by Drew Hayes
“You four spared me when you had no reason to, and freed me from the strange workings that wove through my mind. My life is yours, and I will follow wherever you command.”
Gabrielle coughed into her hand, while the others merely tried to avoid making eye contact with Timuscor. Much as they’d tried to tell him that he didn’t owe them a thing, he still seemed set on settling the debt he felt he’d incurred. They were also relatively certain he still didn’t entirely understand the “puppet being controlled by beings from another world” part of his being freed, though none of them were entirely certain they had a good grasp on it either. Eric seemed the most clued in, and he rarely spoke of what he’d seen when holding The Bridge.
“You have no debt here,” Thistle said at last. “But I’ll take that as agreement with the plan, so that we can move things along. I suppose the only thing to do now is go get our supplies and horses, and then put ourselves on the road well before sundown.”
“Are we not worried about getting sick anymore?” Eric asked.
“Personally, I’m more worried about what happens if all the people from town suddenly come back,” Gabrielle replied.
“It is still possible we might take ill, but Gabby is right. At this point, I think the scales of danger have firmly tipped to the side of our leaving town. For Briarwillow’s citizens, as much as for ourselves.” Thistle tilted his head back to check the sun, which still hung low in the morning sky. “If there’s any more to discuss, let’s talk on the way. I’d like to be clear of Briarwillow’s lands before dusk, just to be on the safe side.”
Everyone began heading down the street, moving swiftly as they walked toward the stable where they could fetch the horses. It was only after they were about to round a corner that Eric noticed Thistle hadn’t come with them. He turned around to find the gnome standing in the exact spot where they’d left him, a few feet from the inn’s front door. Thistle seemed to be waving and gesticulating, though Eric wasn’t quite sure what his friend was trying to say.
“Everyone, hang on. Thistle’s still back there.”
The others turned, and then followed Eric’s lead as he moved carefully across the stone road. Whatever was going on, Thistle never acted without reason. If he’d refused to leave after telling them to go, perhaps he’d spotted an unseen danger and was waving to try and warn them. As Eric drew near, he realized that Thistle wasn’t actually waving to them at all. Instead, he was reaching down, grabbing his armored boots, and tugging on them with all his might, only to end up wind-milling in an effort to keep his balance when his grip inevitably broke.
“Thistle,” Eric said, realizing that perhaps they were not the ones in danger after all. “Are you okay?”
“Physically? Fit as a fiddle and spry as a fox. Mentally? I’d say I’m easily one of the quicker wits, in at least my arm’s length. But spiritually, it seems, I may have stepped into something of a quagmire.” Thistle reached down and grabbed his boots once more, tugging until his face was red and small tears slipped out from the corners of his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Eric moved closer to try and help, stopping only when Thistle held up a hand.
“My attempt at self-denial proved insufficient, it seems. By what I can only imagine to be Grumble’s will, I am unable to move so much as a single inch from this spot.” Thistle banged the armor on his legs and tried to will the appendages to take a step, only to finally lose his balance and topple backward onto the ground. He stared up at Eric, who was looking down with unmasked concern.
“I fear we may have to slightly adjust our plans.”
* * *
“Tactically speaking, we should definitely retreat.” Bert was hunched over the game map, staring at the scene spread before them. All of his calculations had been spot on going into the fight, and the acid-splashing devices paired with blinding stunners had largely hobbled the bandit camps, allowing them to take the enemy by surprise. What they hadn’t known was how many other bandits had concealed themselves in the trees and underground. With unexpected allies pouring in, what should have been an easy victory was quickly turning into a potentially deadly situation. “Wimberly is almost out of premade tricks, Timanuel has half a dozen bandits on him, Chalara is getting peppered by archers, and Gelthorn has been seriously injured.”
“Can’t do it.” Tim had a look on his face that was somewhere between stoic and ill, but his hands were steady as he picked up the dice in preparation for his next, possibly final, turn.
“I know you’re pinned down, but Wimberly has one more blinding stunner. She’s near enough that she can toss it out and give you the chance to run,” Bert replied.
“He meant that he literally can’t run away,” Cheri interjected. This was the risk one took with having a paladin in the party. All that power came with a few serious drawbacks, and they were about the deal with the one Cheri liked the least. “Remember how we had him use Sense Evil to tell where the bandits were hiding out?”
“Of course,” Bert said. “That’s how we were able to send Gelthorn to do recon and get the ambush on them.”
“Right, well, the problem is that he did sense that there were evil people here. So he knows that in this camp, there is evil dwelling,” Cheri explained. “And that’s why he can’t run away.”
“Paladins don’t ever back down from evil,” Tim said. He checked his character sheet once more, as if health points or fresh mana would appear out of nowhere. “We’re the wall that doesn’t yield, the light that can’t be extinguished. Even if it costs us our lives to do it, a paladin must do all they can to stop evil once they’ve sensed it.”
“Oh.” Bert reexamined the board with this new information in mind. A retreat was still their best chance at living, by far. If one of them couldn’t go, then they were presented with the choice to save three out of four characters or risk the entire party to one very dicey battle. Personally, Bert favored the solution that would keep the most people alive, but it wasn’t really his call to make. It was Wimberly’s, and she’d been saved by Timanuel more than once already, in their fights throughout the forest.
“Do your best to survive the next round,” Bert said at last. “By the time we come up in battle again, we’ll have thought of something.”
Tim nodded solemnly, and then threw his meager handful of dice.
Chapter 7
After everyone had taken a turn trying to tug Thistle from the ground, it was finally agreed upon that the gnome was good and rightly stuck to the road. They brought out some food and water, as the inn had plenty and a night of exploration had worked up quite an appetite, and then gathered around Thistle to discuss what they should do next.
“You have to go on without me.” Thistle might have seemed more heroic in delivering this order were he not still lying sprawled out on the ground, limbs somehow bonded to where they’d struck the stones.
“Very sweet, very noble, and very not happening,” Gabrielle replied. She tore off a piece of bread from the loaf she’d been working on and lowered it into Thistle’s mouth carefully. “After everything that’s gone on, we’re not leaving you stuck like this all alone.”
“Who said anything about leaving me stuck and alone?” Thistle quickly chewed through the fresh bread without even bothering to savor it and spat out the reply. “I only meant that some of you should go. We do still need the help of the mages, perhaps now more than ever. It won’t take everyone, though, only two or three to be safe.”
“Leaving one of us to stand guard over you night and day while you lie in the road?” Eric pointed out.
“I will gladly undertake such a service.” Timuscor rose from the ground and grabbed his weapon, clearly ready to start before breakfast was even properly concluded.
“Thank you, Timuscor, but no one will have to stand guard over me. I have a hunch that, sooner or later, I’ll be able to move again. This was Grumble’s way of sending me a message, since I’d been ignoring his other, more subtle, hints.”
; “Paladin stuff?” Gabrielle asked.
“Paladin stuff,” Grumph confirmed.
“I must confess, I know more than some about the lore of those blessed with the mantle of divine warriorship, but I have never heard of a god forcibly hobbling one of his own servants in such a way.” Timuscor sat down slowly and picked up his bowl of stew. It was leftover from the night prior, yet still held more flavor than the leaves and berries they were likely to find on the road.
“Those who serve the just gods are obligated to uphold certain aspects of their tenants. One such example is that paladins are generally not allowed to flee when the weak and innocent are in danger, or when in the presence of undeniable evil. I thought Grumble might give me a bit of leeway in the latter department, seeing as he rules over minions and we are not known for our courage, but it seems I was wrong. Since we first arrived, I’ve had a strange, almost painful gut feeling. At first, I thought it was gas from an improper diet; however, I’ve begun to suspect I’m slowly developing the paladin’s mythical ability to sense the very presence of evil.”
“Truly, the gifts of the gods are incredible,” Timuscor marveled.
“Yeah, that’s a real neat trick. Give you the power to tell if there’s evil around, and then demand you never run away from any sort of it. Sort of seems like more of a curse than a gift, if you ask me.” Gabrielle offered Thistle another piece of bread, which he gratefully accepted.
“Curse or gift, it’s still something we’re going to have to deal with,” Eric said. “Thistle apparently can’t leave until the people are saved or the skull is destroyed or some arbitrary goal that satisfies his god is fulfilled. If we really want to pull that off, we’ll need the mages’ help, which would mean abandoning him in a town where we don’t know exactly what’s going on, but we basically have divine confirmation that it’s evil.”
“We have to split up,” Grumph said. It was clear that was their only real way out of this situation; better to acknowledge that fact and start working on the real question—who went and who stayed.
“As the only one of you lot worth two shits at navigating a forest, I think we can all agree I’m on the Cadence Hollow team,” Gabrielle said, keeping the momentum of Grumph’s declaration moving before they could backtrack. Daylight was both precious and burning.
“Don’t we just follow the road?” Eric pointed out.
“Sure, and as long as no monsters, or bandits, or natural obstacles force you off that road, you’d never need someone who can find her way around a forest.” Gabrielle crossed her arms and waited for Eric to reflect on how many times they’d already had to leave the kingdom’s road and trust in her navigation. He bit his lip, and then made a slight bow of his head to apologize. With how long they’d known each other, there was no need for words.
“Gabrielle and Eric go. Timuscor and I will guard Thistle,” Grumph told them.
“Actually, I’m going to have to disagree with you, old friend.” Thistle turned his head as best he could to meet Grumph’s dark-eyed gaze. “Going to Cadence Hollow was too risky before, but if we’ve got to make a trip there anyway, then you should be one of those to head over. Short of a kingdom’s capital, there’s nowhere better than a mage guild to learn about magic and acquire more spells. Even an outpost will surely have some books and wares you can purchase. We may as well make this rotten fruit into wine, if the gods are going to force our hand.”
Eric dropped his cleaned out bowl onto the stone below, causing a rattling sound that bounced off the empty shops surrounding them. “I’m with Thistle on that. Who knows when you’ll get the next chance to learn more about magic? We’re actively trying to avoid most of the places where you’d be able to get that sort of knowledge.”
Grumph nodded slowly, though his eyes never left the small man who was stuck to the road. He trusted Thistle, and the point was a valid one, but all the same, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his friend’s crooked little mind was trying to coax as many of them into heading for safety as possible. His suspicions were all but confirmed at Thistle’s next words.
“You might want to go as well, Eric. Between my paladin abilities, Timuscor’s fighting prowess, and a whole town of places to hole up, there’s very little chance of us actually facing any real danger here. The trip to Cadence Hollow is going to be the riskiest part of our plan, and having your eyes along may just make the difference in everyone arriving safely.”
“Nice effort,” Eric told him, a slight smirk betraying that he knew exactly what the gnome was trying to pull. “But anything that can get through Gabby and Grumph is more than my short sword will make a dent in. I’m better off sticking around here, trying to see if I can figure out where everyone ran off to.”
“You don’t know how to track very well,” Thistle said.
“True, but I’ve got plenty of time to practice. Three days’ worth, maybe six depending on whether or not they can use magic to get back here.” Eric leaned down and patted his friend carefully on the helm that obscured part of Thistle’s weathered face. “Besides, now that we all know you have certain compulsions when it comes to dealing with evil, do you really expect us to leave you with someone you might be able to give the slip?”
Timuscor looked around, wearing his confusion like a princess wore ribbons in her hair. “Why would Thistle try to get away from me?”
“So that he could do something idiotic, like confront the source of the evil by himself, get killed, and do what he thinks of as setting us free to go on without him,” Gabrielle explained. “Completely ignoring the fact that if something killed one of us, we’d all damn sure try to get revenge, even if we died in the process.”
“Your dedication and loyalty is both touching and highly inconvenient for keeping you out of harm’s way,” Thistle said. “But very well; Eric and Timuscor will stay with me, while Gabrielle and Grumph will ride with all haste to Cadence Hollow. If the mages are unwilling to help, then pay them to send word to Alcatham’s capital. I cannot imagine the king wants a magical, mind-possessing plague to run about unchecked. Good or bad, they’ll certainly do something about it, and hopefully it will work to our advantage. Now then, with that settled, it has been officially decided that I am staying in Briarwillow to investigate the source of the evil magic.”
Thistle struggled against the ground, his armor rattling as he worked in vain to pull himself free. After a few moments, he tilted his head skyward and called out to the heavens with a raised voice.
“Ahem. I said, I AM STAYING IN BRIARWILLOW!”
A soft popping sound, like a leg pulling free of mud, filled their ears, and Thistle’s right arm rose from the ground. He tried the other limbs and found them slightly more mobile, yet undeniably still stuck to the road.
“A dozen gods in the pantheon, and I had to worship the one who enjoys being glib.”
* * *
By the time the horses were unstabled and loaded up with supplies, Thistle had regained full movement of all his limbs and pulled himself free from the road’s grasp. Despite the returned mobility, he was under no illusions about what would happen if he tried to mount one of their steeds and ride out of town. This was one of the obligations that came with wielding the power of a god, and was exactly why he’d tried to turn Grumble down in the first place. There was no use standing around complaining, though; Thistle preferred to spend his mental energy attempting to find some method for escaping the predicament.
As he watched Gabrielle and Grumph ride quickly out of sight, Thistle reviewed the facts as he knew them. They were in a town that had unearthed a skull that killed any who touched it and had cursed the whole town with a sickness. That same skull had vanished from a locked chest that was under constant guard. A priest of Kalzidar came to town some time later and tricked the townspeople into performing unknown rituals, which transformed their death-like sickness into a maddening fever. Then the screaming came three days later, and in only a few moments, the entire town had emptied itself out. It was a
cruel, strange set of affairs to fall upon the town, but something else bothered Thistle as he mulled over all that he knew.
It didn’t actually make sense. Not from the priest’s point of view, anyway. If he wanted the skull, then presumably he’d either stolen it or found who had. If he wanted to sow death, the plague had already done that for him. Changing the form of the sickness had no redeeming value, save that it made for a temporarily bustling town. Kalzidar was indeed wicked; however, nothing in the myths made him seem like one to dole out pointless commands. The priest’s actions seemed to have added no deaths, gained nothing not already easy to take, and provided no new opportunities. Thistle knew this couldn’t be the case, which meant there were simply pieces of the puzzle that he’d yet to see. He’d have to catch a glimpse if he hoped to understand just what was going on, and unfortunately, there was only one place that came to mind for where he might get that chance.
“Copper for your thoughts.” Eric walked over, wiping small beads of sweat from his brow. Loading the horses had been a simple but cumbersome task, at least for someone with his lithe frame.
“You’re better off keeping your money,” Thistle advised. “There’s nothing pleasant in what’s swirling about in my head.”
“Then I’ll share mine with you,” Eric replied. “As I see it, we have at least three days, potentially six or more, to kill before Grumph and Gabrielle will return with help. The first of those should be spent rounding up food and other supplies that will spoil, and fortifying one of these places so that we can safely spend our nights there. I noticed a few with potential during the search last night, so we’ve got a nice head start there. Altogether, that will take us one, perhaps two days to complete, which means we should begin to consider what to do with the rest of our time in Briarwillow.”
The sound of clacking armor filled the air as Timuscor began traipsing across the road. Unlike Eric, he wore no sheen of sweat from the recent labor. Beneath the heavy plates were thick, powerful muscles that nearly rivaled Grumph in terms of pure strength. Timuscor was physically built for knighthood, almost as if he’d been designed by the gods specifically to fulfill that role. It was a happy coincidence that Thistle and Eric had both noticed, but made no remarks on. The implications were more than either wanted to thoroughly discuss.
