by Drew Hayes
Only then could he begin working to surpass them.
Chapter 26
“Subterfuge is almost certainly impossible. Even if we could convince them that we were merely travelers who lost our way, I suspect they’d still respond with force to ensure we didn’t tell others about discovering their location. Perhaps one of us could pose as an associate of their organization, although, with so little information to work on, even that would be a stretch— it would be a matter of moments until our spy was discovered and left without aid.” Thistle stared down at the dirt, his forehead scrunched tightly as he surveyed their situation.
The diagram etched into the ground was a rough one; however, it did the job well enough. Their target, the mysterious stone house, was in the center, with an “X” representing each point where a guard sat watching. Eric’s guess that there was more than one sentry had been correct. Elora had done some solo scouting and found that there were in fact three guards stationed in a triangular pattern around the house to ensure there were no blind spots someone might use to approach. What was worse, the guards changed one at a time, which meant that there was no substantial gap the party might exploit. They were going to have to cross the field under the eyes of their enemies; the only question now was whether or not there might be a safe way to do it.
“I might… no, I couldn’t handle all three for certain,” Timuscor said, reining in his own self-estimations. “But I could hold out until you arrived.”
“Kind an offer as that is, you’d be attacked long before you spoke your first word,” Thistle told him. “Your armor and weapons betray you as someone who does little work in the shadows, and don’t you even think of offering to remove them. If we accepted that plan, it would be faster to kill you ourselves and save the time.”
Timuscor closed the mouth he’d opened to make just such an offer; Thistle had seen right through him and cut the option off before it could even enter the discussion.
“Elora might be able to handle them,” Gabrielle said. “I hate to admit it, but she did a pretty decent job of fighting us all.”
“Pretty decent, my ass. If not for those enchanted roots, I’d have won,” Elora snapped. “But that was different. While you’re all strong, you’re also not accustomed to fighting someone with my tactics. They probably will be. Besides, in the orchard fight, I had options for escape. If this goes south, all I have is a long, exposed run back to the trees. And I’m not really the sort to charge headlong into probable death. Sorry.”
“We’re not sending anyone alone,” Thistle said. “There are too many variables at play. Without knowing how skilled the guards are, or what unseen defenses might be at their disposal, we simply can’t take the risk of allowing one of us to approach on their own.”
“What, then? We charge head-on and hope they don’t rouse everyone inside?” Gabrielle asked.
Grumph took a step forward and hunkered down next to Thistle, examining the diagram. He’d been silent after hearing Eric and Elora’s reports about the situation, not that that was much of a surprise to anyone. “Too far to run, too many to slip past, too hard to trick.” Another long stare at the map, and then, seemingly without reason, a wide grin split his face. Half-orc smiles could be unsettling to those who didn’t understand them. Generally, they looked more like a threat than anything joyful, but to Grumph’s friends, it was a reassuring expression. Grumph seldom smiled without cause.
“You have more of the smoke?” Grumph asked, turning to Elora. “Like you used on Gabrielle?”
“Four vials on me,” Elora replied. “But it doesn’t drift far for good reason, so there’s no way we could smoke them out from here.”
“What if we dropped the vial right at their feet?” Grumph kept pressing the idea, refusing to let go of whatever mad inclination he’d taken hold of.
It seemed like a ridiculous line of questioning—the vials were meant for close-range fighting— but Elora still appeared to consider the idea. “If you could somehow manage to use the vials, they’d be choking and gasping for around half a minute; maybe a full one if it broke right at their feet. They would certainly make some noise, but it would be hard for them to raise an alarm. Between the gasping and stinging eyes, they probably wouldn’t see our approach. But all of that is theoretical. With my crossbow and the luck of Tristan himself, I might be able to fix one to a bolt and hit the wall over a guard’s head. One guard, whose coughing would absolutely let the others know that something was up. For Eric, that shot is hopeless, and there’s no way to do it with a dagger.”
“No, not a dagger,” Grumph agreed. “I’ll throw the other two.”
Grumph’s declaration was met with silence and confused stares until Gabrielle let out a snort and began laughing softly, refusing to alert the guards with something as ridiculous as a chuckle. The stares turned to her, but she waved them off as she suppressed her giggles.
“Sorry, sometimes I forget that the rest of you weren’t around for Grumph’s mage trial.”
“Look, you’re clearly a strong, strapping half-orc, but there’s no way you can make that throw,” Elora told him. “Let alone two of them.”
“I can.” Grumph rose from the diagram and walked over to Elora, his smile fading as determination glinted in his eyes. “You make yours. I’ll make mine.”
“Mind if I ask how you plan on managing that before we waste three not-inexpensive vials and announce our presence to the guards?” Elora asked.
Grumph’s grin widened a touch once more. “With magic, of course.”
* * *
Timuscor and Mr. Peppers crouched at the edge of the forest, waiting for the attack to begin. As the loudest and shiniest amidst the group, Timuscor had been given the position farthest away from the house as the others prepared. Since that meant he’d be among the last to reach the fight, his role was the most fluid of the lot. Timuscor was to charge in, see who needed help, and then give it. Gabrielle would probably be fine—this sort of work was what barbarians did best—and with Grumph and Elora doing ranged work, they were also unlikely to require assistance. That meant Timuscor would most likely have to aid Eric or Thistle, both of whom needed to get in close to do their work yet were vulnerable in close combat.
Mr. Peppers stamped once—the boar hadn’t let out a single snort since they began their approach—as if to say he was impatient for the battle to begin. Timuscor gave his pet a scratch, though his eyes remained on the house, ready for action. Part of him worried at the idea of bringing Mr. Peppers into battle with him, but this far out in the woods, the boar was safer at Timuscor’s side than left alone. Plus, Mr. Peppers had never been particularly willing to stay behind. He followed the knight stubbornly, only departing on the rarest of occasions.
Movement caught Timuscor’s eye and his body tensed, ready to go bursting out of the brush. It turned out to be the guards changing, though, as one came out to relieve the sentry nearest to Timuscor. They said nothing, merely nodding and changing places as the one who’d been on duty went inside. The attack probably wouldn’t begin with four guards in sight, yet Timuscor still didn’t relax. He was already far away and would be slowed by his armor. He wouldn’t let a single useful moment slip by. As soon as he had the chance to strike, Timuscor would take it.
After all, even Grumph had admitted that there was a chance he might miss one of his throws. And should that happen, Timuscor would be the one to stop the unfettered guard. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to risk themselves against such an opponent.
As soon as the moment came, Timuscor would act.
* * *
Grumph had been on the verge of casting when the guard emerged from the house. He halted immediately, thankful that his was the attack that started the operation. From where Elora was positioned, she probably wouldn’t even see the change happening, which would have meant adding an opponent to their already-difficult situation. Patiently, Grumph waited as the on-duty guard entered the house and the new one settled in. On the other side,
his second target was unaffected, still consistently scanning the area.
While a triangular formation allowed for no blind spots, it had the weakness of permitting Grumph to get sight on two guards at once simply by finding the right position on the tree line. Likely, the guards knew that and were trusting in the distance between the forest and themselves for safety. Even an archer would only be able to get off a single arrow, at best taking down one guard while simultaneously alerting the others. Grumph wouldn’t be using anything as visible as an arrow, though. He would be hurling a small glass vial across what was, honestly, an impossible distance, even for his arm.
As the guards resettled, Grumph took careful aim. He didn’t often like to think about his time before Thistle (and those that were gone) had freed him; the memories there were dark and hard and conjured something in him that Grumph hated for existing. But sometimes, there were things from that part of his life that necessity demanded he recall. In those days, there had never been enough food. They were fed enough to not die, and sometimes even less than that. With no weapons and no coin to buy their own meals, the only way Grumph and the others got extra food was by hurling stones at small rodents and birds. It was a brutal, inefficient method, but nothing could drive one to press on like the desperation of hunger. Grumph has grown good at it too, as even then his mind was swift. He had a gift for working out force and angles—a gift he’d later turned to brewing, construction, and ultimately spell-casting.
Those layers had to be stripped back today. Right now, Grumph needed that primal skill he’d honed under the guards’ watchful eyes. How many times had he wished he was strong enough to kill one of them with the stones? What would he have traded to cave even a single one of their skulls with a well-placed throw? Obviously not his life, as he’d never made the attempt; or perhaps he’d stopped himself only because he knew it would fail. The guards had been protected and often distant. Even his half-orc muscles bolstered by constant labor wouldn’t have been enough. But that was before. Before Thistle. Before adventuring.
Before magic.
It wasn’t one of his easier spells; in fact, there were times Grumph struggled to even cast it. But necessity, mixed with a bit of buried rage from the memories he’d summoned, sharpened his focus to a diamond clarity. As the last syllable of the spell was spoken, he could feel strength filling his body, his muscles swelling as magic infused them with the power to surpass their limits. Dejy had explained to him that these sorts of spells were a risky trade-off—consuming so much mana for a short burst of physical power was rarely worth it. However, that wasn’t to say such occasions didn’t happen, and they’d both agreed that Grumph might encounter them more than a normal wizard would.
He waited patiently until the spell brought his strength to its zenith. Even with the magic, this would be a difficult task. Grumph would need everything, every drop of power from the spell, every ounce of strength from his muscle, every bit of skill from those terrible days. Much as he’d once wanted to kill the guards, Grumph wanted to make this throw even more. Back then, he’d have accomplished nothing other than smearing a little more death around a world already coated in it. This was different. This was to protect his friends, and that made it far more important than something as petty as revenge.
Narrowing his focus until the guard was all he saw, Grumph reared back. Pausing only to drop a small prayer to Grumble, the half-orc wizard hurled the vial through the air with everything he could manage. As it left his fingers, he felt a shudder of terror mixed with relief.
Whether he hit or not, the die was cast. There no way to change it in mid-air. Their attack on the hideout had officially begun.
Chapter 27
Elora watched carefully as the guard shifted his position, moving her crossbow a hair to the left in order to compensate. As soon as Grumph’s vial hit—unless it fell so amazingly short that none of the sentries noticed—there wouldn’t be a moment to spare. She’d have to let her bolt, to which she’d managed to affix to a vial using sheer willpower more than crafting skills, fly into the wall. Despite the wizard’s assurances, she wasn’t counting on his throw making it to the target, which meant her mark would be the only guard actually incapacitated. If she failed too, then all they’d have managed was to give their enemies extra warning before the attack.
A glint of sunlight on glass was the only alert before impact. The vial rocketed across the open plain and struck. Elora was somewhat right, in that Grumph hadn’t hit a spot on the wall near his first target. No, the crazed half-orc had managed to throw the vial directly onto the guard. It shattered against his chest, exploding into a cloud of purple smoke that engulfed him so completely even Elora’s eyes couldn’t track his shape.
Before her own guard could react, Elora checked her aim one last time and fired. Seconds ago, part of her wondered if she’d even be able to pull off a shot like this. Now, she was trying to get it as close as possible to her target. While Elora didn’t consider herself an unnecessarily prideful person, that didn’t mean she’d simply allow Grumph to show her up. The bolt sailed true, smacking into the side of the wall and surrounding her target in more purple smoke. His wasn’t as focused, but it was still enough to start him on a coughing fit. Smacking the crossbow’s lever once, she reloaded and began to move.
The gas would buy them less than a minute, and that assumed all three vials did their job. As soon the guards could call for help, they would, and at that point, any hope of surprising those inside was lost. Elora darted into the field, taking note that there was already a charging form in blood-red armor some distance ahead of her. Gabrielle had clearly been ready to move, and as Elora tracked the barbarian’s motion, she adjusted her own course. No sense in wasting bolts on whoever Gabrielle targeted. Either that person was already going to die, or the entire party was up to their neck in dragonshit.
Because if their barbarian couldn’t handle these opponents in melee, especially with the aid of gas slowing them down, then the rest of group was as good as dead.
* * *
It took more effort than she expected not to scream. Gabrielle was accustomed to charging into battle with a fierce yell, meant to draw the enemy’s attention while also knocking them off guard. Her job was to get all eyes on her so that she could fight up front while the others worked in their own ways. This time, however, she needed to fight as quickly and quietly as possible. It was a curious change of pace, and one she didn’t entirely care for. Barbarians worked best in chaos, as far as she was concerned.
Still, they’d all agreed to these tactics, so Gabrielle remained quiet as she bolted across the open grass. Her target was a guard choking his way through the cloud of gas with which Elora’s bolt had surrounded him. It had slowed him down, making it hard to see which direction would lead to his freedom, but he was keeping a calmer head than Gabrielle had when she had been on the receiving end. Half a minute might have been too generous an estimate. At the rate he was moving, he’d recover sooner. Gabrielle sprinted forward as fast as she could; the others were counting on her to seize these opportunities before they disappeared. Gabrielle had to be fast enough, strong enough, sure enough. She had to strike while they still had the element of surprise. She had to dispatch her enemy like a true barbarian.
The guard managed to wipe the tears from his eyes—though thankfully, he was still too choked to cry out—just as Gabrielle took her first swing. Even as compromised as he was, the guard managed to step back, likely more on instinct than as part of any plan. An upward blow meant to open his stomach tore at his shoulder instead, easily cleaving through the dark leather armor he wore. His hands groped at his sides as the choking coughs continued, grabbing for his weapons through blurry vision and rising panic.
Gabrielle’s mind flashed back, unbidden, to her fight with the bandit leader. He’d managed to outmaneuver and parry her, even though she’d been stronger. It had been an important lesson in the education of battle: any opponent could defeat her if she gave them the op
portunity. Vital as it had been, however, she had no desire to learn it once more.
Stepping forward, dangerously close to the cloud of gas, Gabrielle pressed the attack. She wouldn’t let the guard recover, couldn’t risk him getting his hands on his weapons. This wasn’t a fight; it was an assault on their territory, and that meant winning no matter what.
Her next swing carved a gash into his leg, sending the guard to a knee. Although he tried to scream, the sound got trapped in his throat and only came out as more coughing. He struggled, trying to rise back up, but his bleeding leg refused to bear weight and he was too disoriented to balance on the other. The attempt failed and he slipped forward onto all fours, exposing the absolute worst place for anyone fighting an enemy with an axe: the back of his neck.
Gabrielle’s arms were moving before she’d even registered the opportunity, axe raised high overhead. Yet just before the descent began, she stopped. It was too easy, the opening too good. On instinct, she leapt back just before the guard lunged forward and sliced with a hidden blade he’d managed to pull. It had been a good trap, and on a less-experienced Gabrielle, it would have worked. But the last time she’d chased something too good to be true, it had cost the barbarian her weapon. This time, she’d pulled away in time, ready with a counter of her own.
Finally letting the axe drop, Gabrielle cleaved into the guard’s arm, cutting partway through the bone. He lifted his head to howl, but she threw a boot into his jaw before he had the chance. Yanking her weapon free, she brought it down again, this time on her opponent’s head. Rather than go for the kill, she bashed his skull with the flat of her blade and sent him tumbling limply to the ground.
