by Drew Hayes
Sadly, minions rarely served those who followed Kalzidar, given the mortality rate of such jobs. That was fine; she had other ideas, anyway. An unwitting minion was better, as it was one who couldn’t betray her, even if they wanted to. And soon, she would have an entire band of minions charging in, testing Notch’s defenses while leading them down false paths of whatever danger they faced.
The hardest part was hiding Kalzidar’s presence. If they knew it was him, then they might dig in the right tomes, check the stars, and realize what was coming. That wouldn’t do, not until the time was right. Instead, she was scattering trinkets, some emblazoned with the symbols of other gods, across the fake battlefield. Most were useless tidbits, but a few held actual power. Not Kalzidar’s power, obviously, but power still. Though collecting these had felt pointless at times, she could now see the wisdom of her god.
When the nearby band of raiders followed the trail she’d laid out here, they would find what appeared to be the remains of a fight, along with enough gold and goods to make them wonder what the survivors had carried off. With a trail leading into the woods and several new magical tools, they should be able to at least reach Notch. There, they would be slaughtered; mere raiders could offer no fight against the power in that town. But their deaths would show the priestess much, and in dying, they would achieve the highest of honors: being of use to Kalzidar.
The time was drawing near; preparations had to be perfectly in place. Once the great night arrived, there would be limited time to work. Her god had laid a flawless plan. The only potential error might be in whom he’d chosen to carry out the tasks. She would not allow herself to be his sole mistake; she would prove that this was her right, her destiny. When it was over, and the ashes fell upon the world like new snow, she would lie at Kalzidar’s feet and know a small part of it was thanks to her.
Getting to that future meant working hard in the present, so she continued to sculpt her fake battlefield. The raiders would be along sometime in the morning, and after that, things were going to get quite interesting in the town of Notch.
16.
Another night, another dream, and still no Grumble. Thistle didn’t bother trying to hold on as hard this time; he’d rather get the full night of rest if talking with Grumble was off the table. At first, he was steady on two feet, standing once more next to Grumph’s burned-down bar, but with every second, the howling in his ears increased, until even staying upright was a struggle. Not long after that, he was sent flying through the air. It was impossible to tell if he woke up right away, or if he slipped into a dreamless sleep for a time. Regardless, Thistle awoke feeling more refreshed than the day prior.
So far, he’d yet to find a way to raise the issue with Jolia. Yesterday had been consumed with plowing through document after document while she raced around her enormous library, bringing Thistle more to try to read. It wasn’t an environment highly conducive to discussion, and Thistle wanted to play this carefully. Forcing it or rushing in would not make getting his answers any easier. Once his daily work had concluded, they’d gone right into the mana lesson, essentially eliminating any opportunity he might have had to speak with Jolia in private.
On that topic, Thistle held no regrets. Even though the discussion had worn into the night, delving deeper into the theory of wielding mana than any of them had been prepared for, the entire group had come out richer for the knowledge. Not even their experienced gnome paladin had been aware of all the different techniques and applications for the magical energy that flowed through them. Understanding those abilities was the first step to increasing them; although, how they would do that part was still uncertain. Jolia had held firm on educating them only in the theories of mana, not in how to train those techniques. Obviously, they were gaining experience in battle, but there had to be more they could do. Just as everyone trained with their weapons in between fights, they needed to begin training their mana use. However, that matter wasn’t going away anytime soon, so today, Thistle’s focus would be on figuring out why he couldn’t talk to Grumble.
That wasn’t technically a pressing issue: they were planning to leave tomorrow, after which Thistle and Grumble could theoretically gab to the god’s content. But something in his gut kept telling Thistle that he was here for a reason, and leaving without figuring out what it was would lead to problems further down the road. For whatever else he could say of Grumble, the god of the minions never worked without a purpose. If it was truly Grumble who had called them here, then Thistle believed there was a reason. The only question was whether or not he would find it before their time ran out.
Breakfast was a plain affair, everyone largely lost in thought as they shoveled down some food. Grumph was the least bothered, as last night’s revelations had minimal impact on him. While mages did, of course, use mana, Grumph had already known that and was actively training daily to be better at it. He didn’t have to contemplate new training methods or techniques to incorporate this fresh information. That was a task left to everyone else. The rest had far-off looks in their eyes; Thistle could all but see the ideas dancing through their minds, considered and dismissed one after the other.
The eating was nearly done when the tavern door swung open to reveal Kieran, Jolia, and Simone. Their arrival was so unexpected that even Brock raised an eyebrow before nodding toward the taps to see if they wanted a drink. Jolia accepted, while Simone and Kieran waved off the temptation.
“In what must be the coincidence to end all coincidences, it seems we’ve got more visitors who have also stumbled across our hidden path this morning, just a few days after you lot did the same.” Kieran wasn’t accusing them, not exactly, but the danger in his eyes made the suspicion clear. “For the moment, we’ve shifted the forest so they’re wandering in an endless loop. What comes next depends on you all: do you know any bands of raiders who might have followed you here, or are we expected to believe this is a real coincidence?”
“Neither, in all likelihood,” Thistle replied. Without realizing it, some part of him had been waiting for this sort of situation. It was never as simple as relaxing in a town for a few days. There was always more, always trouble. At least with enemies to look toward, he could stop worrying about what direction they’d appear from. “Perhaps it was the power of the Bridge that brought us here, but with each passing day, I suspect the divine more and more. And when a god is in play, there’s usually at least one other, often working toward opposite goals. It is entirely possible that Grumble brought us here to be of aid to you, and that these raiders are the work of an enemy.”
Kieran’s eyes all but drilled into Thistle, searching the gnome for any signs of falsehood before eventually looking away. “I believe you believe that, and I don’t think you lot had anything to do with these invaders, but try to keep some perspective. These idiots are no more than a trifle to us; we’ll slay them in the forest before they ever so much as see one of Notch’s inner roads.”
It was a strong declaration that might have carried a touch more weight if Jolia hadn’t chosen right that moment to let out a short yelp. In her defense, the burst of sparks firing out of her staff would have caught anyone off guard, especially when occurring that close to her hand. Whatever the reason, her noise and the subsequent concern that crossed her face stole everyone’s attention, including Kieran’s.
“What is it?”
“The raiders just broke out of the loop,” Jolia explained, closing her eyes and mumbling softly. “I don’t understand. None of them appeared especially strong. The only way is maybe... oh, shit.” Her eyes snapped back open, now alight with a tad bit of worry, and perhaps some excitement, as well. “They’ve got powerful magical items with them. Some divine, some arcane. Wow. Did they murder a wizard shop owner or something? Sorry, now that I’m sensing the items, it’s a little harder to focus. They brought along quite the arsenal, but the good news is that I think most of the tools they’ve got are too strong for them to use properly.”
Timuscor lift
ed a hand, and out of instinct or consideration, Kieran pointed at him to speak. “I’m sorry, did you say they can’t use the items, because the items are too strong? Unless you mean like how a weapon can be too heavy, I don’t understand how that’s possible.”
“Enchanted items use mana, just like people. The simple ones are self-contained, so anyone from a farmer to an archmage can wield them and get the same results. When you get into more potent items, the magic grows in complexity. In many cases, powerful items will use or draw on the wielder’s own mana. Sometimes for fuel, sometimes for direction; regardless, it means that if the owner lacks the necessary level of mana or skill to control it, the effects will usually be lessened. Occasionally, depending on the item and who made it, lack of mana means the effects of whatever they use will run wild.” Simone wasn’t the most talkative of the bunch, but when she paused to explain things, it was hard not to hang on her every word.
There was a heavy sigh from Kieran as he drew the blade from the sheath on his hip. “What that means is that these idiots are running around our woods with the equivalent of magical powder kegs waiting to go off, at least a few which they can apparently use. We can’t assume they won’t eventually control more of them. Jolia, route them down the trader road, the one that runs directly into the center of town without passing any of the farms.”
“I’m familiar with it, thank you.” Even as she snipped at Kieran, Jolia was already casting, words tumbling out of her mouth so quickly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began, let alone what she was actually saying.
“Sorry. I just don’t like this much activity in such a short time. Especially now that we’ve got people showing up wielding items they’re obviously not meant to have. Makes me anxious.” Kieran certainly didn’t look anxious as he stalked about the tavern. If anything, he was growing more graceful with every step, like he was getting back into the groove of combat.
There was a thud as Timuscor rose from his chair. Even without his armor, he was still a man heavy with muscle from a lifetime of training. “How can we help? I know we can’t hold a candle to any of you in combat, but maybe there are some traps to lay, or prep work to do?”
“Timuscor is quite right. Weak or not, you’re still our hosts, and we won’t stand idly by while you get attacked.” Occasionally, when he was deeply honest with himself, Thistle couldn’t help but wonder if Timuscor wouldn’t be a better fit for the role of paladin. While it was true that Thistle had already been contemplating how to offer aid, Timuscor had still beaten him to it. Because Timuscor didn’t bother with wonder or contemplation. He just acted, whether it was jumping out of a chair, or in front of a mini-ballista intended for another party member. If the man was running on pure instinct, they were good instincts indeed. Paladin instincts. The kind Thistle had never felt like he possessed.
Kieran was already shaking his head. “While the offer is appreciated, I can’t put our guests in danger.”
“Danger, no, but maybe they can be useful.” It was the first time Brock had spoken since their arrival, and he did so while dropping off an ale with Jolia. “Something is off with this. A band of raiders magically geared to the teeth happens to stumble on our town and bust through one of Jolia’s spells? They can’t win, we all know that, so let’s take a step back and assume someone else knows that, too. If so, then what’s the point of this invasion? Not victory, not supplies, certainly not equipment. That leaves information.”
All of the adventurers’ eyes were on Brock as he returned to his position behind the bar and went back to tending breakfast. It was easy to forget that though he was burly and simple-looking, Brock was a warrior with skills honed enough to let him survive his quests and make it to this town. Dumb brutes didn’t often live that long on their own; they needed a measure of battle-minded skill to survive. Some paired with smarter people in their party; Brock had evidently cultivated the talent within himself.
“He’s right,” Kieran said. “This is probably an opening move, a gambit to see how we’ll respond. They want to understand our defenses in order to pierce through them.”
“Let them try. They could spend a hundred years trying to invade, and we could repel them a different way each and every time.” Simone stood a tad straighter as she spoke, her eyes shining with pride.
Sensing his opportunity, Thistle hopped out of his own chair, albeit with less showmanship than Timuscor. “Forgive me if this is rude. I know I am not nearly as experienced as all of you, but weak as I am, I have learned that there are always stronger enemies out there. There may be impossibly few who could stand against this town, but that still leaves some. The gods, if nothing else. Please, I implore you, allow us to properly thank you for all your information and hospitality. Return our armor and weapons so that we may serve as decoys. Give this enemy no more information about Notch than absolutely necessary.”
Kieran’s gaze grew skeptical. “You think you five can handle an entire band of raiders on your own?”
“Possibly, depending on their respective strength, although it’s unlikely, given the equipment you’ve described them having.” Thistle smiled, a casual thing that only betrayed some of the mischievousness in his mind. “But we don’t actually need to defeat them; we merely have to look as though we have. If you can buy us a little time, I think we can put something together.”
With one mighty swig, Jolia polished off her ale and motioned to Brock for another. “Let’s hear your plan. And don’t worry about time. I’ll keep our invaders at bay for as long as is needed. Or, if luck is truly against them, they’ll run into Agramor. But, for planning purposes, let’s assume that won’t happen.”
“Why not?” Eric asked.
It was Simone who answered, a small ripple of fear in her eyes. “Because if they run into Agramor, there won’t be so much as bones left when she’s done with them.”
* * *
Elnif liked his new sword. Despite being larger than his old one, it felt lighter, and with every test swing, Elnif was sure the blade moved faster than it should, leaving extra-deep gouges in the trees he sliced as they rode. This he did partly to get familiar with this weapon, partly to leave a trail for them to find their way back, if needed. As a rider of the middle, Elnif would never have received such a prize from the looting under normal circumstances; weapons like these were usually scooped up by those of the front. Yet this morning, they had stumbled onto such a wondrous bounty of items that after all of the front-riders had chosen, there were still options like this blade available for Elnif. Even those who rode in the rear had scooped up some trinkets, but the best gear by far had gone to the front-riders. Some held weapons that were quite literally glowing or crackling with power. Others had taken rings and amulets of considerable worth. Pavtu, still leading the way, was wearing a silver helm encrusted with jewels.
Earlier, one of those jewels had glowed briefly, just before they found a new route to follow. Tracking their prey in these woods was difficult. There were virtually no tracks to follow, and the cart had been left behind. There was no dissuading the others from pursuit, unfortunately. Seeing what the merchants had been forced to leave behind triggered the greed in almost every raider, their minds filling with visions of items so expensive that one could finance a castle. None of them stopped to wonder why a caravan with such incredible cargo would skimp on security. Even if it were all stolen, the thieves would have had to be strong enough to steal it in the first place. This wasn’t right; Elnif could all but smell it in the air. As a middle-rider, the most he could do was keep his wits about him. When danger appeared, they had to be ready for it.
They rode on for almost an hour, the shifting of the sun and Pavtu’s confidence the only things assuring them that progress had been made. Then, without warning, the trees suddenly broke to reveal a well-maintained road. For an instant, Elnif panicked, fearing they’d gone too far and entered another kingdom’s territory. But that was impossible. Assuming they’d accidentally left the plain
s, they were still days from the nearest city. Whatever they’d just stumbled onto, it wasn’t on any map. Given the condition of the stones in their path, this wasn’t some abandoned ruin, either. Had someone hidden a road through the forest? And if so, what else were they capable of concealing?
Sadly, the others didn’t share his concern. Once the road came into view, their pace picked up. In other circumstances, there would have been yells of excitement and whoops of anticipation; however, they were not new to this life. Celebration came after victory, not before, and right now, maintaining the element of surprise gave them a better chance at making it to that point.
Keeping a tight grip on his new sword, Elnif spurred his horse onward to keep up with the others. The road before them was flat and simple, with trees lining either side. While not quite as thick as the forest, the foliage was plentiful enough to discourage them from leaving the stone path. As they went on, hills on either side began to rise and fall, giving texture to the topography. After roughly half an hour of quick but careful riding, they began to ascend a hill. When they cleared the apex, a new sight lay before them. There was a village not much farther ahead, albeit not much of one: a few buildings, more roads leading out of town, and what looked like a small number of people milling about. The knot of fear in Elnif’s stomach began to loosen.
Maybe this was just a group of sloppy merchants, after all. They’d been ambushed, raced into the woods, and come upon this hidden settlement. The mere fact that such a place existed was in itself concerning, but given the natural defenses of the forest, such a thing was possible. Pavtu let out a short whistle to signal that they should ready themselves. Now that they’d crested the hill, some of the riders were already in view of the town. From this point on, they would be visible, and that meant every second wasted gave their enemy a chance to prepare. They couldn’t permit that, not if they wanted to keep the advantage of surprise.
