Moss Gate

by Alex Linwood

  The soldiers went to their duties. Some tended to the stags, bringing them water and allowing them to graze, while others sat in groups and pulled food from their packs to eat. Sergeant Lyren and Portia sat together. Portia chewed a cheese sandwich. She was not hungry but knew she should eat.

  “Remember, we are not to use magic. If this is the source of the poison, then we can count on any weapons we encounter having it,” Sergeant Lyren said around a mouthful of grapes.

  Magic was so instinctive to Portia that she was afraid she would forget and use it without thinking. She breathed in deeply to calm herself. “What about magic we use before we are exposed to the poison?”

  Sergeant Lyren tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “What if we lay traps? Or enscroll our weapons with magic? We wouldn’t be invoking the magic in that moment—it would’ve already been done. Would that not be useful?” Portia asked.

  “Most likely. My understanding is that the danger is from the moment of using magic after exposure. If magic has already been placed… Honestly, young human, I’m not sure.”

  Portia nodded at that. Not enough was known about this poison. But she thought her logic was sound—sound enough to take the risk for an advantage in battle. “I’m going to enchant my blades.”

  Sergeant Lyren stopped eating and stared at Portia. “That could turn out poorly.”

  “I’m wagering not,” Portia said, rising. “I think it’s worth the risk. I can stop using the knives if I feel any ill effects.” She pulled her blades from her belt. Sitting back down, she placed the blades in front of her and considered what would be the best magic. Her strongest were fire and ice. Duplicate blades could be useful as well, but they might also confuse her and not just her enemies in the heat of battle. She didn’t want to risk that. She looked at the two blades and a plan came to her. She placed the magic on them. Bless the mages, she still felt well after setting the magic. There were no side effects from her earlier poisoning. She had not dared use any magic until now, not since the test required by the physician. Despite being declared cured by the physician, Portia still felt a little skittish about using magic.

  Sergeant Lyren watched her work while finishing the rest of her lunch. Several soldiers also came over to watch. They looked on curiously.

  “I’m enchanting my blades. Would you like me to do the same for yours?” Portia asked the soldiers.

  The soldiers looked to Sergeant Lyren for her command. Sergeant Lyren shook her head reluctantly. “You may be correct, young human, and this may be a good plan, but I’ll not risk the entire quest on this gamble. My soldiers will not use magic, not even previously placed.”

  Portia nodded at this. She couldn’t argue with the reasoning. It was possible she could end up dead from what she was doing now. She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else falling.

  The scouts returned from the lake. One stepped forward to report to Sergeant Lyren. “We were not able to get very close. The ground has been cleared around the tower, and there are lookouts posted around the hill it is upon. We estimate there are fifty humans and elves there. It seems to be evenly mixed. One elf passed by close enough while carrying firewood that we could see a diamond tattoo on his forearm. They may be all cult members, if that is what the diamond tattoo means.”

  Portia sucked in her breath at this. She knew this was the likely situation, but it was a different thing to find it true in fact. Fifty cult members. Here. In the elf kingdom. And this was in addition to the roving bands that she knew were in Haulstatt, the kingdom she had come from. Where had this cult come from, and how had it spread so quickly? Or had it always been there and she simply had not noticed since she had been so focused on simply surviving?

  It was surprising the cult was not limited to humans either. A shiver went down Portia’s back. She shuddered at her lack of understanding of what was really in the world.

  Sergeant Lyren rose. She sighed heavily. “This was worse than I feared. But if we are lucky, they will not all be professionally trained as soldiers and we will have some advantage. We also have the advantage of surprise. We’ll stick with our plan. The first goal is to secure and destroy the poison cache. The second is to capture as many of these members as possible. But do not hold back, we must get this poison at all costs. Meet all force with greater force.”

  Portia’s stomach roiled, remembering the skills of the party that had attacked the convoy on its way to Rocabarra. There might be more of them professionally trained than the sergeant expected.

  Since there was no cover near the tower, Sergeant Lyren decided to wait until dusk. The sun would be coming from behind them from over the treetops. It would shine in the eyes of the cult members as the soldiers charged. It was not much cover, but it was some.

  When the sun was a little over the trees, Sergeant Lyren gave the command and the group charged. The elves ran silently across the grass towards the tower by the lake. The attackers split into two groups to surround the building and then fanned out into a wide line. The grasses were tall enough to provide some cover, and the group made it halfway to its target before the alarm was sounded by a man getting water down by the lake.

  Cult members dropped what they were doing. Some ran towards the attackers, while others ran away. Most of them were dirty and dressed in rags There was one or two who wore finery and seemed more disciplined—and were armed. One of the cult members, a better dressed one, pulled a knife from his belt and ran at the leading soldier. He was skilled with his knife work and managed to nick the soldier on his arm despite the superior reach the soldier had with his sword. Once the cult member did that, he turned and ran. Sergeant Lyren swore when she saw that. She knew it meant the blade was poisoned, for otherwise the cult member would’ve fought harder to do more damage. But instead, he thought the nick was enough and that the soldier would die on his own if he tried to use magic. Luckily, the soldiers understood their danger. No magic was used.

  The battle raged on. Understanding that the soldiers were not going to use magic came to the cult members as well. No soldiers fell from using it. Looks of fear increasingly crossed the faces of the defenders. A yell of retreat came from one cult member, one more finely dressed—and perhaps the leader—and they all fled to the tower. Sergeant Lyren and their soldiers had the field, but what they really wanted was the tower. And now it was filled with cult members. It was also an easily defended location: the walkway near the top of the tower was filled with men and elves, and smoke poured out from the fires at the top that Portia guessed were heating oil. For all their rags, they were organized like an army.

  Sergeant Lyren called for the second part of their plan. Soldiers ran back to the woods and returned with bunches of dead sticks and branches. Leather straps were produced from one soldier’s pack and small catapults were constructed. Two soldiers put on strangely shimmering gloves and pulled out a bucket constructed of the same material. The gloved soldiers pulled a sticky black substance from a leather carrier and placed it in the bucket, which was then hung over a small fire. Once hot, the substance was poured onto bundles of dead sticks, lit on fire, and shot towards the tower in the makeshift catapults. Looking closer, Portia saw even the catapult straps were lined with the shimmering substance.

  The bundles landed around the tower, sometimes hitting it and sticking and burning in place. Others landed around the base. Smoke poured around the building. Several bundles were aimed for the top of the tower. At least one made it through an open window.

  One of the cult members grabbed a bundle to throw it back off the tower. The fiery tar stuck to his hands. He couldn’t get it off nor put out the fire. His screams seared Portia’s ears.

  After an hour of this assault, smoke poured out the windows of the tower. Cult members staggered out the door, coughing. A few lay down on the ground and did not get up again.

  When the soldiers had exhausted their supply of tar, Sergeant Lyren held them back for just a little longer. It was only when
the smoke coming from the buildings died down that she motioned for the second attack. This time there was much less resistance, so many of the cult members having since succumbed to the smoke. A few, those who had hidden around the base of the tower and not been inside, proved the strongest resistance. There were some seasoned swordsmen in the lot.

  One of the king’s soldiers was cut down in front of Portia. She swore under her breath and leapt forward to engage the attacker. Each stroke of her knives alternated fire and ice. She was close enough to see horror cross the face of the cult member. He desperately tried to get closer to her, to touch her with his blades, blades she knew were contaminated with that deadly poison, but she managed to fend him off, finally leaving him frozen in a pile connected to the base of the tower.

  The other soldiers were doing well. She knew one or two had been nicked by the cult members’ blades, but no one had forgotten their commands and used magic. They suffered no other casualties. The cult members couldn’t say the same. Nausea tugged at Portia’s throat when they were done, and she saw the bodies lying across the ground and on the stairs of the tower. She knew the stakes were high in this battle. They were not fighting only for this tower.

  When all cult members were either down or surrendered, Sergeant Lyren called for a halt. She scowled as she walked the grounds. There were many fallen cult members. Several surviving members were led away to be tied up under the watchful eyes of the king’s soldiers. They glared at Lyren, but she didn’t waste time with them. They could be interrogated later when it would be safe to use magic to get the truth out of them.

  “There are so many. So much of this poison exists. I counted at least seventy treated weapons here. This is supposed to be a rare, rare poison.” She shook her head. Motioning to a small group of soldiers nearby, she pointed to the tower. “Search it for survivors. Be careful of traps. The record stated any poison would be in the lower rooms, in the building treasury. Search them and report back. If you run into any troubles return for assistance.”

  The soldiers ran to do her bidding. Sergeant Lyren continued to pace the field. She checked her wounded, as well as the fallen cult members. They would have to stay the night by the tower. It was dusk already, and the sun was nearly below the horizon.

  Several soldiers returned from the tower and ran to Sergeant Lyren. Portia rose from where she was sitting at the tension in their faces, joining the sergeant to hear what they had to say. “There are several holdouts in the basement, Sergeant. I don’t know how they survived the smoke, but they did. It’s tight quarters. They will not escape, but it will be difficult for us to gain access to the basement and secure it.”

  Sergeant Lyren considered this information. “They might have run in after the fire. Is there more tar available?” The soldier in charge of the supply shook his head. “Very well, we will have to do this the hard way. Keep five behind to guard our prisoners. The rest of us will have to take care of this. I don’t want them sitting down there when darkness comes. They could cause too much mischief.” She motioned to two other soldiers. “Gather some wood for torches and follow us as soon as possible.”

  Portia fell in line behind the sergeant and the remaining soldiers. She expected a command to stay back, but none came. They were all tired. She guessed Sergeant Lyren was not going to refuse any help.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, a scrambling noise came from below. Standing in the doorway, they cut off the low dusk light coming in, and it was impossible to see the bottom of the stairs. Sergeant Lyren silently motioned for the soldiers to get into a line starting down the stairs. She placed two with slingshots on the edge of the stairs to cover them. Portia wondered how effective their cover would be since it was so difficult to see into the inky blackness. Did elves have better vision than humans? Portia could see nothing.

  At Sergeant Lyren’s signal, the slingshots sent payloads of loose rocks down the stairs for diversion. While the stones clattered down the stairs and onto the stones below, the rest of the soldiers rushed silently down, only the occasional clinking of their armor betraying their motion. A bloodcurdling yell from the first soldier chilled Portia as he met the blade of a defending cult member from below. Portia rushed forward, holding out her escrolled blades; they would give some light when they struck another object and the magic was activated.

  They pushed forward. They needed to get off the narrow stairway and onto the floor below so they could properly swing their weapons. Portia reached the ground and engaged with a cult member. Her blades glowed alternately red and blue as the fire and ice magic was activated with each stroke. Cult members fell back, alternately burned and frozen. Portia tried to not see the damage she was doing. She concentrated on clearing a path around her. The king’s soldiers also worked in the dim light until two soldiers came pounding down the stairs with torches held high. A dozen or so cult members sprawled on the ground, while several others held their hands up at the raised swords of the oncoming soldiers. There were so many fallen that Portia thought some must have died earlier from the smoke from the tar the soldiers had thrown into the tower.

  Sergeant Lyren called a halt, giving the non-fallen cult members a reprieve.

  Portia breathed heavily. She tried to not look at any of those lying around her. She would never get used to doing violence.

  “Watch the stairs,” Sergeant Lyren said. She was breathing heavily but didn’t stop moving. “We must find the cache and destroy it.”

  Portia looked around the room. A metal door was inset into the far wall, partially blocked by fallen cult members. They must have been trying to get in and couldn’t. Portia ran to the door. It was locked, as she expected. Portia pulled the small pick she always kept with her and put it inside the keyhole. The lock resisted—the metal must have warped from the heat—but she managed to turn the tumblers and open it. She pushed on the door slowly. A soldier with a torch came closer to shine light in the room. There was no one inside, but there were large wood and leather trunks scattered on the ground. One was open, with clay jars scattered around it. More jars were inside.

  Sergeant Lyren ran into the room and peered into the open trunk. Using the tip of her blade, she lifted the lid of one of the clay jars. It was full of a dark, oily substance. “Poison.” She looked around the room at all the trunks. Going to another one, she lifted the lid. It, too, was full of clay jars. “So much. I didn’t even think it was possible for there to be this much poison.”

  There was one open dusty spot where another trunk had been. It was missing. If it had contained jars of poison, then it was a considerable amount gone. Sergeant Lyren kicked at the spot in the floor and swore.

  There was enough poison in just one trunk to fell an army. Portia’s stomach roiled at the thought.

  Sergeant Lyren turned to Portia. “Have you been struck by any poison?”

  Portia looked down at her arms and legs. She had several scratches from her engagement with the cult members, but none seem to have penetrated her armor or reached her skin. But she couldn’t say for sure. “I don’t know.” Sergeant Lyren nodded. “But I have been able to use my blades with no ill effect. Perhaps I can destroy the poison with them?” Portia held up one of the ebony handled knives.

  “We must try,” she said. She nudged a soldier and pointed to the surrendered cult members. “Get these out of here then get some firewood. And hurry.”

  The soldiers scrambled to follow her orders, shoving the cult members up the stairs with their blades pointed at their backs in case they decided to try anything.

  Portia and Sergeant Lyren opened all the leather cases. They carefully flipped the lids off the clay pots using the tips of their knives. All their weapons would have to be thoroughly cleaned when they returned. Once all the poison was exposed to the air, Portia sent fire over it using her blades. She did not invoke the magic directly, instead striking at the wood and leather cases holding the pots with her escrolled blades. The wood smoldered as fire slowly caught hold on the trunk
s. It was not hot enough to destroy the poison. But soon soldiers scrambled down the stairs carrying more dry wood. They placed it carefully on the smoldering leather and wood trunks until a roaring blaze flashed up, sucking all the air in the room towards it. Portia and the rest scrambled out of the room and towards the stairs. They had just minutes before they would not be able to breathe and would meet the same fiery end as the poison itself.

  A soldier from the top of the stairs called down a warning. “More cult at the top of the hill. Hurry!”

  Chapter 17

  They raced to the top of the stairs and looked to the hill. A large number of cult members were highlighted against the fading sky along the hill to one side, while shadowy figures walked in the tree line in the other direction. Portia wondered if all the king’s soldiers were out of the forest. It was possible. There were many of them around the tower, including several guarding some cult prisoners.

  The light was fading fast. It would be difficult to defend their position, especially since they could not retreat inside the tower. The fire blazed from behind them. They were open on three sides, only protected on the side facing the lake. They were greatly outnumbered by the reinforcements that had come for the cult members. How many of them were there? Were even more coming?

  Portia gritted her teeth and made her decision. She would have to try her magic. If they relied on swords and knives alone, they would be too outnumbered. They would not be able to defend themselves during the night. Closing her eyes and whispering a thought to the mages, she pulled on her magic to create a node of light. She made the smallest node she could control to see what the effects were. She had no wish to need the healer’s help again. Tentatively testing her limbs, she found no weakness. There had been no large drain of energy from her core. She breathed a sigh of relief. She must have escaped exposure to the poison, despite all the contaminated weapons around them.