by Drew Hayes
Nearly on cue, there was a wet, squishing sound as a gooey sack dropped from somewhere under the helsk, landing with a disturbing symphony on the stone. In seconds, a beak pierced the thin membrane as four fully grown balyons made their way out of the excretion.
“Unnatural seems a very fitting term for these beings,” Timanuel noted. He was waiting with them, patient and ready as the more tactically inclined members of the team worked out a plan.
With a start, Wimberly realized that, as a paladin, especially one of the god Longinus, it was entirely possible that Timanuel could use magic touched by order. That was the first good break they’d had in a while, as it meant that he could at least potentially injure the helsk.
“Timanuel, forgive me, it’s been a while: could you run through the spells you know so far?” Wimberly kept her voice low; they hadn’t been spotted so far, but the more they talked, the likelier it became. This was going to be hard enough without being discovered before they were ready.
“There aren’t many,” he warned her. “I’ve got the paladin standards like Illumination, Healing, and Bless. Also, one from following Longinus, specifically: Blade of the Righteous. I can enchant my sword with the power of my god, creating a slight glow and substantially increased damage.”
Wimberly held an array of curses in her mind rather than loudly spitting them out, albeit not without effort. If there was one spell in that list that might have helped them, it was Blade of the Righteous. Bless was purely divine, yet if Blade of the Righteous really channeled the actual power of Longinus, god of heroics and valor, then there was no way it wouldn’t come with a tinge of order. But they couldn’t send Timanuel into that swarm alone. He’d be torn to shreds before he ever got close, and if they went along, then they’d die, too.
Her eyes ran across the others, taking in every element and feature. There had to be something they could do, something in her arsenal, or theirs, that would let them pull out a victory. There was no other option. Timanuel was being patient only because he understood the need for strategy, but they all knew that he was going to fight this creature. It was tormenting innocent people in town; no paladin could walk away from this and hope to keep that title. She had to think of something.
Chalara was a powerful caster, but her magic would be wasted on anything other than the balyons. While Gelthorn had some magic, her arrows were her truest strength. She might be able to get some good shots in despite the tentacles, at least until the balyons rushed and overwhelmed her. Timanuel had already listed his spells; aside from that, he was a man with a sword and a shield—certainly useful, just limited in this situation. That left Wimberly herself, who had an abundance of gadgets and tools socked away, just nothing that might help bring down such a huge, well-defended creature.
Considering the limits they were dealing with, the parameters of the situation, Wimberly couldn’t see any path to victory. And yet, something in her mind wriggled. This was a new kind of idea, one not born purely of analyzing the problem as presented. In her time traveling with these people, Wimberly had begun to realize that perhaps some rules weren’t quite as immutable as she initially thought. There could be a way to win, if they could manage to shift things ever so slightly.
“Timanuel, that Blade of the Righteous spell, how many times can you cast it?” Wimberly asked. “And am I right in assuming that it’s meant for swords?”
“Technically, I could use it on an axe or a dagger, any weapon that could be genuinely considered to have a blade.” Timanuel paused for a brief second, eyes closing as he sensed the power still within him for the day. “If I pushed myself to the limit, I could at most cast it three times, but that would completely tap me out on magic. No healing, no blessing, nothing else.”
That was a serious risk; Timanuel was the only one of them who could heal. They had potions, of course, but they could end up unconscious or bound, at which point the vials would do them little good. It might be worth it, though, if Wimberly could get the results she needed.
“One more question.” Picking the right approach for this was key. Wimberly didn’t just have to make a case to Timanuel; she needed to make it good enough for the god he served. “Longinus is a god of the people, right? Fight for the innocent, protect the weak, the standard that paladins aspire to?”
Timanuel beamed visibly as he nodded. “Without question. Longinus teaches that the highest calling of the powerful is to protect the weak.”
“Then I need you to pray for some wiggle room in that Blade of the Righteous spell,” Wimberly replied. “That helsk is hurting people, more than we can possibly know about. Innocent people, who want nothing more than to go about their days in peace. I think we can stop it, right here and now, although not without personal risk. I’ll make that trade, and we both know everyone else here will, too, but only if I think there’s a real chance of victory. So pray, Timanuel. Pray and ask Longinus if, just this once, in the name of the innocents who are counting on us, he’s willing to be especially open about the idea of what constitutes a blade.”
He didn’t appear especially sure about this plan, but Timanuel did as he was told. Quietly, he kneeled and clasped his hands before him. Admittedly, the stance wasn’t strictly necessary; Timanuel just liked to show his god the respect of praying on a bended knee, especially when asking for a favor.
To the surprise of everyone, it was a short process. Timanuel had barely hit the ground and shut his eyes before they popped back open, his torso swaying slightly in the process. “I’m not the most adept at interpreting the will of the gods, but that message is hard to misunderstand. We are on the side of right, and while rules cannot be broken, they can be interpreted in different ways. I think, so long as you aren’t stretching the bounds too far, we’ve got permission to go outside the box.”
With one last glance toward the helsk, Wimberly readied herself to dole out instructions. Once they started this, it would go much too fast. If they weren’t prepared, they’d be dead before the battle even properly began.
“Then prepare whatever you need to cast. Things are about to get downright hectic.”
35.
The priestess of Kalzidar stood beneath the starry sky, a soft shiver running down her spine as she gazed at the lovely darkness between the hideous flecks of light. Soon, her god would extinguish them, one by one. First the kingdoms, then the world, then out to the stars, once he grew more powerful from every living being praying only to him. It wouldn’t be easy, for nothing worth doing was. Kalzidar was wise, and in his wisdom, he was patient. Conquering a world, killing the other gods, these were not acts that happened on a whim. Such accomplishments required forethought, planning, and careful execution. Although the priestess did not know what role she played in the entirety of what was to come, she knew her task was special.
There were many followers of Kalzidar working to make his dream a reality, but only she had been granted the assignment of something personal to her god. These foolish tools bowing to a god of servants had committed the ultimate offense, had weakened her god and delayed his ascension to the lord of all existence. For that, they would not merely die. For that, they would suffer.
Already, the heavenly bodies overhead were shifting. Soon, Kalzidar would be stronger. Not enough to conquer other gods, especially not so soon after losing a shard of his divinity, but he would have the necessary power to put his plan into action. The groundwork had started being laid mere days after these heretics wounded Kalzidar. The priestess was only the latest in the array of followers tasked with aiding in this goal. Kalzidar was many things, both great and terrible, but above all, he was a god who repaid those who struck against him with increased retribution.
And this group had quite the retribution coming, indeed. Soon. One more day of waiting, of preparing. One more sunset, and then she would march. One last day, and then they would know the wrath of Kalzidar.
* * *
It started with an arrow. One of the three “blades” Timanuel had ma
naged to successfully enchant. Gelthorn fired the softly glowing projectile; there had never been any doubt or discussion on that front. The weapons they had were limited. Each one counted. None of them could approach her skill with a bow, or her cool head in battle. In spite of the dire stakes, her hand was steady as she took aim. There was no signal to wait for; Gelthorn’s attack would be the start of the battle. From there, everything flowed, which made the first shot vital.
Her breathing was measured as she stared at her target, making careful note of the tentacles as they waved and wriggled through the air. Save for the ones lifting balyons, the tentacles appeared to move automatically, an involuntary function, like a heartbeat. While that did mean that they never completely stopped, it also made their patterns predictable. That might not hold true once the helsk was under attack, but for now it presented a window of genuine opportunity. All Gelthorn had to do was hit; that didn’t mean that hitting well wouldn’t make their job easier.
A little longer as Gelthorn made certain she knew the patterns and zeroed in on one of the horrendous faces dotting the purple flesh. They might be no more vulnerable than any other part of its body, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. If nothing else, they provided a more distinct target than a randomly selected patch of skin.
The sharp twang of Gelthorn’s bow echoed through the chamber, drawing the attention of the nearest balyons. That was fine, expected even. Once the first blow was struck, the time for stealth came to an end. Every adventurer’s eye was on the arrow as it soared on a direct course with the helsk. As it passed into the shifting web of tentacles, it went by undisturbed, proving that Gelthorn’s assessment held true. Some tentacles did break pattern, moving toward the arrow, but they were too slow. More interestingly, the few that drew close suddenly stopped, as if scared away. Evidently, that weakness to order meant more than mere elevated damage.
Her arrow drilled into the forehead of the face, piercing what would have been the brain in an actual person. The face’s mouth opened, contorted into a scream of pain. They’d been hoping for that, counting on it in fact. What they hadn’t expected was all of the other faces to join its sudden acapella performance of suffering. The noise hit like a blow, making Gelthorn wish she hadn’t been gifted with half-elf hearing. Sound drilled into her head, her mind, trying to make her very body turn against her. It wouldn’t work: she was stronger than that. Through sheer force of will, she fought off the urge to shake and vomit. Not far off, Chalara was doing the same; Timanuel had put a hand on her shoulder for encouragement. He might lack spells, but the presence of a paladin always seemed to help fend off such attacks.
Unfortunately, Timanuel would have no such effect on the herd of balyons that were suddenly clacking loudly across the stone, racing toward them. Hurrying, they rushed into their new position, trading a place to hide for a defendable position. Nearby was a small alcove—probably used for storage at some point. It wasn’t much: a few feet across and slightly higher than it was wide. Just enough for one person to stand in comfortably, or two, if neither person minded an occasional elbow in the ribs.
Gelthorn took her spot in the alcove, followed by Chalara and Timanuel. The paladin positioned himself in the very front, barely in the recession at all, pitting himself between the balyons and his friends. Chalara took a spot slightly to the side, giving Gelthorn more room to work in at the cost of leaving herself slightly more exposed. The core of this plan—their part of it, anyway—revolved around Gelthorn making the right shots at the right time. Timanuel and Chalara were there purely to keep her safe so she could take careful aim.
A surge of magic came from Gelthorn’s side as Chalara laid down a blast of fire centered on a mass of charging balyons. She might not be able to fight like Timanuel, but Chalara could still make their enemies regret bunching in a clump.
Another blast lit up more balyons, and they finally took the hint to spread apart. Although this wouldn’t actually reduce the number of enemies they had to face, it would—ideally—lower the number Timanuel had to deal with at any one time. If they started to swarm him, Chalara would remind them of the dangers of grouping up. She only had so much mana, however, which meant the use of big spells like that was limited. Chalara could only make them afraid of swarming until her mana ran out. They had to hope the lesson stuck before then.
The first balyon crashed against Timanuel’s shield, only to be hurled away when the paladin pushed back. With no time to brace, the balyon went flying, its own buoyancy working against it. Another ran up on Timanuel’s side, only to catch a blade in the face that sent it tumbling back into a nearby group of its kin, bowling them over in the process.
These creatures were designed to be resilient more than menacing. They didn’t need to successfully kill their prey to feed the helsk, only get enough bites and survive the encounter. Against someone prepared, someone they couldn’t swarm over with their advantage of numbers, they were ill-suited to be on the offensive. It was why the party had been willing to bet on this plan, once Wimberly explained the situation. With coordination and care, they could theoretically hold out, at least until Timanuel tired and the others ran out of magic or arrows.
Of course, none of that meant Gelthorn didn’t have to fight against distraction as she saw bounding swaths of balyons moving toward their location. She put them from her mind as best she could. The other two would deal with the drones—Gelthorn’s task was their monstrous creator. Another arrow was readied, and seconds later, Timanuel heard a whistle as it sailed past his ear on a direct course with the helsk.
The tentacles were faster this time, and Gelthorn’s shot not quite so precise. It slammed into the wall of tentacles, snapping in half as the appendages crushed it. With the break, however, there was a flash of green light. Vines burst out, ensnaring the very tentacles that had stopped the arrow. Soon, it was a tangled mess, a knot of green vines and purple tentacles all bound together.
A small sigh of relief slipped from Gelthorn’s lips, unnoticed in the boisterous noise of Chalara lighting up another cluster of balyons. No one had been sure whether or not her Vine Arrow spell would work on the tentacles; the whole thing had been a gamble. They weren’t exactly counting on it, but it did make Gelthorn’s job easier. With a section of the defensive tentacles tethered, there were now much larger windows of opportunity to utilize.
She wasted no time, firing mundane arrows into more of the faces. While none produced a sound quite as revolting as the first blow, thick blood still oozed from the wounds, and the helsk did let out groans of pain. The more damage Gelthorn could do, the better their chances that their big move would work.
Checking her quiver, Gelthorn noted that she was starting to run low. They’d been planning to resupply in this town, but getting hurled into a sudden battle with unknown monsters for hours hadn’t left much time for shopping. That wasn’t their only dwindling resource, either. Chalara was looking worse for the wear, cuts and bruises on her arms where a few balyon beaks poked through and a telltale sway in her stance that betrayed her mana was running low. Still, she was the picture of health compared to Timanuel.
Their paladin was panting, scratches and missing bits of flesh dotting nearly every exposed part of his body. He’d managed to drive back the horde at the expense of his own health, taking swipes and pecks from the balyons as he sent them flying. Despite being visibly tired, he caught another charge without missing a beat, stabbing a balyon through the head when it foolishly left itself open. Kill when possible, rebuff when not; that was the strategy they’d been given by Wimberly.
Across the chamber, in a direction only she was looking, Gelthorn caught a small flicker of movement. At last, Wimberly was nearing her proper position. Everything they’d done so far—the enchanted arrows, baiting the balyons, harassing the helsk—all of it had been for Wimberly’s sake. When their gnome had produced a set of oddly-spiked boots and gloves, claiming that they would allow her to move along the walls similar to a spell’s effects, it was hard to
swallow. Then again, after she detailed the rest of her plan, the wall-climbing part seemed downright reasonable.
It was a crazy strategy; they’d accepted that from the start. The problem was, no sane strategy gave them a shot at victory, which meant crazy was the best they were going to get. While Gelthorn, Chalara, and Timanuel were holed up, drawing the attention of every monster in the room, Wimberly had snuck as close as possible to the behemoth in the center and started ascending the wall. Like most of the gadgeteer tools, Gelthorn didn’t entirely understand how the creations were able to manage such feats, but she imagined that was likely how outsiders felt about magic. Understanding wasn’t necessary, only trust, and they all trusted Wimberly with their lives.
She wasn’t quite there yet, unfortunately, so Gelthorn shot another arrow into the helsk, striking it on the side opposite from Wimberly’s approach. Timanuel’s breathing was growing louder, his body running largely on pure determination by this point. A half-hearted blast of fire erupted some ways off, singeing a few balyons without managing to fling them more than a few feet.
“Fuck me. I’m tapped.” Reaching into her robes, Chalara produced a dagger, stabbing it into the head of a balyon that had decided to only pay attention to Timanuel. “Out of magic, anyway. Still got my stabbing hand, so I’m not done yet.”
“A little longer,” Gelthorn told them, firing once more. This time, the arrow didn’t make contact. It had been a tad too rushed and ended up swept aside by a defending tentacle. Only two more arrows left, and one of those couldn’t be used until Wimberly was in position. Carefully, all too aware of the increasing numbers of balyons around them, Gelthorn readied her final mundane arrow.
Slowly, Wimberly was making her way up the wall, nearing the top of the ceiling. Those hooked gloves and boots with the strange mechanisms were proving their worth despite the shoddy appearance. That was comforting, especially given that their survival now rested on the functionality of another Wimberly gadget.
