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

by Drew Hayes

  Odd as the situation was, Thistle’s instinct was to go with it. The magical barrier wouldn’t be able to stop anyone from Notch, so if the priestess pulled something, they could easily jump in. There would, of course, be repercussions, but if they didn’t indulge her plan then that would be their situation anyway. Doing things her way, at least for a while, offered them an opportunity to finish this peacefully. That was an option worth hanging on to for as long as they could.

  “Us versus you, and no matter how it plays out, you leave this town in peace. That’s the deal, right?” Thistle stepped forward, earning a look of disgust from the priestess. As the one who actually held Kalzidar’s divinity as it was destroyed, she must have hated him most of all. Nevertheless, she swallowed her feelings and gave him a curt nod.

  “As Kalzidar has ordered, so will I obey. That is the offer he instructed me to make, so it is the one I will uphold.”

  Pretty words, not that they could be trusted. Although swearing to follow her god’s orders seemed like it meant they could trust her, Kalzidar was a fan of trickery, and had no compunction about his followers using it. There was nothing they could believe in her words. Only what she did would show them the truth. Better to get every piece of information possible before starting a town-wide battle.

  “Then we will honor the request as well. So long as the duel is a fair one, we do not wish to drag Notch into our feud with Kalzidar.” Thistle glanced at the people of Notch, making sure that they would follow his lead. He needn’t have worried. The seasoned citizens could all see where he was leading things. As for his team, they were already at his side. They either saw the same angles he did, or trusted their paladin enough to follow him. For the time being, Thistle didn’t care which.

  Once more, the priestess nodded. “Then let us move slightly away from town, and we can begin. As you had time to prepare traps, I’m sure you won’t object to me choosing the location.”

  That part took Thistle by surprise, but he didn’t fight her on it. She had a point, and given the approach she was using, it was hard to deny her. So long as she acted in the spirit of fairness, the priestess had the right to demand the same in return. That was one of the drawbacks of being a paladin—even when he knew better, Thistle had to give his enemies the chance to be decent. Once she betrayed them, however, all bets would be off.

  Together, everyone walked to an empty patch of grass not too far from the town. The entire trip was tense; every adventurer, current and former, waited for something to spring out and surprise them. Their only warning that the trip was over came when the dome suddenly halted, the priestess stopping right along with it.

  She faced everyone—first the people of Notch, then the adventurers. “Since I took off my own weapons and armor to face you peacefully, I trust there is no objection to permitting me a moment to prepare? Seeing as all my enemies already have their own equipment at the ready.”

  Another request that seemed reasonable, yet still set Thistle’s teeth on edge. The longer this drew on, the more he wondered if it was a mistake to let the priestess dictate so many seemingly minor terms. True, they could add the people of Notch to the fight at any time, yet some part of this still wasn’t sitting right in Thistle’s gut. They’d missed something, he knew they had, and until Thistle figured it out, he was fighting half-blind, unsure of which actions he could take without inadvertently playing into her hands.

  “Of course. We wouldn’t attack someone who was defenseless, not before the duel has even started,” Thistle assured her.

  “Those who wish to fight should get within fifty feet of my dome. The rest of Notch, please stay farther out. I will activate the stone and give you fair warning before the bout begins. If I fail to do so, the people of Notch may attack me freely without fear of Kalzidar’s reprisal, for I will have disobeyed his orders.” With that, the priestess walked back into the dome.

  Much as he didn’t trust her, Thistle nonetheless motioned for the others to spread out around the dome. If they were going to play along, they’d go all the way with it. Bunching up was too dangerous; it would make an easy target for one spell, so they needed to position themselves carefully. Thistle took the south of the dome, right where the priestess had entered. Timuscor and Grumph were both on the western side, defaulting to a duo to cover one another’s weak points. Eric was opposite Thistle, on the northern side of the dome, while Gabrielle was at the eastern point. As for Mr. Peppers, he was, as always, only a few feet from Timuscor, tusks at the ready.

  “On the count of three, I will activate the cube and drop the dome. At that point, the duel will have commenced. The winners leave, the losers die here.” A brief pause while everyone shifted and adjusted their weapon grips. “One… Two… Three!”

  The barrier snapped into place, but something was off. Thistle had seen Stones of Challenge used before, and the surge of magic brought on by their activation was never this powerful. Whether it was the lessons of Notch or pure experience, Thistle could feel the mana surging through the air, reinforcing the magical wall between his party and the outside world. This was much, much stronger than anything he’d experienced in the past. How in the world was she doing this?

  That was the moment Thistle could finally focus through the rush of mana and give his attention to the area that had previously been concealed by a dome of shadow. To her credit, the priestess hadn’t lied. There were only four other beings around her, all of them dark green. Thistle might have paid them more attention, were his gaze not stolen by the priestess.

  She was surrounded by branches and thorns, a woodland castle forming around her. Aside from a few more trinkets, she looked much the same, save for the staff in her hand. It was horrendous, twisted and gnarled, like living rot. Yet worse by far was what lay at the top of the staff—a glowing chunk of crystal that Thistle often saw in his dreams and nightmares.

  The Bridge. She’d brought her piece of the Bridge onto the battlefield with her.

  And based on the way her Stone of Challenge was pulsing with the same unnatural light, she hadn’t brought it along just for show.

  42.

  Shocking as the sight of someone swinging around a piece of the Bridge was, Timuscor didn’t have time to indulge in staring. No sooner had the dome vanished than the opponent nearest to him and Grumph began to move. It was humanoid, in the sense that it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head. For a creature made of branches, thorns, and grass, the shape was impressively well-sculpted. Timuscor almost thought he saw a face in the leaves coating its head, just before the plant warrior slammed both its arms down onto Timuscor’s shield.

  The blow was incredible, driving him back and nearly to his knees. If the shield he used wasn’t enchanted, there was a real possibility it could have broken from that single hit. These monsters were strong, and worse, relentless; Timuscor realized that his opponent wasn’t letting up. It moved in closer, ready to pummel Timuscor while he was off balance.

  That endeavor failed when a blast of fire slammed into its face, courtesy of Grumph. Much as Timuscor might have liked to see it go up in flames, the monster slapped at its head and, seconds later, the fire was out. Worse, Timuscor noticed that the seared portions were slowly reforming, ash replaced with new growth.

  “These are not some animated topiaries to be trifled with,” the priestess called out. Her reasonable façade was gone now, naked madness plain on her face as she cackled with joy. The snaps and shudders of her growing fortress tried to drown her out, but the woman would not be denied. “My allies are born of the power Kalzidar gave me. His dark magic flows through them, and no simple spell will burn them away.”

  Hardly ideal, but not insurmountable either. If the dark magic of an evil god was what protected these things, then the power of a good one should negate it. Even if he couldn’t talk to him, Thistle was still a servant of Grumble, and as such, he had the power to temporarily bless weapons. It would drain his mana; however, given the circumstances, there wasn’t likely
to be a better use for his magic, anyway.

  Chancing a look across the battlefield, Timuscor saw Thistle dive out of the way of another, smaller plant person, coming up near him and Grumph a moment later. Moving quickly, Timuscor threw himself between the large foliage monster and the others, giving Thistle enough time to cast. Once Grumph’s weapon was enchanted, they could hopefully trade off. Timuscor would be more effective once his sword was blessed as well, assuming he ever managed to get in a single attack.

  “Thank you, paladin, for being so wonderfully predictable.” Just as Thistle finished the hurried mutterings under his breath, Timuscor could hear another sound follow on its heels. A snap, like a lock being set, and a rush of mana. Slamming his shield into the plant monster, Timuscor drove it a few steps back and checked to see what had happened.

  Thistle and Grumph were looking at Grumph’s staff, momentarily confused. In the priestess’s free hand, there now rested a small box with runes atop it, a bright glow coming from beneath the lid. It made no sense to Timuscor, but Thistle’s eyes narrowed as he saw the box. “A spell sealer. You waited for me to bless something so you could lock it away.”

  “Did you think you were the only one who could plan and scheme before a fight?” The priestess moved as if to tuck the box away in her pocket, but it was impossible to be sure with the sizable fortifications blocking her from view. “These don’t last long, and they can’t snare every spell, so they’ve never become too popular. However, I’ve found that spell sealers do have the occasional use.”

  She was enjoying this. Enjoying tormenting them. Enjoying watching their attacks bounce off her allies, or strike without leaving significant marks. This woman would tear them all limb from limb, laughing while she did it. Rage tried to rise within Timuscor’s breast, but he shoved the feeling away. Anger was well and good in the right situations, but this was not one of them. He needed a clear head to make calm, split-second decisions. As the others scrambled, it was on Timuscor to give all he had protecting them.

  “The priestess has sealed my spell of blessing.” Thistle raised his voice, making sure the others could hear him. “I can’t add blessings to any of our weapons for some time, likely until the end of the battle.”

  To an outsider, it might have seemed like Thistle was warning the others that the fight had taken a bad turn, and there was some truth to that. Timuscor knew enough to listen for the choice of words, though, and he noticed that Thistle had only cautioned that no new weapons could be blessed, a firm reminder that they already had a couple in play.

  On cue, Eric darted forward, slashing at the legs of a more slender, faster plant monster harassing Gabrielle. While her own weapon, fearsome though it was, cut only small sections away, his had a far more pronounced effect. The moment his short sword—the blade inherited from his paladin father, who had laid a permanent blessing upon it—struck, a flash of white-blue light tore across the living flora’s skin. Smoke rose from the wound, and when it cleared, there was a sizable chunk of roasted greens across the creature’s leg.

  Not needing a verbal hint, Gabrielle fell into position behind him. There was a chance her axe’s special abilities could have similar effects, slicing through the magic that gave these tree people form and movement. Unfortunately, that move came with risks, and it was a surprise they’d only get to play once. There was some chance, meager as it was, that Kalzidar didn’t know precisely what her axe could do. None of them had even known until arriving here in Notch, so it was definitely possible. If so, then his priestess wouldn’t be aware either. There was no way a woman who’d come so prepared had already sprung every trap in her arsenal. Better to hang on to their surprise card until it became essential. For now, she could defend Eric while he carved up the plants.

  Nearby, Thistle was doing much the same. With Timuscor and Grumph blocking for him, the gnome tossed his first two daggers into the larger monster’s torso, creating flashes of light and sizable holes wherever he struck. Spells could be locked, but the primary weapons of a paladin were so frequently exposed to divine magic that they always had a blessing. Sadly, Timuscor realized that the wounds were healing, albeit at a much slower rate than the ones inflicted by normal weapons. That was okay; they could still win this by doing enough damage to destroy their opponents. Assuming they got a chance, of course.

  It hadn’t escaped Timuscor’s notice that there were still two unutilized plant people—a near matching set a full foot shorter than the slender counterparts. They were in positions equidistant from the priestess, who was glaring angrily at Thistle and Eric. Her fortress had slowed its growth, but the work was largely done. She’d become sealed away within layers upon layers of enchanted thorns and branches, leaving only enough space to see the battlefield and potentially contribute. If that was not her intention, she likely wouldn’t have bothered to leave any such vulnerabilities. One allowed holes in a fortress wall to fire arrows through, not to enjoy the view.

  Also curious was the fact that Mr. Peppers was hanging back, not far from Thistle. The boar usually charged right into battle on Timuscor’s heels. It was unlikely he’d suddenly turned coward, which left Timuscor to assume that Mr. Peppers thought that was where he needed to be. The idea might seem ludicrous for a simple boar, but he’d long ago accepted that his partner was no mere beast. More than that, Timuscor realized he trusted Mr. Peppers’ judgment, to an extent. The instincts of a wily animal were often better developed than those of men. His presence at Thistle’s side meant that there was still more danger to come.

  “I knew the paladin’s blades would stink of his god’s tainted divinity, but I didn’t expect there to be another.” Radiating hatred boiled in her eyes, yet there was also a sincere joy in her smile as she produced another item, a glowing orb that fell from one of the holes in her fortress and rolled slowly across the grass. “Good. You’ll make him quite happy. This one has been starved for weeks. I imagine he’s quite ravenous by now.”

  A surprisingly soft tinkle reached Timuscor’s ears, the only warning he’d receive that the glass orb had cracked. He would have paid more attention to the process, but attacks from their plant monster demanded his shield and attention. Despite the holes Thistle was putting in it, the damn thing refused to slow down. By the time Timuscor had a chance to look back, a thin veneer of white smoke was fading, leaving something he’d never seen before shuddering to its feet.

  The creature was horrific, mottled black-and-silver skin stretched across a long, wiry frame that would reach at least seven feet when standing upright. Its hands and feet were disproportionately large, ending in sharp claws on every toe and finger. The face, or lack thereof, was the worst of it. No hair, no eyes, no ears, only more taut skin, a row of slits that could be a nose, and the mouth: wide, slobbering, with teeth that resembled obsidian stones. The being looked more like a monstrous life-support system for a mouth than an actual creature.

  Behind him, Timuscor heard Thistle suck in a short gasp before letting it out as a single strained word: “Ravisher.”

  “I’m impressed. You know your denizens of the Chaos Plane.” She was grinning from ear to ear, completely lost in the thrill of her latest murderous surprise. “You wouldn’t believe how many helsks we had to let through before a pack of these finally crossed over. After that, it was just a matter of giving it the right appetite.”

  The ravisher whipped its head around, the slits above its mouth expanding and contracting. Timuscor shifted his footing. Thistle had just landed a blow on the plant monster, so it had momentarily retreated. If the ravisher came for his group, it would create the risk of them fighting on two fronts. Timuscor would intercept it, allowing Thistle and Grumph to finish off the plant while he bought them time. If it went after the other two, Gabrielle could do the same for Eric.

  After a few seconds, the slits stopped widening so frequently. That was the only warning they had before the ravisher leapt forward, careening directly toward Timuscor, Grumph, and Thistle. Reacting as he’d pl
anned, Timuscor pivoted, setting himself firmly between the ravisher and his friends. It didn’t slow down, perhaps couldn’t, given its breakneck speed and considerable size. Rather than absorb the pounce on his shield, Timuscor took advantage of its cumbersome heft and slid to the side, letting the attack strike empty ground.

  Not one to waste an opportunity, Timuscor brought his freshly sharpened sword down onto the ravisher’s back, intending to cut through its spine, if it had one. To his shock, the blade bounced right off, sparking as though he’d struck an anvil. As it turned out, the ravisher also was not one to waste an opportunity.

  Moving unnaturally fast, it jerked forward, its huge mouth widening even larger. It was too close and too quick for Timuscor to dodge; there was barely even time to think. Acting purely on instinct, he angled his sword as best he could. The maneuver worked, in that the ravisher’s open mouth came down directly on Timuscor’s blade. Rather than carving through the back of its skull as he’d hoped, the weapon was suddenly stopped cold. Not by the back of the ravisher’s head, either. No, it was the monster’s teeth that halted the attack.

  It had bitten down on Timuscor’s sword. For a fleeting second, he thought it was a defensive move. That idea lasted only until the harsh shattering noise reached his ears. He was wrong. The ravisher hadn’t bitten down on his weapon; the creature had bitten through it. It gulped, once, then opened its mouth again. He could see the teeth marks at the edge of the blade, more than half his sword now gone, vanished into the beast’s belly, or wherever it digested steel. Moving fast, Timuscor leapt clear, pulling what remained of his sword back, too.

  “Timuscor, throw away that sword,” Thistle yelled, hurling his daggers into the plant monster Grumph was holding off as fast as they would return. “Ravishers can eat anything, and they grow immune to it as a consequence. I once saw some living in a volcano, swimming through it like a lake, living off lava. She’s given that one a taste for metal. That’s why your attack didn’t work. And once it starts a meal, it won’t stop until it finishes.”