Ethria 3: The Liberator

by Holloway, Aaron

  “Did you save Zed?” Traser asked, wincing as he pulled back his bandage and began applying a clean one. The old bandage came away green and yellow. I nearly gaged as I smelled what was clearly some kind of infection.

  “Yeah, Zeds fine, but I’m not sure about the other guy. We removed the poison. But his body might still be too weak to recover. I’m not looking forward to telling Alara about it. What about you? And them?” I pointed towards the wounded, who the other priests and healers were still tending. “And who the heck are they?” I pointed towards the small group of bound and gagged people surrounded by some very upset looking penal legionnaires.

  “This?” Traser asked as he threw away the old bandage. “Don’t worry, that bandage pulled the poison out of the wound. This one will help heal it. Got them yesterday at the market. Part of a magically enhanced healing kit. Was hoping I wouldn’t be needing them so soon, but better this then my life.”

  “Oh, well, I’m glad you’re okay. But why was there poison in you in the first place?” I asked as calmly as possible. It was a perfectly reasonable question that I felt they were taking far too long in answering.

  “They attacked us—” I nearly screamed and jumped out of my shoes as a deep gravelly voice from behind suddenly started me for the first time in what felt like weeks. “Uh, are you okay?” Quinn asked, as I settled back down.

  “Don’t worry about our Wizard. He spooks easily, but is brave enough to make enemies of Gods.” Tol’geth said from beside Traser. My knightly friend guffawed as I fought from rolling my eyes.

  “I startled, okay? So, they attacked us?” I was trying to turn the conversation towards something more productive. And less embarrassing.

  “As I said, we were attacked.” Quinn pointed towards where the snow had been trampled in two obvious lines about fifteen yards from where I was. “Frontal assault using mercs.” He dropped a helmet at my feet that showed a wolf design I was familiar with. “Ones we’d fought before.” I nodded, acknowledging the meaning behind his words and urging him to continue. “We and those old men held them off until some priests could get involved. Once your half giant friend there started busting heads well, that’s when they called it quits.”

  “But why would the Blackwolf Guard guys attack us?” I asked.

  “Don’t know, but they weren’t the only ones. I saw a few people using The Hidden Dance, Hide in Plain Sight, and Shadow Steps come around the sides of the fighting. Those are all different stealth abilities, mid-level stuff, nothing too fancy. I saw them immediately of course, none of those abilities stop you from leaving tracks in the snow.” He pointed out several lines of foot steps that all ended in a tangle where someone had intercepted them and started a fight. “Not all my boys and girls could see them, but me and my lieutenants could once they gave themselves away. Even a couple of the newbies the city guard added to our ranks from the jail proved useful in that.”

  I looked to Traser who shrugged. “Nearly all of them are would be bloodline exiles. Men and women who were in prison when the proclamation came down, or who stayed in the city too long. My uncle thought it would be better for us to take a few of the cities cut purses with us then to have them get hanged for something that wasn’t their fault. Quinn agreed, and I saw it done. Problem?” I shook my head.

  “Nope, good looking out. We can use every man we can get our hands on. Though, we will want to have them put in front of a priest at some point.” Traser nodded in agreement, and I looked back to Quinn.

  “Anyway, like I was saying. We intercepted them and put their little assassin’s club to the knife. But, well, one of them slipped through. Sorry.” He looked over at Traser who smiled and shrugged. “She was a slippery one.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve been stabbed before. Probably will be again. Not the first time I’ve been poisoned, either. Though I doubt I’ll ever get used to it. I should have been watching more carefully. Maybe you can show me how to spot them, yeah?” Quinn grinned.

  “Maybe I will, but us rouges have to keep some things secret.” As Traser finished cleaning the wound with a damp cloth, Quinn winced. “I’m thinkin you’ll be out of the rest of the fight.” The knight nodded sadly as he finished putting the new bandage on and donned his armor.

  “You’re right. I’ll only slow you guys down in the assault on the tower. I’ll stay behind and make sure no one circles around to hurt the wounded again. Me and the nobles.”

  “What bothers me the most about all of it, Rayid, is the fact that they knew to target you. Every one of those bastards made a beeline straight for you. Passed up some excellent opportunities to cause some real chaos in our lines just so they could get close.”

  I watched the man for a moment, unsure how to take his concern and obvious attentiveness. We had several encounters up to that point, and more than one pleasant conversation. I had ensured his people’s protection by bringing them inside the city walls, and those close to me had helped to swell those numbers by working with the city guard and getting Pervolin prisoners released into the legions’ custody. I hadn’t known about what Traser was going to do, but it was a move I had whole-heartedly approved of.

  Quinn was, from my best estimation, a pretty normal guy. A farmer turned rogue turned highwayman and illegal mercenary out of necessity and happenstance rather than by choice. He had taken in all who had been willing to join him, including the mentally ill. One of which I had given over to the treatment of the Dead Gods disciples, who were even now doing everything they could to help the man. In secret, to protect him from the proclamation.

  The leader of the penal legion had shown concern even for the mentally ill. He had shown commitment to anyone under his command, under his protection. He clearly felt a deep-seated need to care for those unable to do for themselves. The man standing in front of me, despite the trappings the world had forced on him over the years, was someone of discipline and duty. Perhaps not honor, but he definitely took responsibility for those under his charge. He was a man who if born to another station would have been a noble, and a knight worthy of the title. And he was willing to forsake the life he had been living. That was the type of person I knew I would need in the coming months. Heavens above, it was the type of person I needed right now. This last act today had solidified in me the knowledge that he and his people were truly keen on doing just that.

  “Jekkel probably sent them after me specifically knowing that if I died, this Army of Vengeance would be legally moot. Get your men ready Quinn, we’ll be leaving soon to meet up with the bards.”

  Quinn smiled, offered a simple solute of a fist over his heart and then walked away barking orders and commands. He and his lieutenants are ready for more responsibility, I think. They’ll be an excellent help in the trek back north. As long as we win this fight.

  The first order out of Quinn’s mouth was to “leave that fancy house alone, we’re not here to raid you knuckle heads! What are you, some kind of gods forsaken thieves?! We’ve left that behind. We’re here to guard these people, not rob them!”

  Okay, maybe not entirely ready for more responsibility. I thought wryly. But change takes time and habits from old lives are hard to break.

  Chapter 21: The Revenge of the Bards

  "Before you begin a journey of revenge, dig two graves." - Unknown

  Just Outside the Sorcerer's Tower, Outskirts of the City of Sowers Vale, 9th Novos, 2989 AoR

  My host of nearly two hundred warriors, golems, rogues, knights, and scoundrels, marched behind me in their various groups as I made my way through the streets of Sowers Vale. The city had many colloquial names, with the cathedral and the mage’s tower for the entire northern duchy being headquartered there. But its real name was rather mundane. As I walked through the city’s cobblestone streets, I saw many who were still taking part in the festival from the night before. Two things kept circulating through my mind. First, I was disappointed. Instead of being able to look through the city’s interface for insights into my growing plan
for the Pervolin people while enjoying a festival in a foreign land, I had to fight this punk.

  Second was that name. Sowers Vale, as names go, was relatively humble, despite the city’s grandiose nature. It was small for a city of importance, even by Torish standards from what I had been told. But the people of this city took pride in what they had built. Every building was well maintained, even the crappy, slummy ones. The two-story buildings that packed peasants in tight were nice for slum apartment buildings. The cathedral was hundreds of times larger than necessary for the needs of the city and county combined. The mage’s tower was nearly a dozen stories tall when in reality it only needed to be five, maybe six. The dock works meant for shipping the long logs and semi-magical wood from Cutters Hollow were massive enough to keep them dry during the rainy seasons and safe from the mud during the summer.

  Where canvas and cloth would have sufficed these people built with wood and stone. Where mud and gravel would have worked perfectly fine for roads in the outer parts of the city, the residents instead built it with brick and concrete. These were proud people, living in a prosperous city that had until I had arrived been struggling against a malaise of noble apathy, and mild bigotry from the peasantry. One I was sure had been brought on by more than just the internal struggle in the Church of Dominus and the increasing tensions between civil and sovereign authority. Exacerbated by the machinations of the powerful Cardinal Telik and his puppet sorcerer.

  Telik was, unfortunately, untouchable. The Count had stripped him of his formal civil authority. It had branded him as a potential traitor, and despite his presence at the music festival the other night, he had little social power in the city anymore. From what the others had told me every time he reached out to one of his former political allies, he had the door firmly, metaphorically, slammed in his face. Between his pet’s loss to me at the festival opening, the sorcerer had murdered another city official, and that his very close associate had been branded an enemy of the state and would soon be killed or captured by me had stripped him of his power. No one wanted to stand too close to their former ally.

  That was only in the realm of the political. The Church legally protected Telik, despite it all. I couldn’t assault his offices, or take him captive to stand trial. He was immune from all of that. Though the Count could strip him of his civil authority, only the Church could discipline him directly.

  That left only the sorcerer. From what the bards and Alara’s minstrels had discovered from their own investigations, the sorcerer had his own assortment of direct employees, hangers on, apprentices, slaves, and mercs. No doubt the Cardinal was still bankrolling most of it. That the Blackwolf mercs had attacked us earlier was a clear sign that this would not be as simple as walking up, punching the guy in the face, and rescuing the damsel in distress. There would be blood before the sunset, that I knew. And that above everything else brought my spirits down. Who among my friends and allies would be dead by day’s end?

  Zed had been a close call, and I had always thought of him as nearly untouchable. If not because of his raw power, simply because he was too strange to die. Like the world wanted to keep him around just to see what he would do next. I had said goodbye to him just before we left, and he had given me one last gift. He had touched my forehead and implanted a Force spell directly into my mind. I did not know how it would be useful, particularly at the level I was now fighting at. But who knew?

  As we exited the western gate, I found Lord Traser, my friend’s uncle, waving at us and wishing us well in our quest. “I’ll be closing the gates behind you. Once the fighting starts, I can’t let you bring it into the city. But if you bring wounded back, and the fighting isn’t right at the gate, we’ll tend to them.” I nodded and waved my thanks at his words. The man had his job to do, and I could respect that. Just outside the gate, I could see a small cloud of dust and snow getting kicked into the air to our south. I puzzled at it for a moment.

  “The united orders, they’re coming as they said they would. That’s a horse trail for sure.” Traser’s friend Sir Dale said from beside me. The only experience I had with the man was the one time he had welcomed us to the city and offered to take us boar hunting. We had never taken the man up on the offer, but Traser had suggested he would make a good liaison between me and the rest of the knightly orders, particularly the Order of the Bleeding Heart. Whose members made up the bulk of our heavily armored contingent. Traser was pretty close to this guy, as they had been palling around for the last week or so, going about scaring the living brimstone out of the city’s less reputable nobility.

  “Makes sense. They’re moving fast but they’re still down by the bridge it looks like.”

  “That’s my best guess,” said Quinn from my other side. Tol’geth strode just behind me, Ailsa perched on his shoulder. She was tired, but not out of the fight yet.

  “So they’ll get here about the time the bards dismantle the defensive enchantments.” I mused as I watched the plume of snow and dust grow larger. Quinn tapped my shoulder and pointed forward. When I looked ahead, I found three figures standing and watching the tower at the top of the small hill I had launched my original attack from nearly a week ago.

  They were working together, wielding an ungodly amount of power. But doing it so subtly that I never would have realized what they were doing unless I saw the mana flowing with my own eyes. The tallest among them was the ebony skinned Master Stagian. Beside him was the scowling brown skinned and impressively mustachioed master bard I had yet to learn the name of. Alara stood with them, her eyes closed. She was the one clearly at most at ease, directly manipulating mana, though the other two were far more subtle and efficient in their part in the process.

  As I got within shouting distance, their spell activated and a note as clear as daylight through mirrored glass rang through the winter air. Snow shook from trees as far as the eye could see as the air hummed to the sound. Harmony sprang to life as two more notes joined it in perfect unison. A heartbeat later and it was over. The two older master bards turned and greeted me with a smile. Alara staggered for a moment before righting herself.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Master Wizard. And you too, Lady Fae, and Master Tol’geth.” Stagian bowed slightly in a sign of respect, as did the other bard. “We have just completed our end of the bargain. Our dealings are complete, and we thank you for your contribution to the theory of art.” I bowed and thanked the two foreign bards. They quickly made their way past me and disappeared among the crowed of fighters. When I came face to face with Alara, she looked grim.

  “How is my father?” Her voice was quiet. Subdued. Filled with what I thought was her bracing for inevitably bad news.

  “He’s, he’s not good. Alive, clean of the poison thanks to Ailsa, myself, and the priests of the Dead God but. . .” I trailed off as a lump caught in my throat.

  “I, I understand.” My words had clearly struck her. She stood there, staring at me and my slowly advancing army unblinkingly. As if she would wait until the world decided to rethink its poor decision.

  “Uh, Alara? I know this is bad news, but there is a battle about to happen. Right here. You might want to find someplace safe.” After a moment she shook herself and met my eyes, as if realizing she was standing in the middle of what was about to become a battlefield.

  “Right, I, I might. Hold on.” She opened her satchel and produced a small hand harp or a lyre. It was immaculate, fashioned out of ivory with carved sigils that were inlaid gold ran in intricate patterns through the white surface. The strings glowed with a soft white light. As she stared at it for a moment, she took a cleansing breath and began plucking strings. Testing them. I had seen my younger brother back home on Earth do this. The guy really liked old instruments and had a genuine artist’s soul. She tuned the harp with a twist of a few of the small nobs at the bottom. As she worked, I watched the legion take their spot at the crest of the hill that overlooked what had been the sorcerer’s magical gardens. As the Knights of th
e Bleeding Heart began taking positions in front of the legion, she played.

  Her music wasn’t amazing, or heart stopping. But it was beautiful, simple, and pure. As she played, I saw her minstrels returning from doing their work at removing the traps from the forest to the north of the tower. Well, what remained of it. As they filed past the knights and former highwaymen, one stopped to give a brief report.

  “Alara told us to inform you if we found anything interesting in the woods. Besides pit traps and the like. We found a camp filled with all kinds of alchemist stuff not far in, but it was abandoned. Other than that, its all clear now.” The man gave me a quick bow I returned before leaving with his fellows. As my attention returned to his former guild mistress, I received a prompt.

  You have heard “Song of Bardic Light and Inspiration” this song-spell grants all friendly listeners an additional +4 moral bonus to all defensive checks, including those involving saves against magical attacks of all kinds. In addition, all friendly listeners receive a +10% resistance to mental manipulation of all kinds. In addition, all XP gained during the duration of the spell’s effect is doubled. All hostile listeners within 100 ft of this spell-song’s caster have all forms of enchantment, illusion, and concealment removed from them. Spell Effect: 24 hours.

  I spun to the enemy’s tower and found a sight I had hoped I would not see. A barricade had was erected at the line where the containment spell had been. It was manned by what looked to be two very different groups of fighters. The first were clearly some kind of mercenary hunters. They wore what looked like some kind of red leather armor. Each of them sported a trophy from bones to furs. One man had a trio of pigmy skulls hanging from one shoulder, the purpose or source of which I did not know. And frankly, did not want to know.