by Drew Hayes
Letting out another whistle, Pavtu pointed toward the town. As experienced raiders, they needed no more than that. Moving as one, they surged forward, barreling toward the town with weapons at the ready.
17.
When the herd of raiders rose over the top of the southern hill, Gabrielle’s grip on her axe tightened involuntarily. She’d been expecting a crew roughly the same size as the bandit gang she fought with Grumph back on their way to Cadence Hollow. Instead, she was staring at what had to be thirty enemies, possibly closer to forty. Worse, most of them were holding items that shone with power, weapons that one could tell were enchanted, even from a distance. Some were too large to have been held effectively, yet were somehow still being wielded. Others merely lacked the telltale signs of wear-and-tear that mundane weapons slowly accumulated. A horde of experienced warriors at least thirty strong, armed to the teeth with magical gear, and charging in their direction. Confident as Gabrielle was in her own skill, this was a fight she knew they couldn’t have won on their own.
Perhaps someday, with more experience and better equipment, but not today. Today, they would be mowed down right in the street where they stood, barely more than a bump in the road to a force that size. Yet even as they raced down the hill, building momentum and getting ever closer to town, Gabrielle held her position. She had been through so many trials and lessons since leaving Maplebark, but one of the first things she’d learned was that when Thistle had a plan, it was usually their best shot at survival.
At least she was back in her armor. The blood-red hide taken from a demon they’d helped kill in their early days felt almost like a second skin, she’d worn it so frequently. Timuscor shone in the early sun, his gleaming armor back in its proper place. Mr. Peppers was armored once again as well, stamping his hooves on the stone in what appeared to be anticipation. Grumph stood nearby, mighty staff clutched tightly in his grip, ready to give someone either a magical spell or a stab with the demon-bone blade on top. Eric was hiding, because no rogue worth their salt stood out in the open when there were places to spring out of. Thistle looked much the same, since he’d kept his armor all along; only the return of his sheaths and daggers marked the change in their situation.
Four adventurers, with a fifth hiding in the shadows, and an armored boar. Not exactly the force Gabrielle would have picked to go up against a threat like this one. Hopefully, it would lure the raiders into a false sense of security. Her party had to seem like an easily crushable force, which wasn’t much of a stretch in this scenario. They wanted the raiders sure of themselves, cocky to the point where they might play with or taunt their food.
As Thistle had put it: “Some secrets an enemy will take to the grave in defeat, but will shout from the mountaintops at the point of victory.” It was a sound idea, assuming the raiders stopped long enough to bother with taunts. It was possible they would try to roll right on through Gabrielle and the others. If that happened, her group would abandon the pretense and get clear while Notch’s citizens handled the threat. That wouldn’t be a victory, though. Winning this fight meant finding out everything these raiders knew, and hopefully uncovering a clue as to what was going on.
Just when Gabrielle was debating whether it was time to get clear lest they be trampled, the raiders slowed their pace. One in the front, a half-elf wearing a silver helm decorated in jewels, trotted out ahead of the group. He rode forward until he was a mere forty feet away, then came to a halt. When he spoke, it was directly to Timuscor, as though there was no question who would be in charge of a group like this.
“Good morning. My name is Pavtu, and these dashing warriors behind me are my friends. You seem like a surly bunch, and while we’ve got no qualms spilling your blood, we’re in a cheerful mood this morning. Finding a stockpile of abandoned goodies has that effect on our spirits. In light of that, I’m going to make you an offer. Wherever you stashed the merchants and their cargo, kindly go fetch them. If they’ll turn over their gold and their goods, we’ll leave in peace. Otherwise, we’ll kill you all and sack the town until the locals turn over what we want. Either way, we’re getting the rest of this cargo. How much collateral damage happens in the process is up to you.”
It was a nice speech, appealing to their sense of reason rather than just attempting to cow them with fear. The problem was that Gabrielle had seen a little too much to swallow it entirely. Pavtu’s gang was nervous. This town wasn’t supposed to exist; they realized that, and as such this was unfamiliar terrain. For a group of plains raiders, that had to be uncomfortable, all the more so because they knew nothing about this place or how it had been hidden. They were stepping on someone else’s turf, and at least a few of them realized how dangerous that could be. That offer wasn’t about being in a good mood. It was about hoping to get clear before this all blew up in their faces. Pity Pavtu didn’t realize that had happened the minute they set foot off the plains.
“And if I tell you that no merchants have come through here in weeks, I presume you won’t believe me?” Thistle had stepped forward, raising his voice to be sure Pavtu and the others noticed him.
The effort paid off, as most eyes turned to the gnome, although only Pavtu bothered to respond. “Given that we found the remains of their cart and some of their cargo in front of the track leading into the woods, no, I’m afraid we won’t.” Pavtu tapped his helmet on the word “cargo” just in case they’d missed the implication.
“Aye, that does seem to paint me as a liar,” Thistle agreed. “But I’m afraid the truth is far worse. You see, Pavtu, there are no traveling merchants here at the moment. I suspect you were led to this place purposefully, sheep taken to the slaughter. This town is, as you must have deduced by now, magically protected. It was founded centuries ago and has wards the likes of which we can only dream. I won’t go into specifics, but I do hope you’ll believe me when I say that if you try to make war here, you will find only death—that of you, and your friends. Please, take that as the warning it is, rather than thinking it an empty threat. Flee, while you still have the ability to do so.”
Unlikely as it was, part of Gabrielle dared to hope that this time, their opponents might listen to reason. This didn’t have to end in fighting, in bloodshed, in more dead bodies laid out on the ground before her. Since leaving Maplebark, Gabrielle had killed more and more often. First, it was only demons, then bandits, then eventually any enemy that stood before her. She felt no guilt over these deeds—everyone she’d ever slain would have killed her instead—yet still, it would be nice to have one conflict end without adding more corpses to the world.
This was, sadly, not that fight.
After stroking his chin for several seconds, a malicious gleam entered Pavtu’s eye. “Perhaps you are telling the truth. I can certainly admit that the circumstances bringing us here do seem suspicious. In this same situation yesterday, I might have coached caution and recommended we retreat. Too bad for you, little gnome, this is not yesterday. We have collectively found enough magical equipment to successfully take on a troop of kingdom soldiers. It will take far more than warnings about old wards and four adventurers to scare us off.”
Pavtu didn’t bother waiting for Thistle to respond; he lifted his hand and let out a sharp whistle. Instantly, the raiders behind him surged forward. Thistle watched them come; Gabrielle was sure she caught a flicker of sadness cross his face before it set in determination. None of them wanted this day to end in killing, but the call wasn’t theirs to make. The raiders had decided their fate for themselves.
“Grumph. Now.”
At Thistle’s words, Grumph pulled a stoppered vial from his robes, shook it exactly three times, and hurled it into the middle of the raiders. One of them, a slim human with twitching eyes, actually managed to catch the vial midflight. “You trying to use some kind of magic po—?”
The man’s words were cut off as the vial, having been properly agitated, just like they’d been taught, exploded. The force wasn’t just enough to blow off the h
and that held the vial, although that was certainly part of it. No, this tore through the center of the formation, turning some of the raiders to pulp, throwing others from their horses, and generally morphing a tight-knit unit into a blundering mass of confusion. In its wake came an oozing bank of fog that quickly spread throughout the area.
Step one was breaking them up and knocking them off guard. Seeing as they had an excellent start on this, Gabrielle leapt forward, axe raised overhead as she felt the power in her pale arms. With a single swing, she tore through two of the nearest riders, sending their respective halves to the ground. Being undead had definitely upped her strength, no question about that, but the raiders were beginning to recover. Her next targets would probably put up something of a fight.
Good. If she had to kill, then at least this way it would feel like a fight, not a murder. And there would be plenty of killing left in their day.
* * *
The explosion was Eric’s signal. It meant that attempts at peace had failed, and the time for violence had arrived. Slinking out from his hiding place behind the corner of a building, his blade was already drawn. Chaos had invaded the battlefield. Grumph’s—or, more accurately, Jolia’s—potion broke the raiders’ ranks and put them on the defensive. With stretches of fog forming along the battlefield, it would be harder for them to regroup or coordinate, not to mention offering Eric useful places to hide. As they scrambled to get a grasp on what was happening, Eric slipped up to the raiders in the rear of the formation. Unlike those closer to the front, their equipment didn’t glow or make the nearby air ripple. Whatever hierarchy this group ran on, it was clear Eric wouldn’t be dealing with those at the top.
That worked well for him, since rogues were better at hitting and moving than engaging in long, protracted fights. Before anyone near him could realize he wasn’t one of the group, Eric stooped down near a thick man trying to free his large axe from its position under a now dead raider. With a quick slice, the man’s neck opened. He tumbled down on top of the other corpse and his axe. This was a fight to the death, but that didn’t mean Eric had to be cruel. Where he could manage, he would make the kills as painless as possible.
Sadly, the cluster of confusion didn’t last as long as he might have liked. These weren’t some new thieves out on their first job; it was a band of experienced raiders too collected to let one explosion completely throw them off. Already, they were reassembling in groups. The horses still standing were slapped on the rear and sent running; they were a liability with so many corpses and newly broken stones in the road. Besides, without knowing how many more vials were left, the raiders were smart enough to get their mounts out of harm’s way. That also meant they planned to dig in for a fight, unfortunately, since the horses would have been their escape plan if they wanted to flee.
Close to the front, Eric could see strange lights and energy—most likely some of the enemies deciding to test their new toys. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, slipping out softly through his teeth as he ran another raider through with his sword. This was the riskiest part of the plan. They could account for numbers, even take a guess at combat ability based on the raiders’ tactics and strategy, but those weapons were largely unknown elements. It was possible one could summon a thousand demons to fight at the wielder’s side, or just glow prettily for five minutes and then crumble to dust.
Since the initial vial had been caught and had failed to hurt the raiders near the front, those that remained were getting a chance to use those items. Eric hurried through his work, killing one more stumbling lackey before hustling to get closer to the front. In a fight this chaotic, his presence could very well be the difference between life and death for the others. Rogues might not be much on the frontline, but one could never underestimate the effectiveness of a sword through the back.
* * *
Eric hadn’t been the only one hiding in town. Concealed by a door, Kieran stood near the front of the tavern. Above him was Jolia on the rooftop, magically hidden under an array of spells to avoid detection. Simone was a few buildings over, and Brock was guarding the road that led into Notch. Since the lumbering bartender couldn’t fight without being seen, he’d been placed on sentry duty to protect the other citizens. As residents of Notch, they didn’t really need the help, but everyone slept eventually, and flukes could happen. They were indulging the adventurers, playing along with the plan so long as it worked. If it started to come apart, then Kieran and the others would drop all pretense to fight in earnest. Until then, they were stuck hiding.
From his vantage point, Kieran could see the explosion clearly. It rattled their attackers, but they quickly recovered. Several were already raising their weapons, and magical effects began flashing throughout the area. If the adventurers didn’t get moving soon, it would be a bloodbath. As it turned out, Kieran wasn’t the only one who caught the warning signs. From his position near the front, Thistle began barking out orders louder than one might have expected possible from a body that small.
“Grumph, conjure us some help! Gabrielle and Timuscor, run the flanks, picking off the stragglers. You’ve all fought with me enough to know what comes next.” A pair of daggers twirled in Thistle’s hands, one hurled through the air before the sentence was properly finished.
It slammed right into the chest of a raider wearing lesser gear who’d ended up near the front in the confusion. The target staggered back several steps before tumbling down. The dagger vanished at the sound of a whistle, reappearing in the sheath on Thistle’s side. While not an especially spectacular or tactically essential kill, it did have the effect of putting all nearby eyes directly onto Thistle.
With a cheerful grin, Thistle pulled another dagger, met the eyes of his enemies… and then broke into a dead sprint going the opposite direction.
18.
After looking at the situation earnestly, what the party had landed on doing was more subterfuge than strategy. Fortunately for them, Thistle was a paladin who understood that sometimes those two things could be one and the same. It had never really been their task to defeat the raiders—that would be a hard fight on even their best of days. Against enemies wielding powerful, enchanted weapons? This moved it from hard to impossible—or as impossible as anything could be in a world with gods and magic. On the other hand, the locals of Notch supposedly boasted unparalleled strength and should be able to easily win the day. The only issue there was that would likely give whoever had orchestrated this something they wanted, and as a rule, Thistle made it a point to never fulfill his enemies’ desires.
They had the means to win, yet doing so openly might cost them later down the line. In light of that, the answer became almost obvious: they had to rely on the guardians of Notch without letting on that Thistle and his party weren’t the ones doing the real damage. The exploding potion was first; something to stir up confusion. Confusion was essential for this plan, possibly more than any one member of their group. Landing his dagger-throw was also important, which was why Thistle had chosen the weakest target he could see. The raiders needed to believe him as a threat if they were going to buy what came next.
Without slowing down, Thistle burst through the door to the tavern, the nearest pursuer a mere thirty feet behind. They’d been caught by surprise, but a misshapen gnome in heavy armor wasn’t going to outrun many people, even with paladin strength coursing through his muscles. It was why Thistle had purposely positioned himself near the tavern—to ensure he had as short a sprint as possible. It didn’t matter if he beat them by a foot or a mile; none of the raiders were ever going to make it through that door.
No sooner had Thistle run inside than Kieran went to work. Hunkering down to roughly the right height, he cracked the tavern door open a fraction then held out his hand. Immediately, Thistle slapped one of his daggers into it. The gnome had made certain to twirl them in the open, ensuring that the raiders—and anyone else who might potentially be watching—got a good look. None of this would matter if they did
n’t sell the charade properly. With a swift throw, Kieran hurled the knife through the crack in the door. With the former assassin hidden by wood and shadows, no one without would see more than a flash of metal. Then there was a dagger directly in the head of Thistle’s closest pursuer, who collapsed in a heap without so much as a final whisper.
Already, another dagger was in Kieran’s hand and Thistle was calling for the other to return. Between a magic belt with two sheaths and four other daggers enchanted to return, they had a supply of throwing weapons that could be used indefinitely. Not enough of them to cut through the entire force from this position, but that wasn’t their job. Kieran would handle picking off the high-value targets the moment their attention wavered, while also defending his and Thistle’s position.
A new crackle of magic filled the air as Grumph finished waving his arms around and muttering random nonsense to “cast” his spell. In truth, the magic was Jolia’s, but with a spell like this, there was no way to trace the origin. The ground near Grumph shivered and rumbled as the next step of their plan kicked in. With a suppressed snicker, Kieran leaned back and whispered to Thistle.
“Looks like it’s time we brought our backup forces to bear.”
* * *
Grumph had no idea how long he needed to pantomime; he simply stopped when he felt the ground begin to quiver. Jolia had warned him about that telltale sign, along with what came next. Threatening as the raiders were in their own right, this was the actual moment Grumph had been dreading since the fight began. All around him, seeming to sprout from the very road under his feet, a half-dozen enormous bears burst forth with mighty roars. The dire bears were larger than normal bears, hulking monsters of such size and fury that to even be near one activated any sentient creature’s flight response. And Grumph was stuffed between six of the things. Remembering his role, Grumph pointed forward with his staff, making sure that all nearby raiders could see it. Obviously, this did nothing. Jolia was the one in control of the creatures, but appearances were essential today.
