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

by Drew Hayes

  In many ways, that made his afternoon with Jolia a blessing. The task of sorting through an endless stream of documents, all of which were gibberish, was manual enough to keep him occupied and put his mind on a leash. Tracking all of the scrolls he’d tried—and failed—to read required some mental effort, anyway, so Thistle simply put in far more effort than was required, setting himself to the task and mowing through as many pieces of parchment as possible.

  When it happened, he almost didn’t notice. Another scroll, looking like all the others, was unfurled before Thistle. He leaned in and carefully peered over. The script was ancient, arcane and seemingly incomprehensible—except Thistle understood it. He’d never seen it before, that much was certain, but every time his eyes moved across the writing, his mind somehow processed it into words Thistle knew.

  “Jolia, you said these documents were enchanted, correct? Made specifically so magical spells would not permit one to read them?”

  “For the most part,” Jolia confirmed. She was seated nearby, slowly making her way through a bottle of wine while reading a sizable tome. “It would be slightly more accurate to say the majority of these have magic functioning as a lock on them, enchantments to keep anyone who wasn’t supposed to be able to read them from doing so. Finding people who speak the language has unlocked a few on occasion—the only tactic that’s worked at all, in fact—so it’s the one I keep trying when we get the occasional visitor.”

  There was a moment, one Thistle took no pride in, where part of him wanted to keep the revelation to himself. Reading this might provide the first piece of tangible knowledge they had that the people of Notch didn’t, a small balance in a drastically different power dynamic. But that would be poor repayment for their hospitality, especially since the residents of Notch had just spent the morning trying to help his friends become stronger. “Then I suspect that somehow, I was meant to read this scroll, because the writing holds no meaning to my eyes, yet my brain understands it perfectly.”

  He’d yet to see Jolia move with such intensity as she cast her own book aside. In moments, she was next to Thistle, peering down at the scroll. “Interesting. Anything special about you I should know, Thistle? The likeliest explanation is that this would be related to Grumble, but I like to have all of the information before I start forming theories.”

  “I have lived an interesting life, with an assortment of experiences. Going into all of it might take too long, so let’s see what this scroll is about, and then I’ll let you know if it connects to anything in my past.”

  “Good call, because I don’t think I could have waited through your entire life’s story,” Jolia agreed. “Now, read it. Out loud, please.”

  Thistle did as he was told. For the first part of the scroll, he had no idea of what in the piece might be relevant to him or Grumble. Most of the document was about constellations and the movements of heavenly bodies. As it continued, the story branched off, detailing how such movements could affect the flow and intensity of magic. It was near the end of the document that, at last, Thistle was allowed some insight into why he might be someone who could understand this particular document.

  “All magic comes from the source, yet it carries with it the many forms and types magic can take. Elements, schools of magic, all of these have their own characteristics that ebb and flow. Tracking and predicting these fluctuations may very well provide one who masters such knowledge with advantages in crafting, enchanting, research, and war. Continued on next scroll.”

  At his side, leaned in so close that her hair threatened to tickle his nose, Jolia was scouring the document as though she too could read the words. “Interesting. I’ve heard this discussed in theory before—there are subtle variations in some spells depending on the stars—but it feels as though this scroll is describing something more extreme than an extra-hot fire-blast incantation.”

  “I saw something once, a long time ago.” Thistle’s mind was pressing back through the years, all the way to his first party, when he, Madroria, and Grumph had been the loyal help rather than the actual adventurers. “It was in Lumal, when we—my old friends, I mean—well, when we broke into a restricted area in the Vault of Sealed Magics.”

  That revelation earned him a shocked look from Jolia—the first time she’d looked away from the scroll since he started reading. “I’m sorry, you attempted a break-in to the Vault of Sealed Magics? So many questions, the first of which is how, followed by the reasons why. You know that if they catch you in a restricted area, even if nothing’s taken, it will result in a lifetime ban from Lumal, right?”

  “I do. It’s part of why I expected returning would be an extra difficult proposition,” Thistle replied. “Anyway, while we were in the section, I looked in one of the rooms. It was immense and dark, surrounded by stars, like standing in a field on a moonless night. There was more than just lights in the sky, however. I saw tracks, predictions, arcane symbols, a mess of things that made no sense at the time. Now, thinking back, I’m reasonably sure it was a place devoted to the study of this very subject: fluctuations in magic and when to expect them.”

  “Fascinating as this all is—and I’m diving into research the moment we’re done here—I hope you can appreciate why I need to ask you something before we move on. Different party or not, why did you mess around in the Vault of Sealed Magics? If it’s something silly but noble, like trying to retrieve a friend from the Hall of Souls, or remove a curse from the Spring of Purity, then I could understand. But there are other, more dangerous things in there too, and I have the right to know if I let someone who’ll seek them out into my town.”

  Jolia didn’t appear threatening, which might have been more comforting if Thistle wasn’t keenly aware of the power difference between them. She didn’t need to act threatening; a wave of that staff could roast Thistle alive and leave no more than a smear of ashes to clean up. Thankfully, Thistle had nothing to hide; at least, not when it came to this particular bit of his past.

  “We were looking for a map said to lead one to their heart’s desire. Not my idea, but the leader of our group had done much for Grumph, my wife, and me. Helping him was the very least we owed. In a twist of fate that I can only now see as funny, we ended up getting lost while looking for the map. The Vault of Sealed Magics has many paths, and somehow, even more rooms. We saw some strange sights—my personal favorite was a glowing white obelisk that pulsed with my heartbeat when I touched it. No map, though. Our luck eventually ran out and the guards caught us. Since we’d taken nothing, there was no theft to accuse us of, so our entire party was booted out of Lumal with a warning never to come back.”

  “Yet you want to go knock on one of their front doors?” Jolia asked.

  “Gabrielle needed help. Finding out what happened to her was the utmost priority. Of our nearby options, Lumal was the only one that might have been able to offer answers. If needed, I was prepared to wait outside the city with Grumph while they searched for aid, regardless of how long it took.”

  There was some skepticism on Jolia’s face as she studied Thistle carefully, before it mercifully faded into acceptance. “Given how you’ve acted since arriving, and your status as a paladin, I’ll take you at your word. Hunting for that map isn’t precisely what I’d call noble, but seeking one’s heart’s desire is not an inherently evil act, either. And hey, if that experience is what let you read this scroll, then I guess it all worked out.”

  This time, there was no temptation to lie. He wanted to make sure Jolia, and the rest of Notch, knew what they might be in for. “Actually, I can’t think of anything from that experience that would account for why I can read this scroll. That said, I do have a working theory. This scroll relates to knowledge of the workings of magic—specifically, magic of the skies and stars. But the sky also has vast swathes of emptiness. Endless darkness. Magic and darkness—we know exactly one god who presides over that specific domain. One who might go to great lengths to bury this sort of information.”

&nbs
p; “Kalzidar, of course.” Unlike many, she didn’t grow nervous at the act of saying his name. “Which would mean those touched by his power might be able to read this scroll, if his was part of the magic that enchanted it. Funny, from your stories so far, I hadn’t gotten the impression you were on good terms with him. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Very much so. I daresay we may be among his most hated mortals at the moment.” It felt presumptuous to say a god would care that much about him and his friends, but Thistle had helped destroy some of Kalzidar’s power. That was bound to cause a grudge. “There’s enmity between him and Grumble going back to Grumble’s first paladin, who feigned allegiance to Kalzidar, ultimately stealing a piece of his divinity.”

  “Which makes it even stranger that you can read this, if your idea is true.”

  Reaching up, Thistle banged on the chest of his armor, armor that had refused to leave his body since he’d set foot inside this town. “Except that I held the container for Kalzidar’s stolen divinity in my hands as it was destroyed. And this armor I’ve been stuck in isn’t just magical—it’s the armor of that same first paladin who stole the piece of divinity. Not saying I’m fond of it, but if all that’s needed is to be touched by the god’s power, then I certainly qualify.”

  Tapping her staff along the floor, Jolia paced briefly as Thistle spoke, taking in every word. “It’s a good theory, lines up in the right places. I wish we had some kind of proof to be sure so we could rule out other options. Unfortunately, without that, we’ll have to—”

  Jolia was interrupted by the sound of metal striking stone. The arm and shin guards of Thistle’s armor had fallen from his limbs, landing with quite a racket. Her eyes looked at the armor, then to Thistle, who appeared as perplexed as she.

  “Okay then, suppose we assume you’re right. That means my next task is figuring out how to get you back in touch with Grumble. If your god felt knowing about this was so important that he led you here and used what might have been his one signal to confirm we were on to something, then it’s going to be relevant, and probably soon.”

  “A fine idea,” Thistle concurred. “Whatever Kalzidar is planning, we’re going to want as much forewarning as possible.”

  * * *

  The detour had been something of a long shot. That was always true to some extent when hunting a lyranx; they didn’t move in herds due to their isolated nature and had no habitats more or less suited to their biology. Adaptability was the lyranx’s most noteworthy trait. They could be found in tundra, caverns, even lounging in the middle of a forest fire. Worse, they did more than survive; they took on traits of their environment. Lyranxs were all roughly the same size when full-grown—roughly seven feet in length—yet their fur spanned a gamut of colors and textures depending on where the creature was found or had recently been. Their only other constant was their eyes, famous for the way they glittered when struck by light. It was said to be a sight of breathtaking beauty.

  Wimberly certainly wasn’t breathing, although it had nothing to do with how lovely the glittering eyes before her were. No, her breath was held for the same reason she was standing stock-still—it was an instinctual effort to avoid being noticed. This lyranx had dark purple fur with a matching liquid dripping off the hairs. Each drop sizzled as it hit the grass, leaving dead plants in its wake. As the lyranx took a step forward, Wimberly noticed that its paw prints had the same effect.

  Poisonous, then. Not too surprising given that they were only a half-day’s ride from a toxic bog. They’d been heading back to Camnarael when a chance encounter with other travelers and a few surprisingly diplomatic words from Timanuel gave them a lead on this lyranx. All they’d had were rumors of something roughly matching the description tearing apart riders who’d gone off the main roads. Deep down, Wimberly hadn’t actually expected them to find one. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t objected enough when they opted to spread out and search the area.

  Another step closer, and those glittering eyes locked on to Wimberly’s comparatively tiny form. Standing still wasn’t working; not in a long-term capacity. She had to do something else. Pure retreat wasn’t an option—they needed one of those damn glittering eyes to get into Lumal. But Wimberly couldn’t win this fight alone. She needed to call for help and also survive long enough for the others to reach her.

  Mentally scouring her supplies, Wimberly tried to think of what she still had on hand. A few attack options, although nothing that would bring down a lyranx in a single blow. Using them would be as good as slathering herself in a nice sauce to appear more enticing. There were a couple of defensive deterrents; even a few she could reach in time. Unfortunately, those were calibrated to deal with brute force and a few basic elements. Wimberly hadn’t anticipated the poison. That would prove troublesome, especially since she didn’t use particularly tough armor that could survive such erosion.

  There was one trick up her sleeve that might work. It wasn’t quite the purpose she’d envisioned for this; however, in a pinch, improvisation was better than planning. Reaching around, slowly, lest she urge the lyranx to pounce, Wimberly produced a custom glass container. With a flick of her thumb, a small vial near the top was smashed by a miniature hammer, sending the meager amount of red liquid into the clear fluid below. Immediately, the container began to heat up, and Wimberly hurled it as hard as she could. Not at the lyranx. Instead, she aimed directly between them.

  The cloud of thick red mist exploded outward—Wimberly had already covered her mouth and eyes—as she backpedaled hurriedly. It was too much to hope that a few irritants would be enough to hurt something as adaptable as a lyranx; this concoction had been made with weaker creatures in mind. Also, ideally, Wimberly wouldn’t have been in the cloud as well. The one upside to using her pain-smoke was that it obscured the creature’s view and, hopefully, her scent. It was big enough that the others would see the fog drifting up from the brush, while also giving Wimberly cover to escape.

  She bolted, running as fast as she could toward the horses. Behind her, there was audible movement as something big blundered around, yet still managed to stay on her trail. Her lungs were burning—she’d inhaled some of the smoke despite her best efforts—and already her pace was beginning to slow. As her body protested, Wimberly drove it onward. Giving up was the same as death right now, and she wasn’t ready to see the end of her adventure.

  Finally, she broke out of the cloud, back into the clean air of the countryside. Wimberly took a few rasping gulps as she stumbled forward. Whether it was poor timing or her loud breathing was a mystery she’d never solve, but at that moment, the lyranx came bounding out of the fog as well, sprinting toward her with obvious intent.

  Her mind and body were both too sluggish; she couldn’t think of another plan in the brief window she had. There was nothing else to do. All she could hope for was that her friends would see the smoke and have more warning.

  Just as the lyranx readied itself to leap, three arrows landed in its haunch, interrupting its planned pounce. Wimberly whipped her head over to see Gelthorn and Chalara emerging from a nearby crop of trees. The former was already nocking more arrows, while the latter moved her hands around, crafting a spell.

  Wimberly let out a small sigh of relief as the lyranx shifted direction, more concerned with a threat than a meal. Their fight was far from over, but at least she wouldn’t be experiencing it from inside the lyranx’s stomach. Taking another breath of the clean air, she turned her mind back toward the attack options.

  It was time to get this battle properly started.

  27.

  Gabrielle stood in the cooling winds of the evening, eyes unfazed by the dwindling light as she scanned the horizon. There was little chance that an attacker could make it this far without alerting one of the townsfolk, but Notch had already proven slightly more vulnerable than expected once. No reason to take chances. Besides, the open air helped her relax, something she dearly needed after the last few days. What was meant to have been their d
owntime had turned into training, research, and worried anticipation at what might come next.

  At least they were no longer entirely in the dark now. Thistle’s revelation about Kalzidar was hardly shocking; even better, it gave them a starting point. Knowing what they were up against always made things a little easier. It was impossible to plan for a mystery; even gods were more manageable than the unknown. The news might have landed with greater impact if Gabrielle and Simone hadn’t already shared their own discovery. Technically, Gabrielle should feel the same about her revelations as she did about Thistle’s report: more information was supposed to always be better. Yet Gabrielle wasn’t so sure she was happier than when she hadn’t known. Understanding what she’d become wasn’t the same as knowing how to reverse it, and that path was turning out to be more difficult than she’d anticipated.

  “So, a lich, huh?” Eric sidled up next to her; he’d been moving so quietly she hadn’t heard the tavern door open. She wasn’t sure if the others had noticed yet or not, but he’d been making an effort to mask his movements since they gathered in the tavern that evening. It was something to inquire about, when there were less dire concerns to tackle.

  “Pseudo-lich, thank you,” Gabrielle corrected. “No evil ceremonies or magic rituals, no carefully enchanted gem to keep my soul protected. Nope, my soul is apparently right here, strapped to my back.”