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

by Drew Hayes

  Of course, that was only true for as long as she kept surviving, so Gabrielle leaned in to pay close attention as the conversation turned to Fritz and Eric’s traps. Notch was a fine town, but she wasn’t ready to meet the end of her journey quite yet.

  * * *

  Many ignorant fools in the world thought that when one followed Kalzidar, they were required to sacrifice their name. Names were lost, that part was true, but sacrifice implied that the worshipper gained nothing as compensation, a fact that was obviously untrue. Kalzidar’s followers were not those who gave willingly. He was served by those who sought power, information, wealth, or any other means to fill the burning ambitions within their hearts. They would never have given away something so precious as their names just to worship a god; there were plenty of other gods who would hear their prayers for free.

  No, the loss of a name was no sacrifice. It was a trade. The first display of his power. Other gods offered boons and blessings, promises of favor for those who served them well. Kalzidar dealt in no such uncertainties. He expected results from his followers, and in turn, he provided results when they succeeded. To serve Kalzidar well was to be always gaining, growing, becoming more than what a person could ever have been on their own. The name was a demonstration he used on newcomers.

  Their names were not lost, not truly. Kalzidar took the terms, simple words in concept, but words that had been so thoroughly soaked in the essence of themselves that the two were inseparable. He burned everything superfluous away, cooking it down to a single skill or talent that defined who they had been, before he warped that feature into something of true power. They who served Kalzidar lost their names, but in return, they gained a new magic born of their own past.

  Stories raged, even among Kalzidar’s own followers. No one was sure what dark magics were out there. The power to create swords of pure mana, to shatter stone with a whistle, to turn paper figurines into monsters, to pass unseen through any crowd or ward—these and a dozen more hints of what might be floated around at any time. There were even whispers of a former priest of Longinus who’d gained the power to summon devils, although that one seemed too far-fetched to believe with only rumor. Rumor, however, was all she had. To serve Kalzidar was to live in secret, even from one another.

  Once, in another life, the priestess had been a woman who loved nature. She’d had a name then, a family. It was a simple life, working the farm during the day, spending her evenings in the nearby forests and fields. Looking back, it all seemed so serene and unreal, like she couldn’t believe it had happened to her. In a way, it hadn’t. That version of her had been mortally wounded the day she came home to find her farm and home in ashes. In the days that followed, she would learn that adventurers were seen near her home, speaking with her parents and siblings. They had apparently wanted something—food, shelter, gold for no work, adventurers always had an endless list of wants they expected fulfilled. Whatever it was they sought, her family had either lacked it or denied them. So the adventurers had burned everything they had, including their bodies.

  It was impossible to know how long she’d been broken by her grief, only surviving in the glow of the endless fury she felt for those beasts who’d taken her whole life away. Those days were lost, a swirl of pain and numbness that persisted until she was at the altar. She could still remember that moment, feeling Kalzidar’s presence for the first time. There was no comfort in it, and that was refreshing. She didn’t want comfort, didn’t want to be told that the gods would see to things and it would be okay in the end. Kalzidar knew that from the beginning. He never tried to offer her warmth or hollow promises. What he offered her was the truth.

  The world was cruel. Life may end in a moment. The only ones who could survive, who could protect what they cared for, were the powerful. Kalzidar didn’t present some religion where one might work their way into his grace through ill-defined acts of goodness. He showed a map to power, pure and simple. Those who served well were rewarded; those who failed were cast aside. The world was cruel, and so were Kalzidar’s means. Unlike the world, however, he lived up to his end of the bargain. When he struck a deal, it was honored. The priestess had done several smaller tasks already and felt her magic grow as consequence. If she pulled this off, the reward would be incredible.

  In the forest, shapes began to move, lumbering forth. What had once been a sincere love of nature so deep it was rooted in her very name had been altered, warped, and improved. The shape her magic took was something of a surprise, but it shouldn’t have been. By that point, there was nothing in her more connected to who she was than her grief.

  The sun hung low. Time was drawing near. She checked her bag carefully, making sure she had everything she needed for what was still to come. Not every magic item they had taken was for those incompetent raiders to find. Several were held back specifically for tonight. They might not all be needed—planning for contingencies meant getting gear for specific problems—but one item had to be ready before she started her march.

  From within the bag, the priestess produced a long staff made of a stone dark as midnight. At the top, it splintered into several claw-like appendages, as though the staff were reaching out to grab something. She stepped closer to the spot on the ground where Kalzidar’s treasure lay slightly pulsing amidst the runes she’d painstakingly drawn.

  In truth, this ritual and the magic in it were a mystery to her. Only Kalzidar’s divine, precise guidance had allowed her to create this site properly. Once she removed the treasure, the barrier around Notch would vanish. All that would keep them barred was Kalzidar’s power—much of which would be needed elsewhere tonight. That was why she’d been instructed to wait until the last moment, when the adventurers would be busy preparing for her arrival rather than trying to break through the communication barriers.

  Slowly, inch by inch, she moved the staff closer to the glowing artifact sitting atop the grass. When the first of its claw-like arms was near enough to touch the target, her staff suddenly sprang, seizing the chunk of glowing crystal and clutching it tightly as every arm wrapped around it. Moments later, new runes lit up along the shaft of the weapon, quickly reaching her hand. It took all she had not to drop the staff right then and there. There was so much power contained within, the staff seemed like it would break from trying to control it. As she held on, the priestess realized something, though. The staff wasn’t trying to contain or control the power: it was merely aiming it. This new tool lacked the versatility of an unfiltered connection with the treasure, but made up for the trade with simple usability. By wielding the staff, she could increase the effect of any spell or item she used, assuming she didn’t completely overload her target by mistake.

  Unbidden, her eyes darted to the shapes in the trees before she shook loose the idea. They were too important. She couldn’t afford to risk destroying them, especially not before she was ready. There were a few test items she’d experiment on in the brief time before she needed to move. Only one item would likely need this boost to work. For the rest, it would simply make things more interesting.

  An entire town of former adventurers against one priestess of Kalzidar and the treasure he’d entrusted to her. Victory might seem impossible to an outsider, but there were many kinds of victory here. Not all required slaying every enemy. Although, if the night did end with her razing their entire village, the priestess would consider that an unexpected bonus.

  After what they’d done to her family, she never tired of making adventurers suffer.

  41.

  The site of the entrance ritual was easy to identify. Finding it, however, turned out to be an unexpected challenge. In a sea of open space, Gelthorn didn’t anticipate much difficulty in locating a simple stone altar, yet despite following the map precisely, she saw no sign of it until they were, quite literally, nearly on top of the site. It turned out that whoever made this place had used a slight incline before a miniature crater to hide the location from riders unless they knew what they were
looking for. Between the tall grass and the carefully constructed landscape, spotting this place without knowing it was there took exceptional vision and attention to detail.

  Once discovered, the site itself was unimpressive: a stone arch, set in front of a stone bowl and built in the center of the crater, surrounded by three stone altars arranged in a triangle around it. Gelthorn and Chalara examined the altars carefully, searching for any concealed sign or rune that might hint at which trophy went where. Ultimately, they discovered nothing, which proved sensible after some consideration. There were several different options for what they could have hunted, so assigning specific items to specific altars would only make the whole endeavor needlessly more complicated. Nevertheless, they had to be thorough. After everything it had taken to get these components, the idea of starting over was untenable; more likely, they’d just move on to a new adventure.

  Carefully, they unpacked their hard-won prizes: the feather of a golden roc, the eye of a lyranx, and a face from a slain helsk. Each so seemingly small, when held in a hand. It would be impossible for anyone else to feel the weight of the effort, fear, and blood that had gone into acquiring each one. But the spell would know. It wasn’t just about the items; it was about the power it took to earn them. Some components, like material for their potions, could be purchased. Others, like the helsk face, could only be earned. When dealing with magic, details mattered.

  First came the potion, poured into the stone bowl. As it landed, the archway began to glow. Next came the golden roc feather, which dissolved within seconds of touching the potion. An instant later, one of the three altars glowed the same hue as the archway. The other altars lit up as they added the eyes and face, respectively.

  “Now, we wait,” Chalara informed them. “When the magic finishes, the door will be ready. Going to take a while, based on what I’ve heard. And on that topic, our portal only stays open for a few minutes, so we need to be ready to move as soon as we can. Much as I love a silly risk, getting here was tough, and I’m not in the mood for a do-over.”

  All of her party took note of the fact that even she was being serious and readied themselves appropriately. There might be more than they knew about, one last test to pass before getting through, and they wouldn’t be caught unprepared. They’d fought hard to gain entry to Lumal; they wouldn’t lose their chance now. Not without putting up the best fight they could.

  With weapons ready and nerves tense, the party drew closer, kept their eyes on the door, and waited.

  * * *

  They knew their enemy was coming. Agramor had sent word the moment someone entered her forest. None of the adventurers had met the druid as of yet, but no one in Notch doubted her report once it was received, so she was evidently the trustworthy type. If Agramor had sent more information than just the fact that someone was approaching, it would have been appreciated; although, since concealing magic was in play, they could hardly blame her. Evidently, a dark sphere moving through the woods was all she could glean. No sights or sounds, not even smells, were drifting through that barrier. The one thing Agramor seemed certain of was that there was no way it was big enough to hide an army. In theory, that should have been comforting, but in practice, it meant they had no idea where their enemy’s forces were or how they’d arrive, assuming they were real.

  Once they gave up on that assumption, then there truly was no way to guess at what was coming. Even with an inkling of what he suspected was going on, Thistle hadn’t been able to fully unravel the point of all this. So much effort, just to keep them here. It didn’t make sense, which could only mean that he was missing something. Until he knew more, Thistle’s nerves refused to settle down; he was anxious to have an enemy he could see, confront, and ideally dispatch before their true sinister intentions were laid bare.

  “I see the dome. They just emerged from the woods and are heading this way.” Eric’s necklace was already proving its worth, as the rest of the party squinted to try to make out a dark blob off in the distance.

  It took a full ten minutes for the dome to properly come into view, and another fifteen before it had drawn close enough to merit concern. Weapons were out, but not raised, as their wielders waited patiently to see where this was going. Just as the dome was nearing the town square, Kieran stepped forward. His own blade was still in its sheath. Given the speed with which they’d seen Kieran move, the time it would take to draw was probably negligible, unlikely to make any difference unless he had an opponent who was equally as quick.

  “Fun an entrance as that is, it’s also as far as you go like that. I don’t want to tarnish this town with blood, and since you don’t have an automaton army with you, I’m sincerely hoping you’ve come to talk. If you don’t show yourself, however, I’ll have to assume the worst. And naturally, after that point, I’ll have to do my worst. Let’s not go down that road. Not unless it is unavoidable.”

  At first, it seemed like the dark dome must be blocking sound from getting in as well. Kieran’s speech was met with neither reply or reaction, like it hadn’t been heard at all. Nearly a minute later, just as he was inching forward, a woman stepped out from inside the sphere. She wore simple, gray traveling clothes, and would have slipped past them in any street or village without drawing a second glance.

  That was, until one looked her in the eyes. There was something in there, a rage that had grown stronger with time, warping and twisting until it was all that remained of whoever she’d once been. Her hatred had bored her out from the inside, devouring or casting off everything else, until there was no more person at all. Just a puppet held aloft by strings of anger.

  “In his infinite wisdom and mercy, my god sends me with a message of compassion.” She may as well have spat the words, for all the sincerity they held. Still, they listened. If there was a chance to end this peacefully, it was worth taking. On the other hand, if she was trying to distract them, then it still paid to keep an eye on her, even as they scanned for other potential threats.

  “Kalzidar has decided that waging war on the town of Notch is not in anyone’s best interest. You would lose your lives and homes, while he would acquire new enemies of considerable power. While you are less than a horse’s shit on my god’s shoe compared to his might, it is undeniable that you could make trouble for the mortal worshippers who serve his glory. Kalzidar has no quarrel with Notch. He only seeks fair retribution for what these blasphemers stole from him. To that end, I have come with an offer.”

  Moving slowly, she produced a small item from a pocket at her side. Most of the adventurers looked at it with uncertainty, save for Thistle and Grumph. They, along with a few others from Notch, recognized the magical item, even if it had been a long time since either had laid eyes on one.

  “I’m sure seasoned warriors such as yourselves know a Stone of Challenge when you see one, but for the sake of the uneducated thieves, I will explain,” the priestess continued. “These are magical devices popular in the wealthier kingdoms, used when people wish for a battle to go uninterrupted. Traditionally used for duels, they will conjure a barrier around those fighting, preventing others from interrupting. It will also block spells, enchantments, and other kinds of magic from outside the sphere. Now, obviously, this simple charm couldn’t hope to stop the powers of someone from Notch, but if they do give you aid, then the fractures will show in the barrier. It is not a tool to stop all outside cheating, merely to make it visible when such actions occur.”

  The speech was flat and clearly rehearsed. Even as she visibly tried to keep herself neutral during the explanation, her gaze kept flashing when it fell upon them. No matter what reasonable-sounding words Kalzidar had told her to say, there was no hiding the hatred that coursed through her.

  Lowering the cube to her side, the priestess forced her eyes back to Kieran, not without some effort. “The great and powerful Kalzidar has decided to permit your town to remain hidden away and untouched. In return, he asks only that you allow me to fight these adventurers uninterrupte
d. Win or lose, we leave this town as is. Unless you intervene, of course. At that point, you are no longer neutral parties, and Kalzidar will have no choice but to send his army across this land and leave only dirt in its wake.”

  “You say you want to have a match, yet I can’t help noticing you’re still keeping that dome up. Got a few tricks hiding in there?” Jolia was squinting slightly, doing all she could to pierce the veil without openly casting a spell. Until they really understood the situation, changing its dynamic could be dangerous.

  For her part, the priestess was unbothered by the accusation. “I brought allies, of course. Four of them, in fact. Five on one isn’t a fair fight, is it? As for the bubble, are you in the habit of openly giving out all your tools and magics before a duel? Perhaps you’ll next talk to the rogue of the group and tell him not to sneak around a battlefield. The element of surprise is a standard part of combat; don’t pretend I’m somehow duplicitous for using it.”

  She had a point, not that it mattered. The whole situation was entirely too reasonable for Thistle’s liking. This was how someone sensible might handle a grudge, not a god with Kalzidar’s reputation. He was renowned for his vengeance; the brutality of it soaked his legends. Marching into town, demanding a duel—none of that was his style. But their options were limited at the moment. They either played along, or didn’t.