Siege Tactics (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 4)

by Drew Hayes

  Slowly, Timuscor plucked the fruit from Kieran’s left hand. It was firm, yet yielded with only a slight amount of pressure, releasing a trickle of juice that was pure bliss upon the nose. He could only imagine how delicious a bite would be. At the very thought of it, Timuscor’s mouth flooded with saliva. For a moment, he nearly leaned in and tore a piece off with his teeth. His neck even inclined itself closer before he stopped, handing the fruit back over to Kieran.

  “Thank you. For the answers, as well as the offer. But this is not for me. Not yet. Tempting as it is, I don’t think I’m quite done aging or growing. The truth is, I have long dreamed of becoming a paladin, even in my past life. Thus far, I’ve had no luck in finding a god who will accept someone who doesn’t worship them, but I won’t give up. And if there is a path toward paladinhood for me, I do not think I will find it in a town as peaceful as this one. While it might be nothing more than a hopeless dream, it’s the only thing I have that truly unites my lives, and I’m not ready to set it aside.”

  “Good answer.” Kieran tucked both of the fruits into a pouch at his side, which seemed to lay empty even after the bulky food had been stuffed in. “The offer was sincere, don’t get me wrong, but I respect that you aren’t ready to take it. Little as I can recall about my time before, I still remember that fire in my gut… driving me forward, making me want to be better. Don’t let go of that easily, Timuscor. You’ve no idea how hard it can be to rekindle.”

  He took Timuscor in, looking the man over with a fresh gaze. “You know, this world is not static. Things are always changing. There are legends that, long ago, paladins weren’t gifted their power from the gods directly. They were mere mortals who learned to channel it themselves. With nothing more than an oath of devotion and a setting of their will, anyone could be a paladin. Now, obviously, that’s not been the case for quite a while, but the point is that nothing is set forever. There very well might be new ways to gain that title, and people like you are the ones who will discover it. Just some encouragement to keep in mind, when things get tough.”

  Together, they headed back down the hill, leaving behind the tree with the immortal fruit, standing unprotected on a hill. The mere fact that the town possessed such flora, let alone that they casually left it out in the open, was a living testament to their collective power. While Timuscor didn’t want a bite of that particular fruit just yet, there were other things he was hoping to take away from his time in Notch. Kieran’s tidbit about paladin lore made the next step obvious: he should start with any knowledge that might be useful.

  “I have another question, one that doesn’t pertain to your past,” Timuscor ventured once they’d reached the bottom of the hill.

  “Not going to make promises that I’ll answer, but you’re free to ask,” Kieran replied.

  A fair response, if not as certain as Timuscor might have liked. “A moment ago, you mentioned being able to channel mana through your body. Does that mean you’re some kind of mage, or is there an element to melee fighting that involves learning magic?”

  For the first time that day, Kieran pulled up short, surprise evident on his face. “You’re joking, right? I watched you fight the other day, and while your party has a long way to grow, none of you are complete amateurs. Someone must have taught you about mana by now.”

  Timuscor nodded. “Grumph had it explained to him when he received training at the Mage’s Guild, and he relayed the information to us. Mana is the magic that flows through all things, which mages can hold within themselves and release in the form of spells. Thus, why I assumed you must also have casting abilities when you mentioned mana.”

  The stare that met Timuscor’s explanation was long and pointed, until finally, Kieran let out a long, steady sigh. “And this is what the others know of mana, as well?”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, but I would presume so, yes. We tend to share our information equally.”

  “When we get back to the inn, gather your party,” Kieran instructed. “I’m not going to train you—none of us have the desire to see our techniques in the hands of those we don’t know or trust—but at the very least, you need a baseline education. What you do with it from there is up to you.”

  15.

  The band of raiders slowed as their tracker, Pavtu, held up a hand, signaling that it was time to be patient. Living on the plains of Urthos was a hard life for many, especially those who had been cast from their tribes, but there were rewards for such difficulties. There was always a merchant thinking to save some coin and take a gamble, trying to sneak through the lands without proper protection. Even those that hired adventurers often spared too much coin, employing guards who did little more than add their equipment to the haul. Given the number of hoofprints and the depth of the cart tracks, the band appeared to be on the trail of a few riders with substantial cargo.

  Elnif, a half-orc warrior who rode near yet not quite at the front of the band, sniffed the air. Something was off. The scents the wind was bringing back to him were strangely tinged. The others were excited; some were already chatting about how they would spend their share of the take. Such words were pointless. The gold would go into food, drink, and entertainment, as it always did. If they were the kind of people who could put their coin to more productive uses, they wouldn’t have ended up as raiders in the first place.

  A sharp whistle came from Pavtu’s mouth as he rose from the ground and pointed east. As a half-elf, he was the band’s most talented tracker, yet Elnif felt a needle of doubt pierce his mind. They were already far to the east; another half-day’s ride would bring them to a forest near the edge of the plains. While it was true that some riders took that route specifically to avoid thieves such as this very crew, going near that forest set Elnif’s nerves on edge. He didn’t trust the trees. Life on the plains had made him prefer enemies he could see coming from far away. In the forest, a sudden turn could bring one face-to-face with looming death. Beyond that, there was just something about the border that made him uneasy, as though danger loomed behind every blade of grass.

  The others didn’t share Elnif’s concern. Letting out whoops and hollers, they spurred their horses to follow Pavtu, already back on his own slender mount and heading east. Elnif rode along with the group, his eyes lingering on the tracks that Pavtu had just finished surveying.

  Perhaps it was too easy; that was what made it feel off. They’d stumbled upon this trail without trying and had barely needed to ride for more than an hour to find fresh tracks. Was it possible that merchants with such a large haul were cutting across the plains, hiding their path so poorly? Certainly. But Elnif didn’t trust how simply this was all coming together. He was not a rider of the front, however. He had not yet earned that honor, so his voice was one from the middle. Those in front were drunk on visions of fat purses and easy pickings; they would hear of no dissent towards such a tempting target.

  The most Elnif could do for now was to keep his eyes open and his ears alert. If this was a trap, then it would have to be sprung soon. No matter how tempting the prey might be, his band wouldn’t wander far from the plains: too many tales of kingdoms laying traps along their borders, trying to coax raiders out of their native lands, where they held the advantage. They might, at worst, press slightly into the forest, although Elnif still hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Each time Elnif looked upon those woods at the eastern border, his flesh would prickle, as if it knew there was something deadly between the trees, always lurking just out of sight. Perhaps it was a silly fear, but he had no desire to find out if those instincts were right.

  * * *

  There was some shuffling between chairs as everyone crowded into the small room in the rear of Brock’s tavern. Technically, it was probably some sort of office—although, from the chaotic appearance, it was hard to imagine much work ever got done inside. Grumph finished hauling in the last seat from the main room, setting it down in the rear, next to Gabrielle’s. Everyone sat, mostly in a
line, although Thistle was slightly ahead of the others to make sure he had a clear line of sight.

  In the front of the office stood Jolia, who had conjured some sort of glowing board of light behind her. Once everyone was settled, she tapped her staff to the ground, eliciting a sonorous thump. Nobody was sure whether it was magic or showmanship, but regardless, the gesture succeeded in capturing the room’s full attention.

  “It has been brought to our attention that all of you, despite being established adventurers, seem to be lacking on the fundamentals of how our abilities work. Kieran wants me to start from the very beginning, so we’re going to start with one of the most basic questions I can ask. Let’s begin with Gabrielle, for simplicity’s sake. Aside from your condition and the magical axe, are you able to tell me how you wield mana?”

  The question earned Jolia a confused stare from Gabrielle, who looked around to her friends briefly before answering. “I... don’t. Maybe as an undead, sure, but I can’t cast, so I don’t use mana as a barbarian.”

  Jolia stared right back at Gabrielle, almost as if she wasn’t sure she could believe the answer. “What about you, Eric? Any uses for mana in your role?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, though that clearly isn’t the answer you’re looking for.”

  “Smart man. Grumph and Timuscor we can skip—I already know their answers—so how about you, Thistle? As the most learned member of this party, I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me something different.”

  Thistle squirmed slightly in his seat; this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself up against a question and in lack of a reply, but he’d never enjoyed the sensation. “My power comes from Grumble, yet there are limits to what I can do with it. Perhaps that is because mana plays some role in turning his will into the paladin gifts I wield?”

  “I didn’t ask what you could conjecture from the context. I asked what you knew.” Jolia tapped her staff again, this time as a nervous habit rather than as a move to demand their attention. “And, as it turns out, Kieran was correct. We do have to start at nearly the beginning. So let’s begin with the one part of this you all seem to understand: mages.”

  Behind Jolia, a roughly human-shaped figure appeared on the board of light. Next, came a rudimentary stream that flowed through the figure, then out again, a small circle inside the form filling up bit by bit. “Magic is the energy that flows throughout our world, through everything, living and inanimate. When it’s collected within a body, we refer to it as mana. Magic is infinite, but one can only wield so much mana, hence the distinction. Now, mages collect that mana into a pool within themselves; the more they practice, the deeper their pool grows. That mana is what they use to cast spells, shaping it with words and gestures to create tangible effects in the world. Everyone with me so far?”

  At last, she received nods instead of uncertain eyes staring back. That was more or less the same explanation Grumph had gotten from Dejy, his teacher, which he’d later shared with the party.

  “Good. Now, let’s take Gabrielle, who fights using barbarian techniques. You don’t seem to think she uses mana, so I’ll ask it a different way. When a barbarian’s fury takes over, why are they stronger? Why is it harder to put them down?”

  “People hit harder when they’re mad,” Gabrielle tossed out, even if she didn’t sound especially certain. It was a question she’d clearly never asked herself. As much as they’d learned about their world since leaving Maplebark, there were still parts they hadn’t thought to question.

  “That much harder? And even if it was pure anger, why would barbarians be the only ones to see such a significant difference? Everyone gets angry, yet they don’t become substantially more powerful in the process.”

  Another wave of the staff, and the drawing on Jolia’s board changed. Now, instead of the stream flowing into the figure and filling up a circle, the energy spread across the whole body like an invading species.

  “The correct answer is that you, Gabrielle, have also been using mana when you fight. Unlike Grumph, you don’t collect it. Instead, you tap right into the source, flooding your body with mana to augment your physical abilities. Doing this produces a more immediate and tangible effect than pooling it the way mages do, but it’s also much harder on the body. That’s why barbarians have to be fit, to withstand that kind of energy flow, as well as why you find yourself significantly drained once the fury fades.”

  The room sat in silence for several seconds, absorbing this new information, before Timuscor’s curiosity shattered it. “There’s more than one way to use mana?”

  “There are countless ways to use mana,” Jolia corrected. “On top of that, there are different kinds of magic within the mana that can be drawn out. What we think of as roles in a party—barbarian, mage, paladin, rogue—these are all just the most commonly known methods for wielding mana. Barbarians like Gabrielle flood themselves with it in a large burst, whereas knights and rogues, like yourself and Eric, learn to constantly channel small amounts. Paladins and priests are more unique, in that the gods give them the power to filter out the divine magic from the flow and store it in their bodies, similar to what a mage does. Priests wield that magic purely, while paladins use a style that mixes casting with physical power. Using mana is why you can grow so much stronger than what your simple, pure muscles would permit, move more silently than should ever be possible, see farther than normal eyes are capable of, and do things beyond the abilities of most beings. Channeling mana is a skill you rely on as much as swordsmanship, if not more.”

  Thistle was no longer squirming. In fact, he looked rather enthralled by the lesson, even as he raised his voice and spoke up. “What you’re saying makes sense, but it’s strange that, if this is such a universal concept, I’ve never heard of it before. I’ve traveled with adventurers, and we all just spent time around hundreds of them in Alcatham, yet never once has this subject matter been discussed.”

  “It’s something only echoes tend to talk about,” Jolia explained. “Adventurers still living the life think no more about it than you would contemplate the impulses going from your brain to your leg. As for everyone else... they can use mana as well, often instinctually, but I’ve never been certain if they understood their relationship to it. To be clear, my surprise comes from the fact that Timuscor didn’t know any of this. I never expected the rest of you to have an inkling. Perhaps being freed so early in his adventuring career means he hadn’t yet learned about the uses of mana.”

  “And where did you learn them?” Thistle was pressing now; everyone who knew him recognized the slight lean in his hunched form. “I have read and studied as much as I could at every opportunity, yet this is still the first I’ve ever heard of such theories. Surely a teacher would have written them down at some point.”

  Rather than sputter out a quick reply, Jolia paused. She contemplated the question for nearly a full minute, drumming her fingers on her staff as she pondered. Finally, her hand grew still as she met Thistle’s eyes once more. “I don’t know. The knowledge feels inherent, as if it’s always been there, much like my talent with magic. Perhaps the reason only echoes talk about it is that we’re the only ones who can. Assuming the knowledge came from whatever force compelled us during our adventures, and since we largely only converse with one another, we never noticed that the information hadn’t spread. Again, to me, this all seems rudimentary. I would no more think to talk with someone about it than I would about whether or not they understood how to turn their head. Part of being an echo means recognizing the blind spots that linger when we find them. This appears to be one such example.”

  “I think I get it,” Eric ventured. “Adventurers know this stuff, after a certain point, but they don’t talk about it for the same reason I don’t ask Grumph how he walks on two legs without falling over. It’s what we all do, so the question makes no sense. Even former adventurers, like the people here, think of it as common, default knowledge. Here’s my big question, though: how have we four, who we
ren’t originally adventurers at all, been able to use it like we have been?”

  “How does a toddler figure out the trick to standing?” Jolia shot back. “Instinct. Probably born from a high-stakes situation in which you were all in danger, if I were to make a guess. Instinct is how many non-adventurers manage to accrue power and skills of their own. But there’s a difference between a standing toddler and a person who can sprint for miles at a time, and that’s the gap between instinct and understanding.”

  There was a rough noise from Grumph’s throat as he cleared it, not as clean or authoritative as Jolia’s slam of her staff, yet equally demanding of attention. “Then we need to learn. Anything you are willing to teach. Please.”

  His friends soon nodded their agreement. Grumph was right. While it was interesting to wonder about where this information originated, that was less important than the information itself. This might very well be vital to their training; especially if this was something most adventurers knew by default. They needed every scrap of it they could handle.

  “Fear not. I promised Kieran I would give you all a basic understanding of the concepts, and I intend to keep my word.” Jolia paused, licking her lips and glancing toward the door. “You’ll want to have Brock bring in some drinks. This might be a more ambitious project than I expected.”

  * * *

  Past the borders of Notch, just outside the forest, the priestess worked tirelessly. The first strike was important. It would show her how they reacted to invasion. Of course, she could hardly risk herself to garner such information. That was the role of minions, those meant to be sacrificed for those of more value. Had she possessed a touch more introspection, she might have paused to wonder what that philosophy would mean for her when her task was finished. But Kalzidar had chosen her for more than her peculiar talent, even if she was incapable of seeing that particular truth.