by Drew Hayes
He pressed his hand to her arm before he even saw the blood, his magic repairing her body from the toll the axe had demanded. Tactically, it was probably smarter to let Gabrielle drink a potion and save his magic for someone who might be unconscious later on. Still, there was something about that axe, about the feeling he’d had moments prior, that made Thistle want to cleanse her magic with the power of the divine. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but he did it all the same. There was no sense in taking avoidable chances.
The others hurried through the opened doorway until only Thistle and Timuscor were remained. He met the knight’s eyes, waiting for Timuscor to pass through, only to find an identical stare peering back at him. Timuscor was set on being the last through the door, on holding up his shield to protect them from the lightning until everyone else was through. Even Mr. Peppers had been urged along. It was down to just the two of them.
Thistle was dearly tempted to dig in his heels and refuse to move, but a blast of wind reminded him that now was hardly the time for such pissing contests. Whose duty it was to hold the rear was irrelevant in the face of the importance of getting everyone through. Although, were he pressed on the subject, Thistle would admit that he felt a touch annoyed as he made his way into the hidden chamber. Mostly, though, he was thankful, as some part of him had been waiting for Grumble to intervene and prevent him from leaving the front lines of battle. As he made it several steps in, Thistle let out a small sigh of relief. It seemed that their plan fell in line with serving the greater good; at least enough for Grumble not to pull the “paladin code” card on him.
Seconds later, Timuscor was through as well, his shield dropped to guard their rear. Thistle turned to scold him on the refusal to move, but something far more interesting caught his eye.
“My goodness. That is some impressive magic.” Thistle pointed to the wall, where slowly but surely the false rock was rebuilding itself, bit-by-bit closing the hole that Gabrielle had cleaved into being.
“Powerful warding.” Grumph took a half-step back toward it before catching himself. No doubt he wished to study the enchantment up close; as a wizard, he’d naturally be curious about such a well-crafted spell. Thankfully, he remembered himself before anyone had to point out that this was hardly the time for such things.
“Do we stick around to make sure we aren’t followed?” Gabrielle asked. Though her arms were still wet with blood, she was otherwise unharmed. Thistle had made sure to get her back to perfect fighting shape; they couldn’t afford to be without their strongest warrior in a place like this.
“We should press on,” Eric said. “We’ve got a goal in mind, and anyone who follows is likely to care way more about whatever gold and gems Rathgan has than about our target. Even if they want the same thing, it makes more sense to get ourselves a head start.”
No one argued the point, most likely because any idea that got them farther away from an angry elder dragon was one worth embracing. Thistle moved himself slightly forward in position as the group started down the stone hallway, determined to stay near Eric and Gabrielle. While they were the best chance the party had at breaking through more obstacles, he was the one who would need to heal them.
Now that Thistle finally had the means to keep up, he was determined not to fall behind when his friends needed him. Not ever again, if he could help it.
* * *
Chalara nearly fell over when she saw the blonde woman rip through the discolored section of wall with one swing of her axe. Just how powerful were the other adventurers here, anyway? Their party moved through the new entryway as hers drew closer, and she waited carefully until the strangers dropped out of sight before motioning for everyone to follow. Wimberly and Gelthorn began to move, accepting the wordless order over the horrible blaring wind, but Timanuel remained planted. He nodded up at the dragon, who was attacking adventurer after adventurer. Right; paladins couldn’t run. Then again, what if this was a distraction and the real evil was down that hall? Surely paladins were allowed to prioritize such things.
Reaching over, she grabbed Timanuel and dragged him across the battlefield while Wimberly and Gelthorn ran ahead. He was stronger than her—he easily could have broken free—but he still allowed himself to be pulled along until they were through the hole, which had seemed wider moments before.
Finally free of the wind pounding on their ears, Chalara released her grip on Timanuel. “Something fishy is going on,” she said. Her voice was louder than needed, her ears still adjusting to the relative quiet around them. “We’re in a hidden route in the lair, one that leads deeper in. The dragon is supposed to be the big bad final fight, so where the hell does this thing go?”
“Probably to the treasury,” Wimberly pointed out. “We are supposed to get a lot of gold and items from this, and there wasn’t as much as even a copper out there. The entrance to the treasury had to be somewhere nearby.”
“Which is why I didn’t want to go through,” Timanuel added. “The fight is out there. That’s where I’m needed. I’m a paladin: I can’t try to loot the goods before everyone else.”
He turned back toward the door, and Chalara’s mind whirled as she tried to think of a reason for him to stay. Something told her this was the right path, but moving a paladin from his course was no small feat. She had to think of a way to convince him that the greater good could be served by leaving the fight.
“What if there are weapons?” Chalara spat out the idea, knowing it was a long shot as she spoke. “Rathgan has taken a lot of stuff from merchants. There are bound to be some weapons and items in the haul that might be useful. I mean, you saw the fight out there; things aren’t going our way. Maybe this is the trick to it. We have to find the tools we need to win in here, then bring them out and use them on Rathgan.”
“Hmm. That is a staple of the genre,” Wimberly said, rubbing her chin gently. “A little played out in recent years, but I guess because of that, it would be unexpected. Sort of a meta-throwback. We didn’t think to check for it ourselves, which speaks to how effective a ruse it would be.”
Gelthorn moved around them, back to the hole that Chalara was certain had been bigger a moment before, and looked out into the fray still going on nearby. “Timanuel, did you actually sense evil from Rathgan?”
“He’s been attacking traders and sacking villages. Those aren’t the actions of a good being,” Timanuel said.
“But in nature, such actions are not always evil. Often, they mean a creature has been threatened or driven from its home. All creatures are capable of acting out of fear. And while Rathgan clearly has no qualms killing us, it is worth noting that he didn’t start this fight. We did, working off the kingdom’s information. So again, I ask you, did you sense evil from him?”
“No.” Timanuel was looking past Gelthorn, as if he could will a simple solution into being. “Rathgan doesn’t trip my evil senses. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to fight him.”
“It does offer some doubt, though,” Wimberly said. “Enough to, at the very least, explore this hidden chamber. We might find tools to win with, as Chalara suggested, or perhaps an explanation to Rathgan’s actions. There are more ways to stop a war than with violence. I believe Longinus himself teaches that.”
“He also teaches not to turn away from those in need,” Timanuel countered.
“Then do not turn from them,” Wimberly shot back. “But simply take a few moments to see if you can find a better way to help them. That battle will not be a brief one. If you stay, you’ll do little, but if you go and uncover something useful, then it will be time well spent.”
“Besides, we’re going.” Chalara adjusted her robes and took careful grip of her wand, staring at the passage ahead. “You’re our paladin. Do your duty and come protect us.”
She didn’t wait around to see if he would agree or not; these sorts of debates could go on forever if left to their own devices. Chalara was almost certain they’d planted a seed of doubt in their paladin’s mind. Wha
t grew from it could only be seen through action. Besides, she didn’t want the other party getting too far ahead of her. So she pressed the issue and struck off, trusting that Timanuel would do what he thought was right.
It was still a relief, moments later, when she heard the sound of plate armor trudging along behind her. Their party had held together, for now. She just hoped that it would be enough for whatever lay ahead.
* * *
There was no soulful conversation or debate when Mitnan saw the second party slip through the hole in the wall. They’d been hanging to the sides, covertly pulling weapons and gold pouches off the adventurers who’d been bolder and had met their end. As soon as he noticed a path out of the lightning and wind, Mitnan was all for it, especially because he knew it almost certainly led to the treasury. To get their hands on a dragon’s hoard without actually having to kill it would be pure victory like no one else could ever hope to taste.
He smacked Glezidel, who had just set a bard that questioned their mid-battle looting on fire, and then kicked Terkor as he tugged at yet another modest coin pouch. Small change, all of it. Mitnan dragged and punched his party along, herding them into the small hole in the wall. It was barely big enough to fit through; if any of them had rolled a half-orc, the squeeze would have been too tight.
They could all hear the echo of plate armor ahead. Glezidel’s eyes seemed to shine with excitement, so Mitnan clapped him on the back of the head. They’d made it this far by playing it smart. Let the brave idiots do all the hard work; they would scoop up the goods when the others met their inevitable death. There was no sense in taking on anyone who wore plate armor, not when they could let the dragon and his traps do their work for them. They crept along quietly, eyes forward, not at all worried about being taken from behind.
After all, anyone who tried to slip through an opening that small would make a hell of a racket doing so.
* * *
It had taken much of Elora’s patience to wait until the hole in the cavern’s wall was no longer the object of others’ attention. She’d stayed hidden as Eric and his friends went through, then the party who’d hung around and had a fight about whether to stay or explore, and then the opportunists who paused their looting to run in. Finally, when those three had slunk away, it seemed no one else was aware of the hole, which might have been due in large part to the hole barely being there anymore. Gabrielle had struck a mighty blow indeed, but Rathgan was an elder dragon, and the quality of his spells reflected that.
Elora slipped through silently, having to tuck a few appendages at odd angles and hold her breath to manage the feat. Once she was in, her daggers appeared in her hands as she waited at the closing hole. Unlike the others, Elora wasn’t content with even the possibility of being surprised from behind. She stood there until the gap was too small for even a gnome to get through, and then she waited a minute or so more for good measure.
Only when she was certain that the way was barred did Elora proceed. True, everyone else now had a massive head start, but an elder dragon’s hoard should have more than enough gold to go around.
And if there was anything extra special that she wanted... well, even Elora might not go so far as to rob her apprentice. The other adventurers, however, were fair game.
Chapter 52
Every nerve in Eric’s body was tingling. Each step was a test of terror, bravado, and skill. The path they walked was actually taking them slightly downward, most likely looping back under the very room where the battle was occurring. It made sense; the treasure obviously couldn’t be higher than where they were, since Rathgan’s massive chamber had taken up the entire top of the mountain, so down was the only way they could go. Eric was ready at every turn for another layer of traps meant to keep intruders away, for something that would spring or leap out at any intruder.
So it was somewhat disappointing when they turned a corner and Eric found himself face-to-face with another set of golden doors. They were almost exactly like the pair that had blocked Rathgan’s chamber from the rest of the mountain, save that they were vastly smaller and still closed. This set also had a knob with a small keyhole just beneath it, and as Eric leaned down to peer inside, a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Magic,” Grumph said, reaching over and lightly tapping the metal with the tip of his staff. A crackle of blue energy snapped from the demon-bone sword, met with a shimmer of red that seemed to manifest and swipe back. “So strong I can smell it.”
“Of course, because why just lock the door to your treasure room when you can enchant it shut as well?” Eric didn’t rise all the way; he dropped to a knee, keeping his distance but still peering into the lock. “It looks like this thing isn’t just for show, either. Gabrielle might be able to mess up the enchantment, but she’d still have to chop through solid metal to get us any further.”
“Give me enough time, I might be able to pull that off.” Gabrielle rolled her shoulders and choked up on her axe.
“I fear that would take more than we possess,” Thistle said. “Both because eventually the battle will end, and because I suspect the toll it would take on your body is more than we can mend, potions and magic combined.”
“Well, we can’t very well just head back empty-handed,” Gabrielle snapped.
Eric ignored their discussion, his mind occupied entirely by how to get past the obstacle before him. In the month he’d spent with Elora, there had been countless challenges that pushed him to think outside his normal limitations. Being stealthy and swift—and perhaps a touch greedy—were all key parts of being a rogue, but the lesson she’d tried hardest to teach him was one of thinking his way around a problem. Nothing was insurmountable with enough creativity and skill; Elora had proven that herself when she used sleight of hand to bring down a more skilled opponent.
From his pouch, Eric produced a copper coin and threw it toward the keyhole. His aim was slightly off—only one corner of the coin managed to enter the opening—but the entire keyhole lit up with brilliant red light. By the time it fell to the ground, the coin was melted and warped beyond recognition, little more than a fused lump of copper.
Picking the lock was out, as Grumph had suspected; the enchantment on the door would probably do the same to Eric as it had to the coin. Magic was barring him from progress. At the same time, the doors seemed thick, much like their giant counterparts, so while Gabrielle could handle the enchantment, the physical barrier would stop her from breaking past with anything akin to timeliness. Eric had to admit this was a well-designed defense, pairing magical with mundane to cut off any easy paths through. A powerful mage could theoretically neutralize the enchantment, but that was above Grumph’s training. Hell, Ferdy and Talcia might even have struggled with this, given Rathgan’s level of skill.
As Eric’s mind focused, he picked up something over the din of his friends arguing: the soft jingle of moving armor from farther back in the tunnel. It was brief and fleeting, but Eric was learning to trust his senses and intuition. They weren’t alone anymore. The most likely culprit was more adventurers, and while they might be friendly, there was also a good chance they’d be greedy or violent and set on getting all the treasure for themselves. This was hardly a good location for battle; Gabrielle would barely be able to get a full swing on her axe and had a fair shot at getting it wedged into a wall.
From that moment of fear and imagination came the solution that careful thought had failed to yield. It demanded some risk on his part and Gabrielle’s as well, but it was the best way he could think of to get them past this barrier before anyone else reached them.
“Gabby, I need you to try and wedge your axe in the seam of the doors.” Eric pointed carefully toward a spot less than an inch below the keyhole, being sure not to get his hand too close. This was a dangerous gamble: if she went too high, she might damage the lock itself, stranding them there, but too far away, and the effort might be for nothing. “If you can neutralize the defenses around the keyhole, then I might be able to p
ick the lock.”
“And you think wedging my axe will do that why?” Gabrielle, quite understandably, asked.
“From what we know, it seems like the blade disrupts and repels magic,” Eric said. “But on the last enchantment, it just cut a hole through it, neutralizing a piece of the wall. I don’t know if that’s because Rathgan’s magic is too strong or you didn’t pay enough blood, and it doesn’t really matter either way. As long as you can rip apart the wards for long enough me to unlock the door, we don’t need you to waste time on breaking it down.”
“So this is very obviously a wild guess, then,” Gabrielle said. Even as she spoke, she was adjusting her grip on her axe, and the others were quickly backing away.
“Pretty much,” Eric admitted.
“Well, at least I get to hit something.” Slowly, the blade of Gabrielle’s axe descended as she lined up her shot. For a moment, it kissed the seam of the door. Unlike when Grumph’s staff touched it, there was no outward snap of energy. Instead, the metal flickered, its golden hue dimming significantly. Then she pulled the axe back, keeping it on course to return to the same spot. For a moment, her eyes fluttered shut.
Eric would have traded every gold piece he still possessed, meager as that amount was, to listen in on Gabrielle’s thoughts at that moment. He knew she was communicating with her weapon, though whether it was in words, images, or instincts was a total mystery. A pang of guilt twisted Eric’s gut as he realized she was striking yet another deal with that cursed tool. They were relying on her too much, and eventually, the price she was paying would rise too high. Yet he said nothing to stop her, because the truth was that this was something only Gabrielle could do. Eric would almost certainly hate himself for this moment eventually—he knew that full-well—but he stood silently as her hair darkened and she whipped the axe downward.
