks at a time.

  Their process still smelled fairly horrible, but it was not nearly as bad as the other available options. There were some necessary precautions that were needed, as bark liquor was highly flammable. The most important rule was that they only worked when there was natural light, and no open flames were allowed within any enclosed area.

  As they approached the workshop, a well-ventilated building that was mostly a roof with the sides left open, John called out, “Cindy! Dinner is in the pot; Luke got some rabbit in his snares. Can you go take care of that so we don’t need to eat his cooking?”

  “Sure! We just sealed the lid on this barrel, so if Mom says it’s okay…?” Cindy looked over at her mother.

  “Yes,” Joanne allowed wearily, “I’m sure we are all hungry, so when it’s done, bring it down from the house, please. We don’t have time to stop working if we want to complete the order. We have only three days before the Legion arrives in town, and a week from then until they need the boots for marching. Let’s get moving, people!”