Going Rogue (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 3)

by Drew Hayes

  The downside to her keen mind pushing away the panic was that, as she fell, the elf saw when a chunk of roots sank into the soft grass with their sharpened ends sticking upward. She was also able to realize that this area was precisely where she would land, and in mid-freefall, there was no chance of reorienting herself. Searching for a handhold to grab on to, the elf realized that there wasn’t one in her range. No matter what she did, no matter how she twisted and turned, she would almost certainly die on impact.

  At that thought, panic suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

  Just when she was on the verge of true desperation, however, the elf felt a hard impact in her ribs. Twisting her head, she realized it was the man who’d been climbing the root monster’s leg. Since the damn thing was collapsing from the top down, he’d been able to hang on longer than she, and had used his perch to sack her in the side. For a moment, she thought he was trying to kill her first, adding insult to injury. Then, as she noticed their change of course, the elf finally understood. This brave idiot was saving her life. Throwing himself into her had knocked both of them into a new course, one that would still result in impact with the ground but that didn’t also come with sharpened roots waiting to impale them.

  They both hit the dirt and rolled, limbs intertwined as they bounced along the orchard’s lush grass. When they finally came to a stop, she briefly contemplated re-summoning her daggers while he was confused. As it stood, she couldn’t rightfully attack him, but they’d make a good defense in case he decided to take a few stabs at her. Learning from her last mistake, she lifted her head to assess the field for other dangers.

  Standing around them were the rest of his friends, bloody and battered, but with plenty of strength left to strike if she made a single move of aggression. Carefully extricating her hands, she lifted them overhead in a sign of surrender.

  “How about a truce while we all escape? Because, in case you didn’t realize it, those sprites are going to be pissed once they put out their tree.”

  Chapter 11

  Though he’d been the one to insist they save her, Thistle didn’t trust the elf. She was perfectly obedient as they made their escape, always keeping her hands in sight and never trying to run out from between Grumph, Gabrielle, and Timuscor. Had his friends been fresh and fit, it might not have been such a worry, but the battle had taken a massive toll on them. While Gabrielle’s hair was back to normal, she was still seriously wounded. Thistle had done a quick bit of healing magic as the root monster fell apart; however, real treatment would take far longer than they had on the battlefield. Add in that Grumph had spent every bit of his magic and Timuscor’s visible limp, and anyone with sense could see that they were weakened.

  This woman definitely had sense, too. Thistle had watched how she fought; her dexterity and skill were certainly noteworthy, but it had been the way she thought on her feet that impressed him the most. She was always aware, always calculating. Though they’d caught her momentarily off guard, he didn’t believe for a second that she’d actually given up. It was just a matter of her waiting for the right opportunity. And when that moment came, he’d need to be ready to act. Otherwise, she might do far worse than just escape.

  They cut a quick pace out of the orchard. Even once they were past the boundary, they kept going, all the way back up the hill to where the horses were tied off. With the sun nearing the horizon, there was no chance they’d make any headway back toward Camnarael, so instead they led the horses deeper into the forest—which they hoped would be far enough away from the sprites—and set about making camp. The endeavor quickly became complicated, however, as the majority of the party stayed gathered around their prisoner, watching and waiting for any signs of trouble. She seemed to notice, and with her hands still very pointedly raised, the elf began to speak for the first time since they’d caught her in the orchard.

  “So, I think we all need to have a conversation. At the moment, you’ve got me in a bit of an awkward position.”

  “Being captured will feel that way,” Gabrielle said.

  “Not really what I meant. See, the problem I have is that I came after you all to try and collect on the bounty King Liadon stuck on your heads. It’s nothing personal, just gold. However, in the course of trying to do so, your friend over there”—she paused to nod at Eric—“saved my life. And that’s the problem, you see.”

  “Are we supposed to believe that you’ve had a change of heart?” Eric leaned forward, staring at their prisoner with an expression more curious than angry.

  “By the gods, no. I’m not even sure I have a heart to change,” the elf told them. “But I do have my pride as a rogue, you understand, and Tristan’s teachings are crystal clear on the subject of blood debts. If it were a murky situation where you’d just lent me some aid, like I did shooting those sprites while you were all surrounded, I might have some room for doubt. But what you did, knocking me out of the way from those root-spears... it unquestionably saved my life. Trust me, if I could think of a way where that weren’t the case, I’d have wriggled out of this conundrum by now. I owe you something more than coin can pay. I owe you life. And ordinarily, that would put me in a terrible position. I mean, I’d be unable to attack you, or even your loved ones, without violating the edicts of the god of rogues. Fortunately, for me—not you—I happen to have life to trade.”

  Lowering one of her hands slightly, the elf pointed to Thistle, who turned around as if he were expecting an attacker to be sneaking from the woods.

  “I shot your gnome friend with a poisoned crossbow bolt less than an hour ago. By now, he’s got to be feeling the first symptoms: fever, twisting stomach, spots in the vision. In another two hours, he’ll be bedridden, and after that, he’s got maybe a day at the most. My original plan was to use him as a hostage, keeping the poison at bay with small doses of the antidote, to make the rest of you turn yourselves in. But seeing as we’re in this position, I’ll offer a new deal: I pay my blood debt by curing the poison entirely.”

  The group, with the exception of Grumph and Timuscor, turned to look at Thistle in shock. He, meanwhile, kept staring at the elf, taking note of the smug smirk on the corner of her mouth. She’d thought this through carefully, probably been planning it out since the moment they caught her in the orchard. It meant losing her leverage; however, she could always just poison them again once the blood debt was cleared. It was a very good deal for her, if they took it, and Thistle couldn’t abide that.

  “Seems like fixing a problem you caused isn’t much of a payment,” Thistle told her.

  “I poisoned you before the blood debt was incurred,” the elf countered. “It’s an attack that can’t be held against me, and that includes the aftereffects. I’ll make you a good trade, though. I cure you, and then agree to not attack any of you for two full days. Plenty of time for you all to get back to the capital and ready yourselves.”

  “Assuming we let you go,” Thistle pointed out.

  “There’s cunning in your eyes, gnome, and I’ve seen the way they follow me. We both know the only thing keeping me here is the debt. Sooner or later, you’ll all blink, and then I’ll be gone.” Her smugness was no longer contained to a mere smirk as she put her hands behind her head and casually leaned back against the nearest tree.

  “Aye, perhaps I do have enough wits to rub together,” Thistle agreed. “I traveled for quite a few years before I settled down, and I learned many an interesting thing about the world. Would you like to know what one of the most interesting tidbits I ever picked up was?”

  It was Thistle’s turn to look smug, and he allowed himself a few gloating seconds of it as he inched his head forward, taking note of the uncertainty hiding in the elf’s eyes.

  “Paladins are immune to poison.”

  “So?” The elf looked around the campsite, visibly confused by the wave of relief rolling off the rest of the group. “What does that have to do... you’re joking.”

  “I’m not,” Thistle told her.
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  “You? You are a paladin? Has Longinus really allowed his standards to fall this low? No, it must be Mithingow, seeing as you are a gnome. Obviously, the darker gods are out, since you risked your life to help save me.” Her eyes narrowed, and it was Thistle’s turn to be surprised. He’d expected anger and consternation, but their prisoner seemed more intrigued by the mystery of it all than mad at her plans being thwarted.

  “I serve Grumble, the god of the minions,” Thistle said.

  “Oh, right. I’d forgotten about the kobold. No offense, you know, just doesn’t come up very often in my line of work. Pretty rare that I’m hired to rob or kill a minion.”

  Thistle considered their situation carefully, examining it from as many angles as he could. Dangerous as this woman was, if she was in their debt, then that made her an invaluable resource. Perhaps they could find out exactly how King Liadon was searching for them and—ideally—think of a way to work around the tactics he’d employed. However, there was also the chance that she was making up everything about the blood debt. Her actions supported the claim so far, but Thistle wouldn’t put it past her to create such an elaborate ruse just to put them off guard. Ultimately, it was going to come down to trust, although there was at least one avenue for betrayal they could cut off.

  “Eric, are you still getting the same sense of being watched?” Thistle asked. Much as he loathed to tip their hand, the risk of trying to walk off and ask in private was greater. If she was tricking them, buying time for an unseen accomplice in the woods, then weakening the guard would play right into her plans.

  “Not since she appeared,” Eric replied. “I’m not saying I completely believe her, but it seems like she’s working alone.”

  “Hang on, that’s how you knew I was coming? You’ve got the sense?” If Thistle’s announcement of being a paladin had taken her by surprise, this left the elf totally flabbergasted. “No offense intended, but that shouldn’t be possible. From the way you fight, I can tell you’re a rookie, maybe have a few kills at most under your belt. Usually, we rogues have to gain serious mastery of our skills and senses before we start picking up on unseen dangers stalking us.”

  “I had a lot of practice watching for goblins in my last job. Maybe that helps.” Eric shrugged. He didn’t have any explanation to offer; even he didn’t know where this new ability had come from.

  “One more thing.” Grumph was staring at the elf, putting on his best scary half-orc face. It was quite intimidating, to his credit, especially for those who didn’t know what a kind soul lurked under that rough demeanor. “Your name.”

  “Sorry, not really in the habit of giving that out. Sort of goes with the whole staying unseen and unknown thing we rogues live by.”

  The entire campsite tensed, and Thistle noticed Gabrielle and Eric both inching their hands closer to their weapons. It didn’t escape the elf’s attention either, as her carefree demeanor suddenly became a lot more serious.

  “Whoa now, just because I can’t attack or betray you doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself.” She extended both her hands, and Thistle caught sight of a small glimmer of metal poking out from under her sleeves.

  “Everyone, calm down,” Thistle ordered, forcing himself to his feet to drive the point home. Only when he saw his friends leave off of their blades did he turn to the elf. “You’ll have to forgive us, but this is a rather important issue. We’ve made an enemy of a god whose followers carry no names, so if you can’t tell us yours, then we’ll be forced to assume you are one of them, out here hunting us for revenge. And if that’s the case, then there is no blood debt, as his teachings do not include such dignities.”

  “No names... Kalzidar? You angered the god of magic and darkness?” She looked around once more, this time appearing to be a bit impressed by her captors. “You lot are more interesting than the bounty made you out to be.”

  “We try,” Grumph said. “Now, your name. Please.”

  “Hold on a minute. I’m still not going to hand it over just like that. I owe you a debt; I’m not your servant who must jump at every order. However, since I can see this is going to cause us problems, I am willing to barter for it,” the elf said.

  Gabrielle let out a disgusted grunt. “You want us to pay you to tell us your name?”

  “Certainly not. I’d never trade my name for something as paltry as coins,” the elf replied. “No, I want something far more invaluable. I want information. You tell me how you managed to anger Kalzidar enough to want to hunt you, and I’ll tell you my name.”

  It wasn’t the best bargain, but Thistle couldn’t see many ways for it to go wrong. If she did serve the evil god, then she’d already know what they’d done. If she was genuinely looking for weaknesses to exploit, she wouldn’t find any in the tale that she hadn’t seen for herself in battle. And even if she did decide to use the information to her advantage down the road, Thistle suspected she’d rather trade them to King Liadon for gold than to some follower of Kalzidar for what would most likely be a knife in the back.

  “Very well,” Thistle said. “However, I’m going to have to insist that you go first, for obvious reasons.”

  “A bit insulting, since a true follower of Tristan would never break their word, but I suppose we’re building trust here.” She hesitated for a few moments, then slowly lowered her head. “My name is Elora, and I’d request you all keep that to yourselves.”

  “Thank you, Elora. My name is Thistle. The woman in red is Gabrielle, the half-orc is Grumph, the man with the short sword is Eric, the fellow in full armor is Timuscor, and the pig is Mr. Peppers. Now then, I suggest you get comfortable, because the story of how we angered Kalzidar is not a short one.”

  Chapter 12

  “Chalara needs a little backup here! Preferably someone with a big sword that can cut these bastards in half.” Cheri hunched over the table, watching intently as Russell repositioned the animated moss tokens around Chalara on the map. While, like any good sorceress, she generally preferred to stay in the back, the plants of the enchanted spring had turned out to be farther reaching than she expected. Although the fireballs she shot from the rear guard had been a boon to her party as the battle began, it hadn’t taken long for focus to turn to her. Just like that, the foliage she’d taken to be mundane had risen up, and the moss’s tendrils were knocking off too many health points every time they struck. If something didn’t change quickly, the party would need a new sorceress, and Cheri would have to think up a fresh character.

  “Timanuel would help, but he’s a little tied up.” Though it sounded glib, Tim actually wore a deadly serious expression as he too looked at the map. His paladin had been the first one to charge in to the mystical waters, and as a result, the vines had woven around his legs, rooting him in place. The mighty paladin’s blade was still chopping and slicing for all it was worth, sending plant after plant to the ground in pieces, but being stuck meant that he couldn’t do what a paladin truly lived for: help his party members.

  Alexis licked her lips, more Gelthorn than herself at the moment. If not for the forest warrior, their battle might already have been lost. Useless as Gelthorn was in civilization, she thrived in the wilds, and this enchanted spring was surrounded by nothing but sprawling nature. Gelthorn had been darting about, her nimble legs enshrouded by magic and unable to be caught by the rudimentary attempts of a few animated plants, her blade chopping down everything that came near her. Though generally better with a bow, Gelthorn clearly knew this was a situation where swords beat arrows. Unfortunately, all of her racing around the battlefield had left her at the almost exact opposite end as Chalara.

  “Gelthorn cries out: ‘Hold the line! I shall arrive soon.’ She takes off at top speed, dodging the brush. Within three turns, she’ll be there,” Alexis declared.

  “I’m taking six attacks per turn, and almost all of them hit,” Cheri pointed out. “By the time Gelthorn gets there, I’ll probably be dead. I mean, keep coming; the plants might roll low, so it’s worth
a shot. Just tossing this out in case anyone else has some keen ideas.”

  No one at the table needed to wonder who Cheri was talking about as she turned her gaze from the map and locked it directly on Bert. Thus far, Wimberly had been performing just as any gadgeteer should—using her odd technology to strike from a distance and relocating whenever the threat came too close. For this battle, Wimberly had specifically whipped up a device that spun daggers around and chopped into any plants that got near her, as well as a small back-mounted catapult she’d been using to fling explosive vials into the center masses of the plants. Although getting the materials and crafting the items had taken almost all of Wimberly’s remaining gold, Bert had considered it a sound investment. If they did well here, they could make a lot more money and get access to more fruitful quests.

  She had still possessed some gold when her gearing up was complete. Rather than let it gather dust in her purse, Wimberly had spent the remaining funds on something she considered to be a last resort, in case things turned woefully against them. No one knew the exact details, save, of course, for Russell, but it had been impossible to hide her taking an extra day to work on something they’d yet to see.

  It was this device that rose up in Bert’s mind as he examined the map. Despite Cheri’s protesting, they weren’t actually in that bad of a position. While Timanuel was pinned down, his armor and shield made it nearly impossible for the plants to hit him. At his current pace, the paladin would eventually hack himself free with only a few wounds to show for the trouble. As for Gelthorn, she needed help the least of anyone; Bert didn’t think the forest warrior had taken so much as a single health point of damage. And Wimberly was doing fine; her combination of melee and ranged attacks were doing an excellent job of keeping attackers at bay. No, the only one in any real trouble was Chalara, though she was in quite a bit of it. The trip here had been tough—they’d rolled more random encounters than anyone wanted—and her mana pool had been severely depleted before the fight even started. No one thought it would be a big issue since she’d be flinging low-level spells from the rear, but now he realized it had been a mistake to rush the battle. With so little mana, she couldn’t use her big spells, the ones that would get her out of exactly this kind of bind.