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

by Drew Hayes

  Knitting his eyes together, Timanuel tried to grasp what had just happened, and failed. It didn’t make sense; his mind couldn’t align the factors properly. Elsewhere, in another world, someone else managed a substantially higher roll.

  “They’re naturally light and buoyant!” Wimberly yelled from the rear. “Hit them too hard without bracing them against something, and they’ll just get knocked back. That’s also how they’re managing to move around with those shitty legs.” On the heels of her words came a bolt of green light that struck the creature Timanuel had wounded. Instantly, sizzling rose from its flesh as an ooze the same color as the bolt spread across its skin.

  “Good news: looks like they’re vulnerable to magic. Acid is confirmed. I’ll cycle through the other elements as we go.” Chalara put her hands together, already preparing to weave a new spell. As she did, the wounded monster stumbled forward, its light nature meaning that every step covered a substantial spread of ground.

  The advance lasted all of two steps before a single arrow appeared in the left eye of the acid-burned face. There was a sound like someone in the distance whistling as the head partially collapsed in on itself, then the monster fell over in the street, unmoving.

  Nocking another arrow, Gelthorn did a quick sweep around them, barely suppressing a shudder at their surroundings. Much as she hated cities, this didn’t quite feel like one at the moment. The chaos and bloodshed made it wilder, more tolerable. “Seems arrows work, too.”

  It had been a lot to take in at once, but Timanuel finally felt like he was starting to get a sense of things. “Okay, new formation. I’ll focus on shielding and knocking them back if they get too close. Chalara and Gelthorn, you pick them off as we move. Wimberly, I presume you’ve got some useful tools to cover our rear?”

  “We’ll start with this and see how things go.” From her magical bag, the gnome had produced what looked like a crossbow, only one that had been tweaked and added onto to the point of near-uselessness. Hefting it up to her shoulder, Wimberly took aim at one of the other beaked beasts on the street before them. “Calibrating shot number one.”

  She fired, a crossbow bolt slamming into one of her target’s legs, sending it spinning backward through the air. As it groped at the ground for control, Wimberly calmly adjusted a few knobs and dials, while also hitting a lever that dropped a new bolt in place. “Calibrating shot number two.”

  This time, her bolt nailed one of the target’s faces. Unfortunately, she hit a scale-armored section, sending the creature spinning backward before it landed against a wall. The attack had left a substantial wound, and from the way it was eyeing Wimberly, she’d definitely succeeded in drawing its attention.

  “Calibrating shot number three.” More twists of dials and knobs, although fewer than the last time. On her third shot, the bolt sailed true, slamming into an unarmored section of the face and bursting out the other side of the monster’s head. It slumped over, more sounds like whistling as its skull was pierced. “I think the sights are as aligned as they’ll get.”

  “About time,” Chalara grumbled. While Wimberly had been dealing with her own target, the rest of the team was picking off the others, getting the street cleared out and the people in it safely away. There were no more enemies for now, but how long that would hold true was up to the gods.

  Timanuel was moving, now that the direct threat was neutralized. He crouched, taking a good grip on the overturned stall and hefting it off the pinned woman underneath by means of his substantial paladin’s strength. She was pale and sweating, yet overall appeared unharmed. No sooner was she free than her arms were around Timanuel, hugging him close as small tears fell down her face.

  “Thank you so much. When they came, there was no warning. One minute, everything was normal, and then the balyons came surging through the streets. I don’t know how they breached the defenses or slipped inside; it’s meant to be impossible. Something’s wrong. Our guards were supposed to have found the helsk and killed it by now. This is madness. None of it should be happening.”

  “But it is.” Gently, Timanuel took the woman by the shoulders and pulled her back, looking directly into her eyes. “And much as my friends and I would like to help, we are unfamiliar with these monsters. We came here via teleportation and have not yet acclimated to this land. You seem familiar with these things, so I beg you, tell us what you know so that we might be of aid.”

  Her eyes went wide, but only briefly. Whether it was his straightforward nature or the odd specificity of such a situation, she didn’t bother to question the validity of his statement. Instead, she began to offer up that sweet, treasured resource: information.

  “Balyons are what you just fought. They’re little more than moving mouths, mostly hollow heads that devour until they’re holding as much as possible, when they then return to the helsk to feed it. A helsk is a far larger creature that births the balyons. Helsks appeared within the last few weeks; they’ve become a problem for the people trying to cross between here and Lumal. The one upside is that balyons are really just a part of the helsk, so if you can find and kill the helsk, then the balyons will lose their agency. You can kill them, or just leave them. They’ll eventually die standing there.”

  Useful information. It seemed that, bizarre as these creatures were, they functioned much like common bees, where a queen birthed and sent out drones to do her bidding and bring back food. For a fleeting second, Timanuel almost reflected on how strange it was that this woman knew so much and was willing to provide such information so readily. That thought died before it fully manifested, crushed down by the powerful force flowing in from an unseen world. Instead, Timanuel focused purely on the information, not on the manner in which he’d received it.

  “Sounds like our only real option here is to hunt the helsk. We kill that, and the battle is won. Anyone else see another way?” He paused, looking over at the others. Just because he was looked toward as the leader didn’t mean Timanuel would always have the best plan. He’d long ago accepted such an obvious truth. On this occasion, however, there was no dissent as the others shook their collective heads. “Then let’s move forward. Any balyons attacking us or nearby citizens, we deal with. Any that look like they’re heading somewhere specific, especially ones who move a little slower, as though laden down with food, we follow. Eventually, one has to lead us to the helsk. Then, all we have to do is kill it.”

  From behind him, the townswoman stepped slightly forward. “I should mention, a helsk is taller than a cottage, often as big around, and always keeps a personal guard of especially vicious balyons nearby.”

  How did she kn—another thought that died before it was fully formed. Timanuel felt what seemed like a half-headache, something he attributed to the new information they’d just received.

  With a shrug, Timanuel glanced over to the others. “New plan. It’s exactly the same as the old plan, except we try very hard not to die when we finally find the helsk.”

  “You should flee,” the townswoman insisted. “You are all strong; you may escape before our home is nothing more than ashes.”

  Wordlessly, Timanuel stepped past her, sword and shield raised once more as he moved toward a turn in the street, their first step toward new territory. The rest of his party followed, save only for Gelthorn, who paused next to the woman they’d saved.

  “Do not feel responsible. None may deter a paladin when there are innocents to protect and evil to foil. It is their greatest liability and truest strength.” With that, Gelthorn advanced, easily catching up to the rest of her party.

  They moved through the streets carefully, methodically, all too aware they were on unfamiliar terrain, facing off against new enemies. Keeping in tight formation, they were able to fend off the clusters of balyons they ran across, Timanuel swatting them back while Chalara and Gelthorn whittled them down. Occasionally, a balyon would leave itself open and he could manage a thrust through their heads, but it was rare that Timanuel was presented with such oppor
tunities. Nevertheless, he made a point never to waste them; the weight of their limited resources heavy on his mind. Eventually, Chalara would run dry on mana, and the other two only had so much ammunition. Every arrow and bolt they used was one less in their arsenal—a situation made more dangerous by their having no idea how many enemies they would face. It was impossible to ration the resources; they simply had to fight as smartly as possible at every turn.

  Finally, after a half-hour of making their way achingly slowly through the settlement, Gelthorn’s eyes caught a balyon moving sluggishly through the shadows, working to avoid detection. They tracked it, relying heavily on Gelthorn and keeping a fair distance back to avoid spooking it off course. If it noticed them, there was no telling when they might get another shot at finding the helsk. Thankfully, Gelthorn was functioning well in the battlefield, far better than she would if it were a normal city, and she managed to keep on its trail even with the winding route it took.

  To the party’s surprise, the balyon didn’t lead them out of the city, or to a building large enough to house something of a helsk’s supposed size. It instead descended a set of stairs near a set of normal-looking, if rundown, shops. They watched and waited, scouting the area to see if there were other entrances and exits it might flee through. What they found was that were indeed other sets of stairs, all of them spaced out around this section of the city, and a few upon which balyons were coming and going.

  “I guess I’ll be the asshole who says it: the helsk is underground, isn’t it?” Chalara asked. “Probably why no one has found it yet. I’m sure more people are looking for big, unoccupied chunks of city or searching from the sky. I mean, how did it even get down there if it’s as big as that woman said?”

  “Could be magic,” Gelthorn suggested.

  “Always in the mix,” Wimberly agreed. “But there is another possibility. Presumably, these helsks are born like any other creature, smaller than in their fully grown form. If someone brought a helsk into that basement as a baby, it would eventually turn into a powerful weapon of destruction and chaos. Keep it bound in there using magic or restraints, alive but hungry, and then turn it loose at the hour of your choosing.”

  Chalara gave Wimberly a long stare. “That seems like a fairly involved plan.”

  “Maybe, but unless these helsks can use magic, someone must have helped it get in there,” Timanuel pointed out. “Look around. Doesn’t this whole thing feel like a surprise attack?”

  His words rang true; the speed and ferocity of the strike certainly lent an air of forethought to the endeavor. A truly random monster attack was unlikely to have been so prepared, or to have kept the source so hidden and fortified. Gelthorn was the one who gave voice to the question in all their heads.

  “Does that change anything for us?”

  Slowly, Timanuel shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter how this happened. People are being hurt, and we have the opportunity to put an end to it. When it’s over, maybe we can look into how it all happened and be of assistance to those who hunt the mastermind. For right now, there’s a monster in the city, preying on innocent people. You know what I have to do.”

  “We do. And we’ll be right there with you. Well, maybe a few steps back, in my case,” Chalara added. “You know, for safety.”

  It took some doing, but Timanuel suppressed a laugh. It wouldn’t do to give away their positions over a bit of mirth. “Of course. Everyone, chug a potion if you need one and make any preparations you can. When we’re ready, we find one of the entrances not being used and head in. We’ll try to sneak around for as long as possible, then switch to offense once that fails. If the gods are with us, we might get a little ways in before the fighting starts.”

  Although he didn’t say it out loud, Timanuel doubted that such would be the case. Whatever else could be said about today, it certainly seemed the gods were anywhere but with him and his party.

  33.

  It was nice to see Fritz again. When she’d walked in the front door of the tavern, moments after the rest of the party had gathered along with Brock, Jolia, and Kieran, the elf trader was nearly bowled over by an embrace from Gabrielle, with more subdued ones following from Eric, Grumph, and finally, Thistle. The gnome was the most reserved in their greeting, as he was the only one who’d been warned she wasn’t simply here in her capacity as a traveling merchant. Since their last parting, Thistle had known there was more to Fritz than reached the eye. He hadn’t suspected her secrets to be centered around the Bridge, though.

  As greetings concluded, Kieran stepped in, before the warm sentiment could turn to earnest conversation. “Glad as I am to see that we can skip the introductions, there’s a lot to discuss tonight, and I think it will go faster if we give Fritz the floor to start.”

  That earned him a few uncertain glances, but everyone complied, taking seats around a table while Fritz ordered a mug of ale from the bar. She took a long sip before setting the mug back on the counter. “There’s something to be said for the purity of ale made with love. I’ve got magical devices that produce all manner of food and drink, and yet they always feel hollow when compared to something crafted by hand. Perhaps that’s my personal bias, but I don’t think so.”

  One more drink from the mug, and Fritz turned to address the room as a whole. Aside from Brock, who was at his usual station behind the bar, everyone was in the dining area, staring at her with assorted expressions of hope, confusion, worry, and distrust. This was a tricky situation; the people of Notch knew most of her story, while the adventurers were still used to seeing her as a simple trader. Lying risked severe consequences down the line, and as this was the second time she’d stumbled upon the group, Fritz was starting to have a hunch that might be a bad idea. When one had been around for as long as she—especially in her old job, which had prized forethought and wisdom—one got used to seeing the patterns in things. Small group, oddly stumbling into artifact after artifact… maybe it was chance, maybe it was fate, but whatever it might be, Fritz was too smart to assume it was done with them.

  “To begin, most of what you know about me is true. My name is Fritz, and I make my living as a traveling merchant. However, that is not the job I have always done, nor the role I have always played in this world. I’m going to keep telling you truth; I just may omit details about how I came upon said truth. Who I was before is irrelevant to this discussion, and I prefer to keep my past where it is, behind me. Can any of you not accept that, or do you need to know who I was before?”

  It was a risky move. They might very well make such a demand, and she’d implied that it was at least on the table. On the other hand, she’d framed the discussion in such a way where she was already going to give over all the necessary information; digging into her past would be seen purely as prying. She waited, ready for someone to object. No, not someone. Thistle. He was staring at her, and there was much going on behind those eyes. He’d known she was more than she presented to the world already; this might push his curiosity past the limits of his self-control.

  They locked stares for several seconds before Thistle gave a small nod of his head, motioning for her to continue.

  “I appreciate your willingness to let the past be the past.”

  “It’s something we’re all dealing with, in one form or another.” To Fritz’s surprise, this came from the usually stoic Timuscor. He’d grown up a bit since she last saw him. Physically, much the same, but there was a sense of self that hadn’t been as pronounced before. His travels were doing him well.

  “The longer you live, the truer you’ll find that to be,” Fritz replied. “But such musings can wait. Tonight, we’re here to talk about the collective artifacts you lot have been calling the Bridge.” She paused, hesitating for a sliver of a moment. “May I ask you where you heard that name?”

  The room filled with hushed discussion as Thistle, Gabrielle, Grumph, and Eric pieced together their recollections. It had been a good while since that first dungeon where they snuck through
the minion passageways, with travel and adventure in between, so they were careful to double-check each detail with one another. When dealing with the Bridge, any detail might be crucial.

  At last, Eric looked back to Fritz. “We know we heard it from Aldron, back when we found him with that first piece. None of us can remember him telling us where he got the name, but we do recall he mentioned communing with his chunk of the Bridge. Maybe he made up the term; it’s also possible he got it from the artifact. We really can’t say with certainty.”

  “He didn’t make it up.” The usual cheer on Fritz’s face was absent, an intensely focused expression stealing in to replace it. “That’s an old term for these artifacts, one we try not to circulate around too much. While it is possible this Aldron fellow heard it elsewhere, if he was truly communing with his piece, then the most likely explanation is that he heard it from the Bridge itself. That’s impressive. Not many can establish such a connection without their minds breaking first. You four may very well have neutralized a substantial threat to our world before it ever started to gain any real traction.”

  The compliment was sincere, yet it was also a lure for them to focus on, something to keep the party from getting too hung up on just how Fritz knew all this. They would wonder, of course, there was no avoiding that; Fritz’s main goal was to keep that curiosity tamped down until the meeting was done. Time was not their ally, and they needed a plan.

  “Right then, let’s back up,” Fritz continued. “The Bridge is a series of artifacts—I think everyone in the room knows that much. Despite looking like misshapen hunks of crystal, the lore I’ve found says that they are meant to fit together; they were originally one artifact that was shattered and spread across the kingdoms. Supposedly, the power of the individual pieces is nothing compared to the power of the true Bridge. With that said, even a single chunk of the Bridge can warp our world in ways that not even magic seems capable of. The only saving grace is that very few people can actually handle interacting with the Bridge for very long. Most go mad and eventually forget to eat or self-destruct in a more spectacular fashion. We’re all set on the basics, right?”