Queen of Thorns

by Dave Gross

  "Whatever," said Fimbulthicket. "Mostly the archaeologists just lose their nerve. Those that stick to it are eventually driven off by the fey creatures guarding the place."

  "These fey are dangerous?"

  "Can be," said Fimbulthicket. "Mostly they do just enough to warn off anyone who becomes too curious."

  "It's wise to heed the warnings of the fey," said Kemeili.

  "They're probably just guarding their gold," said Radovan. "It's a racket."

  "That's also possible," said Caladrel. "But those who've pressed on in hopes of finding treasure have experienced the worst possible misfortunes."

  "They died?"

  "Some did. Eventually."

  Radovan chuckled, but when he saw the sober faces of the elves, he swallowed hard.

  Arnisant woofed and pointed. I saw nothing in the direction he indicated. I looked to Caladrel, but the ranger shook his head. If his sharp eyes perceived nothing wrong, then it must have been a scent that Arnisant picked up.

  "Arnisant, find it."

  We followed him to the abandoned excavation. There he led us to a spot where he nosed something hidden in the overgrowth.

  Radovan knelt beside the hound and retrieved a doll-sized body from the grass. A mole's head and pelt were all that differentiated the creature from a brownie. Dried blood stained its kilt of petals, and its pear-shaped head hung limp from its broken neck.

  "Don't touch it!" warned Fimbulthicket.

  Radovan cast away the corpse as if it were a scorpion.

  "Show some respect for the dead," snapped Oparal.

  "It's a gremlin," said Fimbulthicket. "A nasty sort of fey. Even dead, they can spoil your luck."

  "Desna weeps." Radovan sketched the wings of the goddess over his heart before wiping the hand with which he'd touched the tiny creature.

  I had read reports of fortune-fouling gremlins living in southern deserts, though those were described differently. I should have liked to study the corpse, but after my careless triggering of the Walking Man, I considered it better to abstain.

  We found four more dead fey near the dig, burned, crushed, or torn to pieces. Caladrel pointed out the scorched remnants of hoofprints in the earth.

  "Satyrs?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Some forest satyrs do make their get on fiends, and the offspring are as foul as demons. No, these are the prints of brimoraks."

  I recognized the name as one of the lesser sort of goat-headed fiends.

  "Really?" Fimbulthicket brightened. "I haven't seen a brimorak ...Oh, wait. Yes, I have. I remember now." He shrugged off his oversized pack and sat heavily on the ground. It was time to give him a task before he surrendered yet again to the ennui that gripped him each evening.

  The others established a camp while Fimbulthicket gave me a tour of the excavation. Previous visitors had left notes, much as Variel had done at the Walking Man. Most of these were warnings not to dig deeper, lest we awake the wrath of the mound's fey guardians. Others suggested deeper explorations might wake the great Garukresh itself.

  "See?" I said. "Obviously not everyone believes the story of the great serpent to be a fairy tale."

  "Did you know that humans didn't have a word for 'gullible' until they borrowed it from the gnomes?"

  "What? That's ridic—" The jest registered, and I could not help but smile. Perhaps I had finally grown accustomed to Fimbulthicket's peculiar whimsy, but now I sensed less mockery than wistfulness in his expression.

  "You have his smile."

  "Variel's?"

  "Your father's."

  We continued our explorations as long as the dying light permitted. We found a few more promising notes scratched into flat stones, although the script never matched Variel's wood-drawn writing. Several times I spied references to the Century Root, a site I understood, even before Fimbulthicket's reminder, to be a meeting place for the Fierani. I longed to meet one of the Kyonin tree-people and learn how their culture differed from that of the Tobongo of the Mwangi Expanse. The tree-people were older than the elves. If anyone knew the truth behind Erithiel's Hall, it would be they.

  Fimbulthicket grew increasingly impatient at every site, each of which he complained had changed little since his previous visit. "No one works these digs for long," he said. "Even if Variel came here, he probably didn't stay."

  Disheartened but not defeated, we continued the search until nightfall. I insisted on taking first watch with Radovan so that I could perform another investigation away from the eyes of my companions. When the others laid down to rest, I showed him sign that I would return within the hour while he remained on guard. He leaned his back against a stone, using his folded jacket as a cushion.

  Once out of range of the elves' hearing, I removed a riffle scroll from my bandolier. Guilt urged me to peer about the gloomy forest before casting the spell. Radovan had promised to keep Kemeili occupied should she wake, and I had no fear of subterfuge from Oparal. Yet between Fimbulthicket's magic and Caladrel's stealth, I balked at every sound in the dark forest. Even if my suspicions proved baseless, I did not wish to be discovered investigating the ranger's odd behavior.

  Night birds called from bough to bough. Squirrels scratched the bark as they clambered through the trees. Detecting no sign of pursuit, I thumbed the edges of the scroll and felt the magic suffuse my body.

  I had cast the spell that first drew me to the arcane art. I had studied its basic formula and several variations for decades, but without the ability to cast it. Once I overcame my disability, I still hesitated to release its power. Inexperienced in its use, I feared injury or, worse, holding myself up to ridicule.

  But now I had both opportunity and—I suspected—necessity. With a preventative scroll in either hand, I bent my knees and leaped.

  I flew.

  At first I rose slowly but, as I asserted my will over the magic, my speed increased. The spot I had chosen for my first flight allowed both cover from the other members of my party and a generous gap in the forest canopy. I passed clusters of shelf fungus. From one spilled yellow light out of tiny windows, through which I could have sworn I spied a family of sprites. A sinuous constrictor lounged nearby, a large pair of insect legs twitching in the vise of its jaws.

  I emerged from the gloom and into the silver light of the crescent moon. Once more I marveled at the beauty of the forest from above. The nearest boughs were alive with creatures, their nocturnal chores illuminated by millions of moonflies. The glowing insects floated silently above the trees like algae in a clear sea. They parted in my wake as I glided toward my destination.

  In the dell formed by three huddled knolls, I spied a gate of pale green stone. Dark ivy ringed its oval borders, and at its foot lay a plaza half-devoured by encroaching grass and wildflowers. Descending toward the site, I saw that within the gate's borders stood an unbroken span of stone marred here and there by a patch of moss. The gate held not a door but a wall.

  Landing beside the structure, I retrieved a riffle scroll and triggered a minor divination. The gate pulsed with powerful magic, confirming my suspicion.

  Here stood an aiudara, one of the fabled "elf gates," although why the elves considered the Taldane expression vulgar remained a mystery. My inquiries always elicited a withering reproach or a scandalized silence. What I did know of aiudara perhaps explained why Caladrel had led us miles out of our way to avoid this site.

  The teleportation gates were the elves' most potent defense against invasion. Those who knew the key to activating them could transport armies freely throughout Kyonin and, some speculated, to sites all across Golarion. After the cataclysm of Earthfall, the elves fled the world through the fabled Sovryian Stone, the aiudara connecting our world to the fabled elven refuge.

  I lay my palm against the cool white stone of the gate. A static charge lifted the fine hairs on the back of my hand, and I sensed a coruscation of invisible power. As a ranger, Caladrel had doubtless slipped away to ensure that no Abyssal forces had discovered t
he gate. The lingering arcane activity caused me to wonder whether he had also activated this portal. If so, I wondered to what end. Had he sent something through the gate? Or had he used it to deliver a message?

  Twisting my ring to cover the gem with my hand, I activated the light and shone it on the aiudara's border. Erosion obscured the elven script in many places, but others remained clear. I wished I had brought tracing paper, but a quick sketch would have to suffice. I could not linger long before my absence was noted, and a brief study might suffice to deduce the key to its activation.

  I had barely outlined the structure before I heard the faint sound of a sword unsheathed.

  "You should not have come here, Count Jeggare."

  Turning to face Caladrel, I dropped my journal to free my sword hand. He held his elven curveblade in an easy two-handed grip. A nimbus of dim red light played along the sword's edge.

  "Put out that light," he hissed. "You've already drawn too much attention."

  I quenched the light and drew my sword, silently cursing myself. After my mistake at the Walking Man, I thought I had demonstrated much more caution. I had only examined the aiudara, not interfered with its function. Explaining that would have done little to soothe Caladrel's ire. No doubt he was charged with protecting the secrets of Kyonin from my inquisitive eyes even as he protected me from the roaming demons.

  The lurid glow of his sword grew brighter, but only for an instant. The light dimmed.

  "Spite!" cursed Caladrel. "There are demons near, but they are not coming for you."

  I remembered how the vermleks had behaved in our earlier encounter. "Radovan."

  Caladrel raised an eyebrow, but he knew better than to delay us with a question. "Follow me."

  "You are faster without me." I triggered another scroll. "I will return the way—"

  He disappeared. I leaped into the air, my hand already on the scroll that would hasten my flight. The moment I rose above the treetops, I flew toward the light of our camp. Arnisant's frantic barking confirmed my fears. Whiter than lightning, the flash of the paladin's sword lit the trees. Weird silhouettes danced among the boughs.

  I descended to see the others standing with their backs to the campfire. All around, the darkness roiled with demons.

  Radovan and Kemeili stood back-to-back, Arnisant guarding their flank. Flames flickered at the gore on the hound's snout and Radovan's knife. Piles of the vermleks lay in mounds at their feet, but those were the least of the attackers.

  Goat-headed dwarves led the assault. Glowing magma formed their eyes and swords. Their cloven hooves left smoking prints in the grass. Three of them backed Oparal against the fire, chanting unholy verses. As they closed, the paladin fell to one knee. Her gesture surprised them for the instant it took her radiant blade to sweep out at the height of their throats. The first demon dropped its blazing sword in a futile attempt to catch its own tumbling head. The others seized their throats, fiery blood pouring over their gray fingers.

  Caladrel's bow sang out from the darkness. Bleeding shafts sprouted from the eyes and throats of the demons.

  Fimbulthicket frantically sang out to the Green. A man-sized conglomeration of earth and stone rose from the ground to stand beside the gnome as he dipped his fingers into a pouch for another sprig of holly with which to cast a spell.

  A second wave of goat-headed fiends rushed the paladin. She tugged at the straps of her armor as the metal began to glow red from infernal magic. She screamed in pain as she tore away her breastplate and shook her seared hand.

  I discharged a riffle scroll. A wall of blue-white ice materialized before the charging demons, who smashed their hideous faces against the barrier. Stunned, they slashed at the wall, their blades trailing ice vapor.

  Just as they realized it was quicker to run around, the grass at their feet rose like tentacles from the ocean deeps. The fronds grasped their ankles and held them fast to the ground. With his earth elemental at his side, Fimbulthicket called upon the Green again.

  I drew another scroll and finished off the trapped demons with a blast of arctic cold. The spirals on their gray skin showed through the rime. For an instant I imagined them as the riffle scrolls of the Abyss, hateful spells inscribed upon their flesh. Turning, I sought another foe.

  Emaciated figures with weeping skin stalked the edges of the melee, looking for an opening. One reached high to stab down at Radovan with a blackened spear. The point caught in the sleeve of his red jacket. As Radovan tore himself free from the spear, Arnisant crashed against the demon's shins. The shriveled figure fell. Before it could rise, Radovan fell upon it. He grasped the demon's horn and jerked its head to the side. "Not the jacket, you skull-faced prick!" Radovan punctuated each stab of his knife with another curse, each fouler than the previous one.

  "Fimbulthicket!" shouted Caladrel.

  Even as I turned toward the ranger, one of his arrows sprang up in the throat of the demon menacing the gnome. The fiend's wet, leathery skin shredded like a storm-blown flag. Its mangled body fluttered for an instant before it was drawn through a tiny void in the fabric of the world. A sudden change in air pressure caused my ears to pop.

  "Varian!" Kemeili's whip snapped forth. She tugged with both hands, dragging another goat-fiend past me. With the Shadowless Sword I severed the tendons in its wrist. It reached for me with its other claw. I kicked the wretched appendage away. Three swift strokes terminated its life on this world. I stepped away, slapping at the little fires its blood spatter set on my clothes.

  Caladrel's bow thrummed a steady rhythm, each shot answered by a demonic shriek. Kemeili spun away from me to protect the ranger's back. Twisting the grip of her whip, she struck vicious blows against the demons, each stroke leaving a triple-furrow of bleeding flesh.

  Arnisant came to my side. Radovan had vanished, but that was not necessarily cause for alarm. The shriek of another skulking demon proved yet again that my bodyguard does some of his best work unseen.

  The demons wavered, cringed, and backed away. Wary of a ruse, I drew another riffle scroll. Then an overwhelming stench rolled over our camp, and I sensed the horrid presence of a worse fiend.

  When the demon moaned, I felt as though I were falling. When its miasma reached us, the grass melted into slime. The other demons gathered in its wake as the first glistering expanse of the fiend hove into view.

  Weeping from the stench, at first I perceived only a pair of eyes above a maw wider than a carriage door. As my vision cleared, I almost wished I had remained blinded. Suppurating blisters the size of tomatoes shuddered and burst on its sagging torso. With claws as wide as a garden rake, it lanced more of its own disgusting sores. The gray-brown miasma oozed from the wounds and spread out to envelop us all. The fiend itself shuddered toward us, its corpulent frame supported by amorphous limbs.

  "Guh!" Kemeili staggered away from the demon and retreated past the fire. There, Fimbulthicket retched and fell to his knees.

  With the other demons gathered in the giant's wake, I had to act before they scattered once more.

  With another riffle scroll, I unleashed the fury of a boreal storm. A white cone of frost shot from my cupped hands to cover the advancing demons. Several flinched and fell, but most forged ahead, including their champion.

  A flight of arrows sprouted across the fiend's body, blood spurting from their shafts. Each struck so soon after the last that I imagined a squad of archers rather than the lone Caladrel launching them.

  "Iomedae!" Oparal charged. Her boot slipped in the putrid remains of the grass, but she lunged forward, seemingly unstoppable. Two of the emaciated demons leaped toward her. Her holy blade bisected one and cut ribs out of the second.

  Two more of Caladrel's arrows found their mark in the cesspool of the big demon's face. It unleashed a clotted, choking moan and swung its thick arm. Oparal flew up and crashed into an oak trunk with a clatter of steel. Again the demon moaned, but not in pain.

  It laughed.

  Unwilling to move cl
oser, I unleashed the magic of another scroll. Even as they formed, the gray points of arcane force meant for the demon melted away. For an instant I feared I had made some error inscribing the scroll. But then I saw one of the bony demons cackling as its fingers completed the sign of a counterspell.

  I raised my blade toward the fiend who had stolen my spell. The look of shock on the demon's face at first made me think I had discovered another hidden power of the Shadowless Sword. As it fell forward, however, I saw that its doom had come at the point of Radovan's big knife.

  "Look out!" shouted Kemeili.

  Radovan threw himself to the side, but he was too slow to avoid the pestilence demon's grip. The brute pinned Radovan's knife arm against his body with one festering hand. Then it hugged him close.

  Arnisant leaped to Radovan's defense, but goat-headed fiends held him at bay with their flaming blades. I hurled another volley of arcane bolts at the fiend. They struck true, as did more of Caladrel's arrows and Kemeili's knives, but the horror barely winced at the injury.

  "Back to the pit!" With a mighty leap, Oparal hacked down at the demon. Her sword burned through its arm. Radovan and the demon screamed in unison.

  "Stop it!" cried Kemeili. "You're hurting Radovan!"

  Indifferent to Kemeili's plea, Oparal struck again. The demon raised its other arm. Radovan tried to push away, but too slowly. The paladin's blade cut claws from the demon's hand and passed through, slicing Radovan from cheek to belly. The miasma thickened, revealing only the light of Oparal's sword and the hateful light of the demon's eyes.

  Unleashing a scroll to sweeten my strike, I thrust where I guessed the demon's heart lay. Hot ichor wet my face. I held my breath against the stench and struck again. The white brand of Oparal's sword blazed beside me. An instant later, so did the red arc of Caladrel's curveblade.

  "I have him!" called Kemeili. Near her Arnisant woofed in a tone that meant "retrieved."

  The rest was chaos. Endless seconds later, the surviving demons fled, but few had survived. We three defenders, Oparal, Caladrel, and I, stood steeped in demon gore and the sweat of our own terror.