by Drew Hayes
* * *
Mr. Peppers stood near the edge of the battlefield, watching three raiders work together to fend off one of the dire bears thundering through their ranks. He’d been cut off from Timuscor in the chaos, but there was little need to feel worry. Timuscor was strong; he could handle himself for a few minutes. What Mr. Peppers couldn’t turn from was the bears being sacrificed as fodder for their victory. They were unquestionably essential to winning a fight like this, yet they were also being slowly felled one by one. No backup. No aid to protect them.
The three raiders managed to cripple the bear, tearing a chunk from its back and leaving it limp on the ground, with not even the decency to kill it so it could fade. As they raced off to find another target, Mr. Peppers quietly trotted over. The bear let out a soft roar as he approached, but the noise died away as it spied the boar. Gently, Mr. Peppers pressed his snout to the bear’s nose, holding it there for several seconds. A soft, gentle glow rippled across the bear, partially mending its wounds. Mr. Peppers was surprised; he’d only expected to offer some small comfort in the creature’s final moments. Timuscor must be nearing revelation to produce an effect like this.
More surprisingly, the light had yet to vanish. It flowed upward from Mr. Peppers’ snout, continuing across the entire boar. The glow intensified as he moved, following the direction of the three raiders who had nearly felled this noble creature. With every step, his hoofprints grew wider and deeper, until he disappeared in a cloud of magical smoke drifting across the battlefield.
He did emerge, eventually, but it was a very different Mr. Peppers who came out the other side.
* * *
With a flourish, Eric rammed his short sword through the back of a raider that was about to charge one of the bears and had forgotten to check their rear. Trying to figure out where he was needed on the battlefield was turning out to be nearly as tough a job as handling their opponents. A lot of smoke and flames were coming from where Timuscor had gone. That looked to be getting serious, but on the opposite side, Eric caught sight of Gabrielle holding off a raider with a large sword to keep him from getting near Grumph.
The clouds overhead were building, slowly and steadily. Jolia had warned that the effect would have to be slow if they wanted to sell their ruse; a spell like this one would take some while for most mages to cast. She was doing it the slow way to avoid tipping their hand, in the hopes that whoever was watching would buy that the magic was Grumph’s handiwork. The idea was all well and good from a subterfuge angle, but it ignored the fact that they had to defend Grumph for however long the “casting” required. Here and there, an occasional dagger would sink into a raider’s vital organs, a reminder that Thistle and Kieran were still in the fray. If only Gabrielle could lead her opponent to a better angle, the dagger-throwers could help.
Given the options, Eric felt like Timuscor probably needed his assistance more. Whatever fire was over there, it was growing fast, and Gabrielle could likely handle an enemy of this caliber one-on-one. Even if she couldn’t, Grumph was nearby in a pinch. Timuscor was more likely to need backup. Eric even started in that direction, making it several steps before he noticed the hurried thudding noise coming up behind him. Thanks to his rogue’s reflexes, Eric leapt aside just before an enormous boar tore out from a veil of mist. No doubt about it—that was Mr. Peppers. The bits of wrecked armor hanging off one of his tusks made it abundantly clear.
There were so, so many questions Eric wanted to ask. “How?” was, of course, at the top of the list, followed closely by “Why?” and “When?” because last he’d checked, Mr. Peppers was an average-sized boar. Luckily, the one question Eric no longer had was which direction he should go. Mr. Peppers was on an obvious path for Timuscor, meaning that the knight was about to get plenty of backup. Better Eric used his time to go help Gabrielle wipe out her opponent, freeing them both up for new fights.
It was too bad, though. Eric really would have loved to follow Mr. Peppers and see what the boar could do with his new size.
20.
This raider wasn’t too shabby. Unlike most of the others she’d seen so far, he had opted to keep it simple rather than picking up some shiny new enchanted tool. Just a sword—and a damn strong one at that. Gabrielle hadn’t seen many weapons that could stand up to her axe, and the fact that he had a half-orc’s frame meant that their strength was more evenly matched than she’d have liked. If not for the undead boost, Gabrielle would have been at a serious disadvantage. Or maybe she wouldn’t have, because in that scenario, she’d have another option.
The truth was, Gabrielle probably could have already won the fight if she had been enraged. But she wasn’t. She hadn’t allowed her fury to break forth since the change, nor had she tried to use her axe’s magic-cutting ability. Not knowing what her condition was, or how it related to the axe, made the idea of either terrifying. What if she activated an ability and used up whatever force was keeping her animated? The fear seemed silly when she considered it, yet as soon as the axe was in her hands, it felt all too real. No one knew exactly what she was, or how she was still alive. Until Gabrielle had some answers, she wasn’t sure she wanted to gamble with her life, not unless there was a very real need to do so.
Sadly, the longer she squared off with the half-orc holding the sword, the more she wondered if this would be the day that put her abilities to the test. Her adversary kept slipping gradually closer to Grumph. He was the real target; she was just standing in the way. With a roar and a charge, he ran forward, only to be met by Gabrielle along the way. She dodged a swing from the sword, bringing her axe around in a slice for his shins that he hopped away from, countering with a thrust of his own. Gabrielle parried, resulting in both their weapons shaking from the contact, forcing them both to retreat for a few minutes.
It was a fight of attrition, one that she was slowly losing. If she went down, that would only leave a single dire bear as Grumph’s protection. A fast or skilled warrior could work around that kind of distraction long enough to get in some lucky shots, which meant she had to keep her opponent at bay. The silver lining was that this fight had a deadline, one the raiders didn’t even know existed. Already, the sky was dark with clouds. A little longer, and they should be able to finish this encounter off.
The axe stopped quivering, and she could see that his sword was still shaking, yet Gabrielle didn’t press the advantage. Her goal was time, stalling, and the longer this dragged out, the better it made things for Grumph. Plus, if she were truly honest with herself, this was the first time she’d been in true battle without the fog of rage to cloud her thoughts. The idea of spilling blood wasn’t quite as easy to jump on in her proper state of mind. It was still probably necessary—she understood and was at peace with that fact. That didn’t mean she wanted to make it her instinctive recourse.
Her half-orc enemy didn’t share the desire to burn time; he leapt forward the instant his blade steadied. From behind him, Gabrielle caught sight of a figure slipping out from the general din of madness. Eric was creeping along, coming up behind the half-orc. She couldn’t afford to pay her friend much attention; there was still a sword-swinging half-orc trying to stab her. Gabrielle focused on defense, continuing to dodge where possible as the sword-swings grew more and more dangerous. Finally, she swung her axe into a position to block, eyes darting past the half-orc to Eric. He was in the perfect position. As soon as she blocked and both weapons began quaking, the half-orc would be defenseless and Eric could slice his legs to knock him out of the fight.
In hindsight, Gabrielle would realize that it was her fault the half-orc caught on. She’d looked at Eric a tad too frequently and permitted her eyes to linger. Because of this, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when, instead of taking her bait, her opponent swung around just as Eric was approaching. As a rogue, Eric had made great strides since they first set out, and was capable of far more than he’d ever been in his guarding days. That said, the half-orc was a trained combatant capable of fighting on
Gabrielle’s level, and he caught Eric by surprise. It was only natural that the enchanted sword ended up jammed through the side of Eric’s gut, sending him staggering to the ground.
All of it happened so quick. Gabrielle was still standing there, holding her axe to block a strike that would never come. She could see Eric, stumbling back before collapsing, doing all he could to keep his sword aloft in the hopes of stopping a follow-up blow. Elnif was lifting his blade, taking aim, ready to finish the fight before she had a chance to intervene. The scene smashed against Gabrielle, flooding over her like an unexpected wave, washing away every ounce of self-preservation from her mind. This kind of rage could no more be contained than a hurricane could be reasoned with.
Maybe it was because of their recent lesson, or due to her newly-altered body, but Gabrielle could feel the changes as anger overtook reason and mana stormed into her muscles, swelling them with newfound power. The axe had a dark, unnatural sheen on its surface, not that Gabrielle paid it more than a passing thought. Her weapon was already in motion, moving faster than she ever could have, even as a motivated undead. No barbarian was at their strongest unless they were funneling their fury, and the strike that slammed into Elnif’s back was more powerful than he could have possibly anticipated.
Gabrielle’s hit sank right through the leather armor, piercing the half-orc’s spine. He cried out, a reasonable reaction considering the circumstances, dropping the sword as he gasped for air. Something wasn’t right, besides the hunk of metal that now occupied space in his back. The half-orc appeared to be almost withering. Like he was being drained of something, yet no blood or body-mass was leaking free. Gabrielle shook the husk from her axe, noting that it landed far more lightly than a corpse of that weight should. She checked the sky, seeing that the clouds now covered almost the entirety of the town square. By the time she made it to Thistle, the fight would be done.
Rather than waste time and jostle her friend, Gabrielle planted herself directly over Eric as he worked to keep pressure on the wound. No one would get to him, not unless they were willing to bet their life against hers to do so. She was finally feeling like her proper self again, and would happily share that sentiment with anyone foolish enough to put her strength to the test.
She almost felt a pang of sadness, looking at Elnif’s dead body. He’d fought well, and she would have liked to end things properly. It wouldn’t be until later, when the anger had faded and left her at full mental faculties once more, that Gabrielle would pause to ask what should have been an extremely obvious question.
How did she know the half-orc’s name?
* * *
There was no hurting the flame elemental. Timuscor wasn’t entirely sure that was what this creature qualified as, but it seemed close enough to the descriptions he’d heard that any distinction would be arbitrary. Rulln was long dead, little more than a burning skull now, yet his body continued to attack, driving Timuscor into tighter and tighter corners. His shield was still glowing from the last round of attacks and showed some discoloration on the edges. Magic had limits, and that included wards on shields. It could only withstand so much damage at once before it failed, and Timuscor had a worrying suspicion that they were nearing that point.
Worse, Rulln’s fiery form was driving him back toward the main battle, where the straggling raiders were dealing with a mix of dire bears and their own equipment. More than a few pieces of gear had already gone out of control, leaving behind smoking craters or half-dissolved bodies in their wake. Had the raiders come in with their customary weapons and armor, Timuscor suspected his party would have been in for a far harder battle. He could see why armies didn’t merely load up their members with every magical trinket on hand; it risked causing more problems than it solved.
That gauntlet, however, was proving to be quite an efficient pain-in-the-ass. Another torrent of fire drove Timuscor back. Making things even more complicated, the burst of flame caught some nearby raiders’ attention. A harried knight made a far more tempting target than an enormous bear, so several shifted their focus. This was rough; the fire monster was hard enough on its own. If Timuscor had to fight while surrounded, his defense was going to give.
Another step back, and a new sound reached his ears. Something was coming. Something big, with substantial momentum. Either an additional bear was on the way, or one of the items had summoned a new element to the fight. Timuscor hoped it was the former, but they had to be running low on bears by this point.
Tusks broke first through a veil of errant fog, slamming violently into a pair of raiders who’d been moving toward Timuscor. Following the bone-white spears was a familiar snout that Timuscor recognized immediately, though it was much larger than usual.
“Mr. Peppers?”
The enormous boar snorted once, as if in confirmation. He was huge, his back practically level with Timuscor’s shoulders. With a loud grunt, Mr. Peppers reared back and crushed another raider, one who’d been trying to line up a strike on the nearby bear’s flank. The bear roared, Mr. Peppers snorted, and Timuscor began to wonder why exactly he needed to be there.
A blast of flame served as an excellent reminder. Timuscor hurriedly planted his shield between the fire and Mr. Peppers. Small or large, he wasn’t letting any of these bastards hurt his boar. When the torrent faded, a new noise reached Timuscor’s ears; soft sizzling drifted up from his shield. It was the sound of raindrops boiling to vapor as soon as they landed. The rain had started, which meant “Grumph’s” spell was complete. Any second now, the real effect would kick in.
From his vantage point, Timuscor saw the fire-corpse gradually weaken as the rain intensified. Smoke rose from the fading blaze, yet it still struggled forward, set on attacking one last time. Valiant as that determination was, it proved to be too little. A clap of thunder roared across the land, while a half-dozen bolts of lightning split the sky, each one planting itself directly in a raider’s torso. The next round came within seconds, as did the next, and so on. Even the burning corpse took a few shots, the overwhelming electrical energy sundering what little connective tissues remained. When the smoke from the body faded, there was nothing more than ash and the gauntlet, which looked untouched.
The lightning smote the intruders for several seconds longer before finally dissipating, along with the clouds overhead. As the rain came, it washed away the remaining fog, providing a clear view for the first time since the fight began. Timuscor scanned carefully, hunting for any survivors that might still have some fight left in them. There were none. No survivors that he could see. Though a few did twitch occasionally, that was little more than an after-effect of the lightning strikes. Between the bears, the lightning, and the raiders’ own equipment, his party had managed to survive the onslaught.
It was a humbling moment, both to see how easily the people of Notch could deal with such a threat, and the realization that, without their help, he and the others would have been butchered. Jolia pretending to cast through Grumph had enabled them to endure and survive, supplemented by Kieran pretending to be Thistle, hurling daggers at every high-danger target that wandered too close to the tavern. Without their help, this would have been a different kind of bloodbath. After surviving the Grand Quest, Timuscor had permitted himself to feel as though they were truly gaining strength, but this fight put things back into perspective. There was so much further to climb, and hard as they were all trying, he and the others hadn’t even grasped the core of how their abilities functioned. They needed to learn more, train more, grow stronger. They’d put themselves into conflicts between the very gods of the world, and there was no telling how strong their opponents would be moving forward.
Next to Timuscor, a glow appeared, covering the entirety of Mr. Peppers. It was brief, too quick to even properly worry about what was happening, before there was a bright flash and Mr. Peppers was once more at his normal size, the shattered remains of his armor landing with a clatter nearby. Timuscor examined the fractured metal briefly before sha
king his head.
“Looks like we’ll need to make you a new set. Maybe one that can change size?”
A grunt, possibly of approval, came as Mr. Peppers’ only reply. The others were moving now. He saw Gabrielle wave down Thistle as soon as the gnome emerged. Someone must be injured. Tempting though it was to rush over, Timuscor had no healing to offer, so rather than waste the energy, he began moving from raider to raider, making sure that none were pretending to be felled. He would take them prisoner if they could be saved, and spare them the misery if they couldn’t, but ultimately, it wasn’t an issue.
There wasn’t a single raider left to deal with. Each one was dead, several with smoking wounds where the lightning had pulsed directly into their hearts. Jolia could have cast that spell in seconds if not for the pageantry, and the results would have been no less destructive. So much power in these people, in this town, and yet, at some point, they had all stood in the same place as Timuscor. He could reach those heights; it was doable, if he had the talent to learn and the willpower to follow through.
They had much progress to make indeed, yet Timuscor wasn’t put off. Someday, they could attain this level of strength. And this might very well be the perfect place to start.
21.
Infuriating. All of the work, the killing, the stealing, and what had she gotten? Inept pawns killed, half by bumbling adventurers and half by their inability to wield the very tools she’d provided. Well, tools Kalzidar had provided, anyway. And it was true she hadn’t done all of the stealing or killing herself; there were other priests who’d completed smaller tasks that led to the end result. Nevertheless, this was an insult—to her, to Kalzidar, to the very idea of intruding bandits bursting into a small town. Didn’t they know there was a way these things were done?
At least it hadn’t been a complete waste. Even if the real players had hidden behind their puppets, she’d still gotten to see how they liked to fight. One was good with daggers, and they had at least a single mage. Given the lightning storm and swarm of bears, the caster seemed to have a focus on nature and the elements. That information would prove useful, when passed on to the others. There had to be more, though. More to uncover, more to assess. She still had a few days before the time was upon them. Perhaps she could put together one more assault. It was risky, and would require prayer before a final decision was made, yet it felt like a worthy use of her energy.
