by Drew Hayes
He would keep everyone alive until his friends found a way to save them. That was the role of the paladin, and Thistle would be damned if he failed it today.
* * *
“Here.” Gabrielle held out a vial of red liquid, wiggling it gently until Chalara took the hint and grabbed it from her hand. “Pour it in his mouth once I start to head over. I don’t want Eric this wounded if there’s another explosion, but if we do it now, he’ll try to stop me.”
“Maybe he should. Unless I’m missing my guess, aren’t you about to try and do the same thing he did?” Chalara tilted her head toward the pedestal, which was still throwing off random blasts of magic in all directions. “Oh no, wait, he at least had me casting dispelling magic to weaken the defenses. What you’re about to try is way crazier.”
“Come on, what are the odds the wards are still functioning right when everything else is going crazy?” Gabrielle knew she wasn’t actually disproving Chalara’s point, but she also didn’t particularly care if a near-stranger disagreed with her strategy. Everything was in chaos, and given the enormous limbs and warped golems her friends were battling, the situation could turn deadly at any moment. She was the only one who could stop it—which was all that mattered, so far as Gabrielle was concerned.
“Just to be safe, though…” Gabrielle dug into her bag and produced one last potion, handing it over to Chalara. “If I’m still breathing when this is done, pour that down my throat. If I’m not, give it to whoever needs it the most, be they among my friends or yours.”
Rising up from the ground, head low to avoid random magical bolts, Gabrielle made her way across the floor to where her axe was quivering in the ground. It burned more than usual as she took hold of the shaft; perhaps it was angry at her for allowing someone else to wield it. She ignored the pain, reaching past these fleeting annoyances to the veritable lake of anger that dwelled inside her. There would probably only be one shot for this. It would take everything Gabrielle had.
To her surprise, Eric proved to be the most potent source of rage at hand. Eric, who’d tried to keep her safe, even though he knew damn well it wasn’t his job or place to do so. Eric, who’d almost gotten himself killed—yet again—trying to protect everyone. Eric, who seemed hell-bent on having Gabrielle bury him, even though, as a rogue, he was supposed to stick to the shadows, where it was safe. It was infuriating beyond words, and as the rage built, she felt her muscles swell with power.
—I can make you stronger.—
There it was, right on cue—the voice in her head, the cursed tones whispering to her from the darkness of her axe. Blood, flesh, and life in return for power. It was a bargain with which she was well acquainted, perhaps more so than she should have been. Had Eric heard it, before he swung? Had it made him the same offer it was willing to extend to her? Or had he just whipped the thing around carelessly, never knowing about the toll it charged?
“Take what you need.” Gabrielle’s voice was a whisper, her words so soft they died the moment they left her lips. “We get one swing, maybe, so take whatever it costs to destroy that magic. If you’re strong enough.”
This time, she was sure she felt the axe burn stronger her hands, yet she smiled in spite of it. So, the axe did have some pride; Gabrielle had been wondering about that. Her eyes opened, and she noted the surprise on Chalara’s face. Her hair had probably changed color again, not that it mattered. The axe could give her horns, a hump, and a tail if it wanted, as long as all those changes came with the power she needed. A glance down at Eric only added to the burning fire of fury inside her, one last log atop the blaze. Nodding to Chalara that it was time, Gabrielle waited only until the potion vial touched his lips before she began her charge.
Within steps, she could feel the magic radiating from the pedestal. The very air seemed heavy, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Snaps of magical energy struck the ground around her. She wondered if it was trying to target her and missing, or if it was simply firing at random. If she were being careful, Gabrielle would have zig-zagged to make herself a more difficult target. But such tactics would have cost her momentum, which would have weakened her swing, and that was not a trade she was willing to make.
Another bolt flew out, this one so close that she could feel the heat as it passed by her face, yet her pace never waivered. Bolting ahead, axe raised, Gabrielle focused on nothing but the chip Eric had left in the pedestal. That was the weakest point, the place where her blow would do the most damage. She ran faster, even as the bolts closed in around her. The wards were definitely targeting her, no question about it now; it was only a matter of whether or not they struck her before she hit the pedestal. She pumped her legs, flying forward, paying no heed to the magic trying to keep her away. If the pedestal thought she’d be scared away that easily, then it clearly had no idea just who it was fucking with.
And then, she was there. Her arms were moving before she even noticed that she’d reached her goal, slinging the axe forward with all the power her fury, training, and enchanted necklace could muster. Around the pedestal, energy was collecting for another blast, and at this range, it couldn’t possibly miss. Gabrielle’s very bones seemed to creak as she willed the weapon to move faster, swing harder. She was betting everyone’s life on this attack.
“Come on, axe, show me that you’re not all talk.” The words were barely choked out, but from the flash of pain on her palms, she was sure her weapon understood. It might have been her imagination or a trick of the light, but just before the strike landed, Gabrielle was certain she saw the axe’s blade glow for a split second.
When it connected, it was perfectly flush with the chipped section Eric had created. Gabrielle didn’t dare let up, though; she poured it all on, determined to chop through in a single blow. Blood ran down her arms and legs as wounds opened everywhere, but Gabrielle paid them no mind. She couldn’t risk anyone else trying to finish this task. This was her job. She was the barbarian. She wasn’t stealthy, or wily, or adept at magic. All she could do was hit hard, and by every god in the pantheon, she would see her task fulfilled.
Gabrielle felt the axe cleave through to the other side just before everything exploded around her. That was why she met the wave of destruction with a wide, unapologetic grin across her face.
She’d done her part. The rest was up to her friends.
* * *
Eric awoke just as Chalara yanked him behind a large wooden chest. He tried to sit up, but she shoved him roughly to the ground. Before he could ask for any explanations, a massive explosion rocked the cavern, slamming the treasure chest they were hiding behind into them. The strike from the chest caused screams of pain to course through Eric’s battered body but otherwise kept them safe from the blast. As he lay there, Eric’s mind spun. He’d tried to break the pedestal, which meant he’d either succeeded or failed. A secondary explosion seemed like a strange result for ‘succeeded,’ so he likely hadn’t pulled it off. And if he’d failed, then the person who’d obviously try again was…
“Gabby!” Eric pushed past Chalara as the explosion died, leaping to his feet and scanning the area. Everything was smoky, with bits of magical residue still crackling in the air. It was impossible to hear anything over the sound of thousands of coins clattering to the ground—a sound that would have been joyful music to him only moments prior. The golems were falling apart; Gabrielle had managed what he had failed to do. But where was she?
He limped forward, his body still wounded from his own attempt, choking his way through the smoke. It was clearing—rather quickly, at that—and as it did, Eric’s heart froze in place. Not far from the remains of the pedestal were a pair of blood-red boots adorning pale legs. Eric lurched over, waving his hands to clear the smoke out of the way.
There she was, axe still tightly gripped in her hands. And next to her—what had seemed so important up until this moment—was the Bridge. Yet Eric didn’t even reach for it. Instead, he raced to Gabrielle’s side, his bloodied hands gra
sping his oldest friend. Lifting her arm, he tested for a pulse, waiting for the reassuring throb in her veins to signal that it would be okay, that he only needed to pour a potion down her throat for everything to work out.
He was still kneeling there as Chalara walked over; his fingertips had gone white as he dug into Gabrielle’s flesh, trying with all he had to find her pulse.
“How is she?” Chalara asked.
“She’s fine. She’s going to be fine. She’s... she’s Gabrielle the fucking barbarian.” His hands were getting tighter, clenching Gabby’s pale wrists even as the tears started to fall. “She’s killed demons and bandits and a priest of Kalzidar. Nothing keeps her down. Nothing stops her.” Eric heard the shakiness in his voice, but he wasn’t able to calm it. All thoughts of control and training were gone. He gripped tighter, refusing to accept what was so plainly obvious.
On the other side of Gabrielle, Chalara bent down and carefully took her other hand. Holding it gently, she pressed her fingers to the pale wrist for several long seconds before setting it back on the ground.
“Eric... there’s no pulse.”
“She’s okay.”
“Her skin is already getting cold.”
“She’s going to be okay.” Eric spat the words, as though saying them loud enough could make them true.
“I’m so sorry, Eric. Gabrielle is dead. She gave her life to save us.”
Eric didn’t have a response for that. His head simply fell forward onto the stomach of his oldest, dearest friend in the world. Wordlessly, Eric wept.
It was impossible to say how long he was there; all he knew was that the sound of footsteps could be heard as the others drew near. And then, something inside him, something he hadn’t even realized was there, snapped. Everything he’d been scared of, everything he’d been holding back, all of it gave way under the crushing thought of the task of laying Gabrielle to rest.
“No.” His head rose, and Eric realized that everyone—his friends, Chalara’s party, and three strangers he’d yet to see, were nearby. None of them mattered, though. Not right now. Eric searched the ground and quickly located what he was looking for.
“No,” he repeated. “Gabby isn’t dying here. Not today. Not like this.”
“I mourn her loss, too,” Thistle said gently. “But the laws of life and death are not so easily undone, not even for the gods.”
“So that’s why we have to lose her?” Eric glared at the paladin with more anger than he’d thought himself capable of. “Because there’s some law of the universe that says so? We can animate gold into monsters, conjure items from nothingness, and bend the very existence of the world to our will, but Gabby has to die because someone, somewhere, made a rule that said so? Well, fuck that.”
Like a striking serpent, Eric’s hand whipped out, closing around the Bridge before anyone could stop him. “I say it’s time we start breaking the rules.”
Chapter 56
Eric’s face went still as soon as he laid his hand on the Bridge. Grumph wasn’t sure what it was like for him—he imagined it to be a more peaceful experience than what Grumph had endured—but it was clear that Eric was looking past their surroundings now, peering into and past the veil of their very existence. He stared at each of them in turn, surveying his whole field of vision with a stoic expression. It was only when he looked at the battered and burned treasure chest nearby that a small, half-mad chuckle escaped his lips.
“How curious. Coincidence, I wonder? Or do you simply seek each other out?” He padded along the ground, footsteps utterly silent until he was standing in front of the chest. “Chalara, where did you find this?”
“We got it from stopping crazy mages a while back,” replied the woman in robes. “Had it shrunk down, but it got disenchanted during all the weird magic shit.”
“And do you have any idea what’s inside?”
“The final wizard gave his life to put a blood seal upon it,” said Timanuel. He had positioned himself slightly between Chalara and Eric. Ordinarily, Grumph might have taken offense on his friend’s behalf, but at the moment, he couldn’t blame the paladin one bit. “He said it was too dangerous for us to have.”
“He was right about that,” Eric agreed. “But I think it’s tired of being locked away. What do you say we find out?” Reaching forward, Eric pressed the Bridge to the front of the chest. Its ever-present glow pulsed once, and with a small click, the chest sprang open. Chalara started to move forward, but Eric was already digging about inside. When he emerged, his free hand now held another piece of the Bridge. Grumph felt his chest tighten. One piece was dangerous enough; never had they held a pair at the same time.
“What the hell are those?” Chalara asked.
“Looks like they’re powerful, and that’s more than enough for me. Glezidel, how’s the foot?” This voice came from a towering man of muscle, who was covered in blood that most certainly was not his own. He unsheathed an axe from his back, looking at a nearby man who’d just finished chugging down a potion.
“Good as new,” Glezidel replied.
“Right then, let’s make this short and sweet,” said the big one. “I’m Mitnan, this is Glezidel, and the one with the daggers is Terkor. We’re going to be leaving with whatever those fancy magic items are, along with all the gold we can carry. Now, while you all have been fighting and getting your asses kicked, we’ve been collecting items and potions from the fallen. So you can try and come at us—you do have the advantage in numbers—but I think you’ll be a lot happier if you all just toss down your items and let us walk right out of here.”
“I know you.” The Bridge pieces in Eric’s hands were glowing, as were his eyes, as he glared at the three robbers. “You wore a different body last time, but I recognize your shape.”
“Trying to be weird won’t bluff us, dumbass,” Mitnan said.
“You ambushed us as we were leaving Aldron’s dungeon. You killed the Solium guards, and you tried to kill us. You hid in the bush with the red flowers. Is that how you treat this world? Acting like we’re all disposable toys, as though our lives don’t have meaning?” Eric’s smile was getting bigger, worryingly so, as he lifted the Bridge pieces higher.
“All of you are so brave when you have pawns to hide behind. But let’s see how you fare when it’s your blood, your lives, on the line.” The glow around the Bridge pieces flared, and Grumph felt something—not magic as he knew it, but powerful all the same—flow from the artifacts. It grew brighter and brighter, until Grumph finally had to look away. His eyes were watering, and he was seeing things, shadows that shouldn’t, couldn’t be there behind everyone nearby—save only for his friends.
“You want these?” Eric asked. “Then risk your life to come and take them.”
* * *
“…and take them.” Russell’s voice was strange, different from when he was representing some random character. It had a passion usually absent from such scenes, yet his face was completely stoic as he stared unfailingly down at the module. A moment of silence lingered after his words, and then things took a turn from unsettling into outright impossible.
This time, the D20s didn’t spin. They began to glow, softly at first, and then like miniature suns, until a bolt of lightning leapt from each one and struck every player in the chest. The bolts faded, yet the spots on their bodies continued to glow through their clothes, a throbbing light that perfectly matched what was emanating from their dice.
“Russell... what the fuck is going on, man? That was already some weird dialogue, and now you rigged up special effects?” Bert’s voice was pleading, desperate to be told there was a logical explanation for this.
Slowly, Russell’s hand reached over and knocked down his GM screen. With it out of the way, everyone could see the glowing spot on his chest, a perfect match for both his D20 and the pages of the module, which were flickering with a light almost like fire, only nothing was burning. Most concerning of all, however, was when he looked up and it became clear that his
eyes were clouded completely over with a white fog. He had no expression; he just sat there, staring at them blankly.
“I think... we should all pick our next actions very carefully,” Tim said. “Last time things got this weird was when I played Timuscor. That time, my dice glowed, and then crumbled to dust. I have a feeling things can get a lot worse this time around.”
“I don’t... I don’t know if I want to keep playing.” Alexis had curled into a small ball in her chair, eyes fixed and unwavering from the glowing D20 in front of her.
“Seeing as I think that book just possessed my brother, I’m not sure we have a choice.” Cheri was staring at Russell, willful yet calm. He’d been trying to tell her that something weird was going on with these books, and as much as she’d tried to support and encourage him, she’d never completely believed it herself. Not until this moment. “Alexis, I know this is scary, but what would Gelthorn do?”
“She’d... she would…” Alexis stopped, straightening her body slightly and raising her voice to Gelthorn’s usual powerful tenor. “Gelthorn wouldn’t shrink away. It’s just magic; she sees this daily. She wields it herself. And she knows we’ve done nothing to incur this character’s wrath.”
“That’s right,” Cheri said. “I just jammed a potion down his throat, and Timanuel risked his life to keep the others safe. We’re not the robbers. We’re not the ones who should be afraid.”
“Just going to throw out this thought,” Bert said, eyes wide and unmoving from Russell’s transfixed form. “If all this is happening to us and we’re regular players, then what are the odds that the three dicks trying to rob us are also players somewhere out there?”
“Fair to decent,” Cheri replied. “And as spooky as this is for us, I would not want to be them right now.”
