by Drew Hayes
It was a threat scary enough to give even Thistle pause, and he was on Brock’s side. This was mostly due to the fact that Thistle knew every word was true. Playing a situation cautiously wasn’t the only tactic. If Notch decided to send a message, they could smite this emissary and virtually anyone who followed.
Scary as the words were, there was no reaction from the rider. Not a shiver, not a step back, not even a nervous fidget. In fact, the rider barely moved at all, Thistle realized. The stillness went beyond calm. It was inhuman.
As it turned out, that was precisely the right word to use. Slowly, the rider began to remove its articles of clothing, replying, “I am sure you could. However, you will be unable to do so in this attack. Bloodshed, by its very nature, requires blood.”
The first fleck of metal came into view as a glove fell away. Next emerged metal hands, metal arms, and, with the removal of the hood, they could discern parts of a metal face. Not merely cloaked in armor, these were appendages forged from metal, bound with springs and screws in an art long since lost to history. This one was old, chipped and rusty, but the pictures Thistle had seen in historical tomes had showed what these looked like when fresh and new. Beyond that, Thistle had once caught sight of some in person, an unintended detour in the Vault of Sealed Magics. Those had been shiny, gleaming like polished steel in sunlight.
“Well, that explains how the wards were so easily slipped,” Jolia’s voice muttered in their ears. “It’s an automaton. They were invented centuries ago by a gnome who wanted to make war on a cabal of wizards who’d kicked him out. It worked so well that he decided to go for full conquest and built an army of the things. Because they’re highly resistant to magic, they were eventually declared too dangerous, and the bulk of them were sealed away. I’d heard a few units were still lost in the world, but the odds of finding one along with the necessary control gem are pretty slim.”
More clothing fell away, giving an almost complete view of the entity before them. It was humanoid, at least in terms of shape, but of a height and frame that seemed more derivative of half-orcs. The eyes were the most interesting part to Thistle; the automatons he’d seen before had been mimicking sleep, so he’d never gotten to see the eyes glowing softly green.
“I have not come to deliver your death; that glory will be entrusted to others. I am here to deliver a message. On the sunset after today’s, the stars shall align. Kalzidar’s power will be at its zenith, and with it, so shall his servants’. We have found the Helm of Ignosa, the great genius who created my kind. When his priests are at their strongest, they will march into this hamlet with an automaton army bolstering their ranks. Strong though you are, not even this town can endure such an attack. Give your visitors up, and Notch will be spared. Wait, and join them in their punishment.”
It was a bluff, had to be. Thistle had seen that army; he knew it was sealed safely away in Lumal. But even as he tried to reassure himself, a nagging thought kept popping up. He’d only gotten that glimpse because his group had successfully made it into a restricted section in the Vault of Sealed Magics. Obviously, if his old party could do it, then it was possible one of Kalzidar’s servants had as well. Still, stealing a whole army? That seemed like a stretch, even with divine backing.
“And how, pray tell, did you manage to liberate that army despite all of Lumal’s security?”
“I do not know. I was not there when the theft occurred. But a magic-resistant army can make short work of a town built upon magical safeguards.”
“Aye, that’s fair, but there is one more thing,” Thistle continued. “As a gnome myself, one who grew up with an unkind view of casters, I’m familiar with the story of Ignosa. His automatons had many functions, including the ability to follow rudimentary orders in combat without direct control. Speech, however, was never part of their repertoire. They could only be used as conduits for communication by those who held the control gems.”
There was no facial response, of course. Such a thing was impossible; even if the controller had wanted to make it react, automatons lacked movable faces. When it spoke again, the sound was the same, slightly grating and uneven, but the tone was no longer so unnatural and stilted.
“Pity. I’d hoped to keep this going a bit longer, maybe even convince you that you had a friend who could play both sides. Can’t blame me for having some fun while I wait. Feel free to run for it, Thistle. I’m sure there are other methods of escape available to you. Just know that if you do flee, the hunting will not stop. I’ll still roll over this town like the tide across sand. Until then, here’s something to liven up your day.”
It was barely a second of warning. No sooner had the automaton spoken than all three saldramirs burst open, as though their insides were trying to escape their rotting exteriors. Unfortunately, Thistle wasn’t that lucky. As he peered closer, he could see hundreds of rats pouring forth, each with wild eyes and gnashing teeth. It was a very real concern, and one he lacked the spare attention to deal with. Because while most eyes had been on the exploding saldramirs, the chatty automaton had seized the chance to rush forward on a crash course with Thistle.
Worse, there was no way he would be able to dodge in time.
30.
Quick as the automaton was, Brock had already been in position and ready. To anyone watching, it was clear he hadn’t moved closer to Thistle just so his words would hit home. No sooner did the automaton try to crush Thistle with its metal might than one of Brock’s meaty fists slammed into its torso, knocking the automaton halfway back to the saldramirs. Strong though the punch was, their enemy still landed on its feet, albeit with a sizable dent in its center.
Before it had stopped skidding along the road, fire burst forth, rising from the ground in a flaming circle that wrapped around the saldramirs and fleeing rats, catching the last vestiges of the automaton’s clothes on fire.
“Smart gold says those rats are carrying diseases meant to infect and weaken the town,” Simone informed them. “Since they’re planning to use non-living combatants, they can largely ignore the disease and give their living allies potions to protect themselves with. It’s the same strategy used to soften up a town before invading with an army of undead.”
“Hence why I threw up a barrier of fire to keep them contained,” Jolia agreed. “Take care of any that slipped out, but keep your distance in case Simone is right.”
The words were scarcely spoken when a red blur darted across the battlefield, cleaving through a speedy rat outside the circle of fire. Gabrielle dispatched two more before bothering to glance back. “What? If I’m undead anyway, I may as well enjoy the perks.”
“Yes. Perks are quite lovely.” Agreement was rarely something one wanted to share with an enemy, and this was no exception. From her vantage point near the flames, Gabrielle could watch it all. The automaton leaned forward and lay down across the line of fire. Much as she would have liked to see the thing melt, its magical resistance unfortunately kept it safe. Far worse was when, moments later, she realized what it was doing.
“Everyone, get back!” Gabrielle had just enough time to yell before the first wave of rats came surging forth, using the automaton as a bridge to leave the ring of fire. The section they could cross was thankfully narrow, limiting the swarm to a narrow stream of potential plague carriers. It was a small mercy, especially considering how many of the furry beasts scrambled atop one another to get free.
Stepping in closer, Gabrielle brought her axe down over and over, focusing on hitting as many as she could with every blow and trusting her friends to pick off any stragglers. Nearby, daggers landed in a pile of rats to her right, while a blast of fire roasted several to her left. Occasionally, one of the vermin on either side would go down with a crossbow bolt speared through its center. Thistle, Grumph, and Eric, doing their ranged duty. Gabrielle chanced a look over her shoulder to find Timuscor on the edges of the battle, sword and shield in hand, a look of deep frustration etched in his face. She could feel for him. Gabrielle
also lacked ranged options, but her undead status made her immune to disease, which permitted melee work in this particular situation. The most Timuscor could do was run the edges and carefully pick off any beastlings making a run for the town. Even that carried some risk, though.
“Simone, I’ll start throwing spells to protect from disease on everyone one by one; in the meantime, I think Gabrielle needs reinforcements. Nothing too big, they are just rats.” Jolia was speaking quickly; they could almost hear the frantic gestures of her fingers weaving spells.
“Already on it. Gabrielle, on the count of three, slam the butt of your axe into the ground and yell anything that sounds like it might be magical.” Unlike Jolia, Simone was still perfectly calm, even as more rats poured forth.
It was hard to focus on the conversation and the rats, but Gabrielle picked up enough snippets to know her next move. Listening to the numbers tick by, she raised her axe theatrically high, spit out a few goblin curses in lieu of arcane syllables, and dropped the butt as instructed. The moment it struck, a dozen skeletons burst from the ground, clawing their way out of the nearby dirt and scrambling forward to tear the rats apart.
“Nice timing,” Jolia said. “Timuscor, you’ve now been warded against poison and disease, so feel free to jump in.”
From the speed at which he came dashing in, it was evident that Timuscor had been waiting on pins and needles for just such permission. His blade sliced through the rats, cleaving them into halves as his heavily armored feet crushed a few more beneath their weight. Fast as the vermin were pouring forth, they were somehow managing to keep the swarm contained. The fight was far from over, but they were winning, and that felt good.
It was a fleeting sensation, unfortunately. No sooner had Timuscor charged into the battlefield than a whirling mass of metal and residual flames rushed him. How the hells could an automaton move so fast? Seconds ago, it was acting as the rat bridge, now in a blink it had shifted to offense. The automaton was quick, but there was no chance something so huge and distracting would sneak up on Timuscor. He got his shield up just in time to block the first punch.
Whether Timuscor had improperly braced himself or the automaton was just that strong, the blow sent him flying back through the air and onto his back. The attack was an almost perfect replica of Brock’s, save that now, Timuscor was in the automaton’s position. He hurried to his feet, shield dented but at the ready, even as the automaton advanced.
Gabrielle started forward to help before catching a blur in the corner of her eye. Right; this was a team fight, and they all had roles to fill. Hers was dealing with the rats, and this was a great chance to clear the field. With the automaton attacking, no new rats could escape, so she and the skeletons could wipe out the remainder.
As the automaton rushed Timuscor, the blur, which turned out to be Brock, struck it in the side, knocking the metallic opponent off course. “I wasn’t going to drag you out of the fire, but if you want to fight a real opponent, then it’s going to be me.”
“A regrettable match-up. Your talents use mana to reinforce your body, meaning that the resistance of an automaton has little impact on how you fight. Defeat for me and my swarm is almost certain. And yet, I do hope your friends will watch the fight. Watch and see how hard it is to take down even this battered old version, and then imagine hundreds of shiny new models marching through the fields. Against a force like that, you cannot protect these outsiders, any more than you can protect Notch’s citizens.”
The taunt only earned a grin from Brock as he raised his fists. “I’m getting pretty fucking tired of you underestimating my town. Bring all the party favors you want—we’ll put on a shindig like you can’t believe. This is just an appetizer.”
In a blur, Brock was on the metallic foe, throwing punches and kicks in a seamless, constant flood of movement. Gabrielle didn’t have time to pause and enjoy the show; her job was still going. They’d thinned out the majority of the rats that had escaped, but the pulsating swarm just beyond the fire was still hundreds strong. No matter how many they brought down, there were more waiting to charge.
“Grumph, you are now protected from disease and poison,” Jolia announced. “I’m busy warding everyone in case the rats’ blood is a contagion, so maybe you can help clear out the main mass of the rats. I bet a fire blast with some extra mana would do the trick.”
Already scanning between the few free rats remaining, the swarm sealed in a flame wall, and Brock’s fight with the automaton, Gabrielle added in an occasional glance to Grumph, at the risk of making herself dizzy. He hadn’t hesitated, already mumbling under his breath as he gestured in the air. Near the end, for a moment, Grumph did seem to slow down. Face scrunched together in focus, perhaps tinged with frustration, Grumph painstakingly went through the final motions of his spell.
The magical fire that roared from his hand was significantly larger than the blast the spell usually summoned. It surged forth, wild and barely controlled, before slamming down near the flaming circle of rats. When it hit, the detonation was substantial. Sadly, the rat circle was not at the epicenter of the blast. Instead, they caught the edges of the flaming explosion. Grumph might have managed to push more mana into a spell, but he’d done so at the cost of his aim. Worse, from the way he was leaning on his staff, it looked like the half-orc wizard had put too much mana in, potentially taking himself out of the fight.
While it was a poor turn in that regard, they still had the momentum in the battle. Gabrielle could see skeletons wiping out the final freed rats, and Brock’s automaton opponent was looking more like a blacksmith’s cast-offs than a person formed of metal. However, strong as Brock was, none of the others failed to notice how long it was taking him to completely dismantle the enemy. To his credit, part of that delay was certainly due to him fighting conservatively. He was emphasizing defense and control over pure damage, working to keep his opponent corralled, away from the others. Nevertheless, old and rusted though it might be, the durability and strength this automaton displayed were factors to take note of. Especially when one would soon have to deal with the threat of hundreds more, all in better condition.
That was a concern for later. They still had a swarm of potential plague carriers to wipe out. Casting protection from disease might be a relatively simple spell, but curing someone once they were infected was supposed to be a much harder process. Some illnesses responded to simple healing magic, others required specialized treatment by those with high-level divine spells, and if Kalzidar was going through all this trouble, he’d certainly sprung for something exotic.
“Eric, you’re warded now. Not much to do except give Gabrielle a hand if more rats slip past,” Jolia announced.
“Thank you, but I actually think I’ve got a fix for those.” From the alley where he’d been hidden, as was his role, Eric emerged. Only, he wasn’t holding his short sword or crossbow. Instead, he was carrying three bottles and a torch. Walking over calmly, Eric still cut a brisk pace, trusting Brock to handle the automaton. With only corpses to step over in terms of rats, each step came down with grace and surety. Whether he knew it or not, his movements were improving at a steady rate. Between the training from Elora and the lessons here in Notch, Eric was fast becoming a proper rogue.
“I was watching what happened, so I ducked back into the tavern and grabbed some quick supplies. Grumph had a good idea, but, you know, not every problem requires magic to solve.” Casually, Eric set his load down, keeping only a single bottle in his left hand. With his right, he took his crossbow and readied to fire a bolt. The first bottle arced up neatly, hanging in the air for several seconds before being shattered by Eric’s shot.
As soon as the glass broke, liquid rained down inside the circle of flames. Even from a small distance back, Gabrielle could catch the familiar scent of lamp oil. Immediately, the whole plan fell into place—although, calling it a plan felt a tad too grand. It was, in practice, a very simple idea, yet one nobody else had considered thus far. Instead of u
sing magic, Eric was just dousing the rats in fuel before he lit them on fire. Magic and might were falling short, which was exactly the time when rogues shone best.
Two more bottles; two more easy shots. For the torch, Eric didn’t bother with flint or steel. Instead, he merely touched the edge to the already burning circle of flames. It caught instantly, and seconds later, he chucked it over the wall and onto the oil-soaked rats. Whatever aspect of the magical wall that had kept the vermin safe unless they were directly against the flames didn’t apply to this new, mundane fire. Squeaks, squeals, and smoke began to rise in roughly commensurate amounts, increasing rapidly as the blaze spread.
Everyone, save for the skeletons, backed away from the thick, dark smoke rising off the rats. Many rats tried to push through the wall, taking their chances on a quicker death. Thanks to the utter crush of bodies, a few even slipped past, albeit all who did were on fire and quickly picked off.
Nearby, Brock rose to his feet. The automaton was little more than scrap now, and even that appeared to be almost… melting? Something was certainly happening to the remains. They were softening on the edges, warping at every angle. For a moment, Gabrielle feared it would reform and cause some more trouble, but after a few seconds, the change halted, and there was nothing more than a pile of half-melted junk on the ground.
All in all, the battle had gone fairly smoothly. Rats were contained, no disease had escaped, and the automaton was defeated before it could seriously injure or kill anyone. None of which changed the fact that if Kalzidar was really summoning an army of those metallic soldiers, they would be in for one hell of a fight. Brock might be capable of defeating an automaton with his bare hands, but how many others in Notch could? Strong though the citizens were said to be, an enemy who was resistant to magic created all manner of potential problems. It was something to consider when the dust settled from this bout, yet Gabrielle also felt a momentary thrill at winning today’s fight. As she looked around, she noticed the expression was mirrored on the faces around her, with one notable exception.
