by Drew Hayes
It was massive. Three giant tables ran the length of the room up to the back of the hall, where a stage was present. On holidays, Notch would gather here, a room originally designed as a shelter in case of attack. In the beginning, when Notch was new, old habits and paranoias were hard to shake. Fallback areas and escape plans were established in case war ever made it past their safeguards. Being strong didn’t turn them into idiots who were careless with their lives; the people of Notch had been on guard and safety-conscious enough to survive a lifetime of adventuring. Those traits came with them as they settled down, helping make Notch the hidden safe haven it had become.
Over time, necessity had shifted the use of this massive area. They added the tables and benches first; this spot predated Brock’s tavern, so it had originally been used for meetings and needed places to sit. Then they had a festival here and wanted entertainment, so the stage was added. Then came a kitchen, then chairs with cushions, and so on. This hideaway had softened on the inside, but they never allowed a single element of its outer defenses to rot or break. Nice as comfort was, in Notch, survival always came first.
Kieran looked out from the stage on to dozens of faces he knew by name. These were his people. Part of his town. They’d put their trust in him, and now, because of choices he’d helped to make, their village was in danger. When it was over, he would take responsibility for that as best he could. Stepping down wasn’t an option; no one else wanted to do his job. They’d been leaders, champions, great politicians, and had left it all behind to have a simpler life. The life Kieran was supposed to be protecting.
“From the beginning, I knew this day would come.” Probably not the way Jolia or Brock would have started things, but Kieran needed to do things to his own satisfaction. Always had. “When one takes an endless view of things, which we all did when we began regularly eating from that tree, it becomes inevitable that we’d be discovered eventually. In many ways, we’re fortunate this is how it’s happening. Our enemy has no desire to spread our secret to the world, or to force us to vanish and find a new location. They merely want to kill us, to wipe us from the map. For most towns, that would be scarier, but Notch isn’t most towns, now is it?”
That got a stir; some of the half-orcs near the back lifted their heads higher. In a city of people who’d reached incredible heights, pride was always a strong button to push, reminding them that they were not some measly peasants fearing an invasion of bandits. They were legends; any one of them could step onto a battlefield and change the momentum of a fight.
“I can’t ask anyone here to fight,” Kieran continued. “When you came to this town, I promised each and every one of you that a life of killing was in the past. Jolia, Simone, Brock, and I undertook the responsibility of protecting this place when we agreed to be the town council, calling on you for your respective talents only when sincerely needed. We intend to honor that. Whatever comes tonight, we’ll try to drive it back. The adventurers who lured the evil here will do their best to help, weak though they are. But, as things stand, we don’t know what we’ll be facing. If they really have the Helm of Ignosa and an army of automatons, our force may not be enough. It’s very possible that we’ll lose.”
Elsewhere, such words might have caused a commotion. Not here. Not in this town. Living life as an adventurer often meant victory or ultimate defeat, and one couldn’t survive such a lifestyle without accepting that death was a very possible outcome. Legends died, too, and the citizens of Notch had each looked into the face of the reaper, even if they’d escaped the scythe. Kieran was right; he could lose. In any fight, he could lose. Which was why he fought smart enough to survive.
“If that happens, if we fall, then you’ll have to make a choice: run or fight. I won’t tell you which to choose in that scenario; you’ll probably know for yourself based on how easily we were killed. Should you decide to run, however, it is imperative that you do so without using magic. With the power our enemy has shown, we can’t trust any of the magic that involves connecting Notch to the outside world. Jolia tried to teleport a frog last night and ended up with a green and red mess on the floor. That’s why we’re meeting here instead of in a pocket dimension—even those doorways are currently suspect.”
Unlike Kieran’s prior announcement, this did summon a few whispers from the throats of the crowd. Most had dealt with some form of counter-magic before, but losing access to a tool so many depended on was never an ideal situation. Kieran let the murmurings continue for half a minute before moving on. This was a call that needed to be made in response to the attack; discussing it here was a waste of their limited time.
“I would like to ask some of the citizens here to volunteer for a task, if they’re willing. With magic in question, we need a way to signal everyone regarding the fight. Ideally, you’ll all scry the whole thing and be perfectly aware of the situation; however, we can take nothing for granted right now.” This incident was making Kieran keenly aware how much of their planning and defenses centered on magic, something he’d have to address, assuming they survived. Losing certainty in its effectiveness made magic virtually useless, and compromised countless defenses.
“Little about this situation is ideal, so it feels presumptuous to imagine that plan will be,” Kieran added. “As a backup, I would like to have some citizens come witness the fight. You’ll be on the fringes, and while there is some danger in that, it’s far less than anything you’ve faced before. Our watchers will each be given horns. When the battle is done, one way or another, they can signal the rest of Notch. A single horn means victory. Two means that we’ve been bested, but the remaining enemies can be easily routed. Three means run, all hope is lost. They who make this call should be some with battle experience, ones you all would trust to make that judgment if you can’t make it for yourself.”
To Kieran’s relief, several hands went up, including those of people he would absolutely trust to make such a decision. Beyond that, he could see the eyes of many a Notch citizen hardening. They’d come here to leave a life of violence and bloodshed behind, but none would have made it to this place if they were the type to run from a challenge. Whatever happened to him and the adventurers, Kieran had a feeling that Notch wouldn’t fall. Even if no one was currently jumping up to join the fray, their pacifism wouldn’t survive intruders coming for their homes and families.
There was enough power in this room to conquer a kingdom, and if Kalzidar’s minions weren’t careful, they’d bring every bit of it crashing down atop their god’s head.
37.
“And that brings us to the gauntlet.” Jolia held up the golden glove with red trim, showing it to Simone, who made an entry in the ledger at her feet.
Sorting through the magical items brought in by the raiders was a cumbersome task, one they’d been planning to handle bit by bit as time allowed. It wasn’t as though the citizens needed these tools or the gold from selling them, so under normal circumstances, it would have been a side project until completion. The threat looming over them had changed things significantly. With only a few people planning to fight—at least until they knew what the threat was—making sure the few combatants they had were well-equipped became a top priority. It had called for a reevaluation of all the equipment from the first battle, scanning thoroughly to see if there was anything that might be of use.
“Let’s see here.” Jolia adjusted the pair of spectacles she’d donned, examining the gauntlet more thoroughly. Many of the items were warded powerfully enough to suggest that their prior owners hadn’t wanted any random caster knowing their secrets. Fortunately, wards could be tricked or circumvented, presuming one had the mana and the skill. Jolia didn’t expect this alone to work—most items required at least a spell or two before they’d give up their secrets—but this time, she was treated to a nice surprise. “Oh! I actually know this one already. Kieran identified it the day of the fight and I know the history, so we can skip getting past the wards. This is a Gauntlet of the Fire Warden. Some
wizard from a few centuries ago was trying to channel the power of the entire Plane of Fire through a single tool. He never fully succeeded, although he did manage to produce some powerful gauntlets in the process.”
Simone took the glove away after finishing her ledger entry. The moment her hand touched the golden metal, her eyes widened. “I still can’t believe a mere raider was trying to wield something like this. No wonder he got warped into a fire elemental. You’d need to be nearing our skill level to handle this much fire magic.”
“That’s true for most of this stuff,” Jolia agreed. “Much too powerful for anyone without considerable skill and control. Not to mention that some of the items would put so much of a strain on a normal person’s mana supply that it would outright kill them. Same problem as most of our equipment.”
The trouble with helping the adventurers get gear wasn’t a lack of equipment—between pet projects and old keepsakes, Notch was littered with weapons and armor capable of giving even attacking dragons a second thought. Unfortunately, gear of that power usually demanded fuel and complexity, making it beyond that which weaker adventurers could handle. Most of the equipment in Notch could only be used by the powerful, those who had ascertained a certain level of capabilities. Good-hearted as the adventurers were, it didn’t make them suddenly stronger. With time, the town could have forged new equipment for them all, but sunset drew closer with every passing moment.
Their rushed sorting through the raiders’ gear had largely been a bust, though there were a few bright spots: a ring that helped protect the wearer, a necklace that sharpened the eyes and ears even in darkness, a pair of boots that heightened the owner’s speed. They were tools that the adventurers would be able to use, even with their limited capabilities. Hopefully, they would find more as they inspected the goods with greater care.
Jolia reached into the wooden box where the “to sort” pile was being stored. She rummaged around before finally clasping a hilt firmly in her hand. “Looks like we’re doing a sword next. Big one, too, larger than a normal longsword, although it must have some kind of enchantment on it to make it more wieldy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be able to do this.”
On cue, Jolia stopped gently tugging and hefted the blade out of the box with one mighty yank. It came free, briefly wavering overhead before slamming into the floor. Thankfully, they’d taken the scabbard off the owner’s corpse, so it merely made a clatter rather than cutting a shortcut between Jolia’s home’s first and second story.
“Mind giving me a hand with this?” Jolia offered the hilt, still clutched in her hands, to Simone. They needed to examine it, and while she could manipulate the weapon using magic, the less they used during examinations, the better. More spells tended to cloud the environment, making their job harder.
Without paying attention, mind still clearly on the gauntlet, Simone strolled over and accepted the weapon. An instant later, there was another clatter as the sword crashed to the ground, accompanied by a hiss from Simone as she leapt back and held her hand close to her chest. For a moment, there was wild violence in her eyes, a small peek at the kind of attitude life had demanded from her to survive this long. It passed as she uncurled her fingers, revealing a dark burn in the same shape as the hilt across her palm.
“Again! The damn thing got me again!” It was hard to tell if Simone was madder at herself, the sword, or Jolia, but she was definitely miffed overall. “Kieran checked this one. Hints of divine magic, some complexity, that was about it. The idea was to give it to Thistle if we can change the size, Timuscor otherwise.”
“Divine magic? Now that’s curious.” Jolia hopped off her stool, walking over to a large chest behind a shelf of ancient tomes and next to a bowl of bubbling green liquid, near the rear of the laboratory. She rummaged around for nearly a full minute before emerging with a stopped bottle filled with a dark purple substance. On her way back over, she paused and picked up a few pieces of parchment. That done, she got back atop her stool and set the bottle down on the edge of the table. “The salve is for your burn.”
“I’m undead. Healing is one of the many benefits,” Simone reminded her.
“Yes, but you heal slowly from divine injury, and you’re a grump the entire time. Use the damn salve while I find our entry for this sword.”
Although she wore a haughty expression while doing so, Simone took the salve and rubbed it onto her burned palm. There was a slight tingling as a soft purple glow moved across the charred flesh, leaving behind perfectly unmarred skin in its place. “When did you make this?”
“I was tooling around with some reagents a few years ago and discovered it by accident. Thought it might come in handy, but the undead of Notch are smart enough to avoid divine magic, so it hasn’t been needed yet.” Jolia’s hand moved briskly through the document, finally stopping at an entry on the second page. “Here we go. Looks like this sword was wielded by a raider against Gabrielle. Kieran’s notes are here too. Let’s see what the barbarian remembered about it. Sharp, sturdy, but no mention of special powers, especially not divine ones.” Leaning a little closer, Jolia double-checked one section. “Except that there was a resonance effect when the blade hit her axe. Gabrielle certainly didn’t know that, but from what I’m reading, the conclusion is inevitable.”
“A resonance with Gabrielle’s axe?” Simone looked at the sword once more, inadvertently taking a step back. “You’re sure about that? For a resonance to happen, the weapons both need to be of near-equal power, with diametrically opposed magical elements.”
“It’s a divine-powered sword—the burn on your hand proves that. And since Gabrielle’s axe made her a demi-lich, it feels safe to say there’s a strong amount of what some might call unholy magic in there,” Jolia rebutted.
On reflex, Simone bristled at the words “unholy magic” the instant they struck her ears. “Necromantic magic isn’t unholy or evil. True, it does harm the living the same way that divine magic heals them, but that doesn’t mean it can’t have constructive purposes. Divine power just has a better image than mine: it’s the magic of life. Death is a part of that too, however, and the magic of death is equally as important in the balance of things.”
“Just trying to make the point of why they were probably opposed.” Jolia muttered a short incantation, and the sword rose off the ground. Much as she was trying to avoid extraneous spells, there was no helping it this time. Simone couldn’t touch the thing without hurting herself, and Jolia was a gnome; the simplest solution was to use magic and hope it was worth the risk.
The sheath slid off the sword with a motion of Jolia’s hands, permitting her to draw close and examine the actual blade. She put on her enchanted spectacles, then cast a few more identification spells seconds later. A wrinkle of frustration formed on her forehead as she began casting more and more, slipping past the wards and enchantments piled atop one another.
For a lesser caster, even some archmages, the task would have been impossible. But years of relaxation and drinking hadn’t yet stolen away the brilliance and determination that had once earned Jolia the title of Royal Mage, the most powerful caster in all of her kingdom, tasked with defending the capital and the king in the event of invasion. That life might be behind her now, but the lessons it taught weren’t. Among them was the knowledge that any lock could be picked, no matter how difficult, if one was willing to put in the time and effort.
Finally, Jolia stepped away from the sword. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and Simone was watching with a concerned expression. “How long was I at it?”
“Almost half an hour. A little longer, and I was going to make a run to the tavern for some ale to lure you out.” Simone looked relieved, despite her flippant reply.
“Might still have you do that. Mithingow knows I could use a drink after this one. That thing is strong, which makes me wonder just how powerful Gabrielle’s axe is.” A hint of curiosity, more than suspicion, flicked through Jolia’s eyes as she looked at Simone. “If it’s on par with tha
t blade, then it’s no ordinary enchanted weapon.”
Simone nodded. “Hers is a unique piece. Under different circumstances, I’d have offered to buy it for later study. Sadly, that’s not viable given her condition and attachment. Makes me even more curious to know about this one, especially since a raider had no trouble using it.”
Snickering slipped from Jolia’s lips. “The raider swung a sword around; that’s not the same thing as saying he used it. It took me a while to crack through all the protections and see this find for what it is. We’re looking at a Divine Blade, Simone. Been a long while since I’ve even heard of one of these turning up.”
There had been an abundance of possible explanations for the weapon, and the longer Jolia took to unravel the mystery, the more Simone had entertained this as an explanation. Even with that preparation, she still didn’t entirely believe it at first. “You’re sure?”
With a wave of her hand, Jolia made the sword slowly rotate, showing off all its angles. “Fits the bill, doesn’t it? In most hands, it seems like a normal, well-made sword. Even a bit of visible enchantment to make it more tempting to new wielders. But when wielded properly by a paladin, it becomes an instrument of holy fury, unlocking the true power hidden away inside.”
“If you’re right, then you know what that means.” Simone gestured to the spinning sword, unable to keep a slightly sour look from her face when looking at it. “That thing can’t stay here. Divine Blades are meant to be lost and found, over and over, until they discover a new paladin to wield them. If it stays here, it’s going to draw in more outsiders, regardless of the precautions we take. Not even Notch can stand against the direct will of the gods, and they’re the ones who made the rules for Divine Blades.”
