by Drew Hayes
“So astute, just as I was warned.” The priestess was taunting them, her duo of guards still close to her side. Already, the pet ravisher was moving once more, thick tongue drooling on the grass as its head followed the movements of Timuscor’s blade. “But will you figure out the true danger in time, wise gnome?”
Timuscor paid her as little mind as he could afford. Whatever game of jibes and strategy they were playing was beyond him. He was trained as a knight, and combat was the only time he felt he genuinely added to the party. That was how he earned his keep, how he showed his friends how grateful he was to be a member of the group. Without hesitation, he reared back and hurled the sword across the battlefield. It landed heavily in the grass, only a few feet away from the priestess’s protective shell.
“Fetch,” Timuscor muttered, more in hope than command. Mercifully, Thistle was right. The ravisher instantly bounded after the blade to finish it off. “Maybe try some of her metal while you’re at it.”
“Silly man, haven’t you noticed? I wield no metal, and neither do my plants.” The priestess’s eyes flashed joyfully as she watched the knight’s weapon vanish into the ravisher’s mouth. “Soon, none of you will either. After that, well, since all your blessed weapons are metal, I imagine my lovely plants will have a much easier time tearing you apart. And oh my, what a surprise your souls will find on the other side.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the cascading hatred grew more focused, more dangerous. “You still don’t understand the real punishment you’re facing, paladin. If you did, you would bash your skull against the barrier trying to break through. Don’t worry, though. You’ll find out quite soon.”
43.
From the instant Fritz saw the woman wielding the staff, she’d put it together. Even before Jolia inspected the barrier, only to find it was far, far stronger than what the item should have conjured, Fritz had expected as much. Wielding a piece of the Bridge was no easy feat. Eric had only managed as much as he had thanks to a touch of talent and dire straits that helped him focus. Producing sustainable, useful effects on the fly would take someone years of practice to manage, especially in a combat setting. Building a tool, on the other hand, was far more achievable. It worked on the same premise as the ritual Fritz had used, but she refused to trade precision for convenience. Used as a tool, the effects the Bridge would be able to produce were limited. Amplifying other items would be one of the simpler tasks to give it, and could be useful in virtually any situation, especially with preparation.
Knowing the trick was the easy part; the harder conundrum was deciding what she should do. As things stood, the priestess hadn’t technically broken the agreement. All she’d done was increase the power of the magical barrier, reinforcing the divide they’d already agreed to. The purpose was clear; she didn’t want the Notch citizens to have a choice in helping, but that was in the spirit of the challenge. The priestess had yet to break her word. She’d laid out a challenge and was seeing it through. Granted, so far, she had the upper hand; however, that was part of agreeing to a battle. There was a chance her friends might simply lose just because they weren’t as strong. Whether Fritz should do something about that or not, she was still deciding.
“I don’t get it. Why go to all the trouble of threatening Notch, risking us fighting too, only to cut us all out at the end?” Simone shook her head as she watched the ravisher finish off Timuscor’s sword. “I’m sure it’s some sort of complicated trickery, but this type of strategy has never been my preference.”
Kieran nodded. “The risk was minimal for someone with cunning. It’s no secret that we like to avoid bloodshed when we can these days. The odds of Notch actually picking a fight were staggeringly low, and by pretending to include us in the attack, there was a strong chance those five would underprepare. Most adventurers, when surrounded by people of our skill level, would assume that we could handle whatever threat was presented. That group’s questioning and paranoia of the situation worked out to their benefit. They always assumed they’d have to fight, and prepared for it appropriately.”
They had been preparing, Fritz wouldn’t argue that point, but how effective it might be was still up for debate. Theoretically, Fritz could use their piece of the Bridge to work against the priestess, undoing whatever augmentations she commanded that staff to cast. Was that really the best use of her energy, though? Truth be told, this was a grudge match against a representative for a god who had a legitimate vendetta against the party. Kalzidar wouldn’t give up just because his priestess failed. He’d come again and again, until the fight was no longer worth it. If those five wanted to walk this path, then they had to be capable of doing so under their own power. Otherwise, she’d be risking Kalzidar’s wrath only to have the party die in a few weeks, anyway. Fritz couldn’t afford Kalzidar’s—or any other god’s—attention to be placed too closely on her. She’d given up so much to gain anonymity; losing it would make her goals thousands of times more difficult.
“Until she does something that actually breaks the rules, we should stick to the agreement,” Fritz said at last. “Besides, with her piece of the Bridge occupied, cracking through Kalzidar’s communication barrier just got a lot more manageable. Let’s help them by figuring out what exactly is going on. That might turn out to be exactly what they need.”
“And if it isn’t?” Brock asked.
Fritz gave a somber shrug. “It’s Kalzidar, so figuring out his goals is bound to help someone stop them, even if it isn’t pertinent to this particular group.”
“She’s right. We have a window for information. We should use it,” Kieran said. “But the Bridge is back in the safe room. By the time you arrive, it might be too late.”
Fritz met his eyes, and Kieran’s world briefly spun. Whether it was the proximity of another Bridge piece or merely his survival instinct kicking in, the mask of Fritz slipped for him, for a moment only, reminding Kieran just who it was he was talking to. “Of course, you’ve made preparations for such a situation, haven’t you?”
“Added a teleportation altar outside the room before we left.” Rummaging around in one of her pockets, she produced a small rock with a glowing rune on top. “Kept the keystone on hand, just in case. I’ll get to work. Kieran, run over and meet me there. You’re probably the only one fast enough for it to matter. Everyone else, keep an eye on the fight. If she breaks a rule, you decide what to do about it. Also, don’t be shocked if a bird or a mound of dirt starts talking. I’m going to relay messages as easily as I can in the moment, which probably means using the Bridge rather than a spell.”
Giving a quick wave, Fritz vanished in a flash of the same green light that was glowing from the stone. An instant later, Kieran took off at a dead sprint, moving at speeds that were difficult for even the citizens of Notch to track.
“You ever worry that we’re all going to end up serving that woman one day?” Jolia asked.
“I don’t worry about the courses of storms, the desires of gods, or the schemes of mages. They’re things I cannot affect, so it’s a waste of focus,” Brock replied. “Besides, if she wanted to rule, she would still do so.”
Jolia refused her gaze’s attempts to waver from the battle back to where Fritz had vanished. “Maybe. Or maybe she just wants to rule everything, and this is how she’s going about it.”
* * *
The sky was growing dark as they waited. Gelthorn scanned the area every few minutes to be sure no one was sneaking up on their position. Even knowing that the ceremony would take some time, the wait was taking a toll on them. They were right here, after working so hard to get this far, but now was the time when things usually went wrong. A band of thieves, or some hidden monster, would probably charge in, pitting them in a life or death battle just as the window to enter Lumal opened, forcing them to fight for both success and survival. Yet, as minute after minute passed, no such threat emerged.
Meanwhile, the swirling magic of the archway was growing more substantial by the moment. Smoke and
color twisted in its depths, giving the occasional flash of something beyond. It was never much—the shadow of some looming building, a burst of unexpected light from a new source—but the more intense it grew, the harder it was to look away from. Even Gelthorn had trouble keeping her head on a swivel.
Then, without ado or warning, it changed. The colors vanished, leaving only a thick smoke in the door. A gust of wind blew some of it out, sending it across the ground, where it quickly vanished. The party looked at each other as understanding set in: that wind hadn’t come from around them. It was ready. The doorway was complete.
“Kind of thought it would be a grander view than a bunch of smoke,” Chalara mumbled as she lifted her bag. “I suppose they like to play it private to the very end. It better be impressive and memorable when we get there.”
“Shouldn’t be much longer.” Gelthorn took a test sniff of the air, noticing new smells coming through the opening. There was sound, too, but it was muffled. Magical doorways might not be the best eavesdropping tools. The smells, though… there was familiarity there. Oddly, the most notable smell was soot and fire, an oddity that lasted only until she took a closer look at the smoke around them. It wasn’t pure, or magical. Just dark and heavy, the perfect sort for obscuring what lay beyond a doorway. More pageantry, from a town that clearly survived on the stuff, given what entering had demanded.
Together, they linked hands and ran through the newly formed door, entering Lumal at long last. When the smoke finally cleared from their eyes, they were treated to their first look at the City of Secrets, the Sealed Civilization, the Center of Knowledge since time immemorial. Chalara had been right about what to expect: the sight they encountered was both impressive on a scale of horror and something none of them were ever going to forget.
* * *
Sliding back into the room where they’d left the ritual—and the Bridge—ready to go, Fritz wasted no time in making a connection. She could still feel the lingering effects of their earlier work; all the traps she and Eric had laid across potential battlefields had been nothing more than effort wasted on a distraction. Taking a breath, Fritz put her annoyance aside. That was to be expected when dealing with a cunning enemy. Part of the priestess’s tactics had been spreading their focus too wide, so they’d waste time on fruitless endeavors. It was why Kalzidar had gone to such great lengths to keep them cut off from news of the outside world.
The bigger problem was that Fritz knew there was more at work here than what she’d seen thus far. Kalzidar was a petty, vengeful god, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. This was a lot of trouble to go through just to kill a few adventurers who could easily be picked off along their travels. Why do it like this? Why so much scheming and set-up? She didn’t know, not yet, but that was about to change.
Using the power of the Bridge to punch through Kalzidar’s barrier was an almost minor effort. Though it was hard to be sure without breaking the ritual, Fritz strongly suspected he’d dialed back how much power he was investing in the communication blockade. Other items on his agenda probably took higher priority, now that the attack on Notch had commenced.
With the Bridge maintaining a hole in the barrier, it should now be possible for Fritz or the others to use magical messages. That took time, however, so the trader decided to do some quick reconnaissance while she and her artifact were already connected. In the back of her head, a slight throb formed, the precursor of far worse pain to come. She’d used the Bridge a lot today; calling on it even more was taxing her mind. That was a minor concern. Fritz had pushed herself vastly further than today would need, and there was plenty more she could do before the pain moved from annoyance to actual danger.
Extending her senses, she used the ritual to look beyond her current location, moving miles away in the span of a thought. The Bridge couldn’t be used to locate individual objects or people the way spells could, but if the user knew where they were going, it could show them virtually any location. It was an ability most useful to those who had traveled far and wide across the kingdoms, which was part of why Fritz spent her time doing precisely that.
It took only seconds for her head to fill with visions of Lumal, a city with which she was intimately familiar. In both her current and former positions, it served as a wonderful source of knowledge and resources. The earliest parts of her journey had been spent ransacking the libraries of Lumal, hunting for any clues or tidbits she could find. Part of her—a sentimental piece weathered down throughout the years—still held a nostalgic fondness for those endless stacks of books. Perhaps that was why she let out a small tear as the vision came into view.
By the time Kieran opened the door behind her, having made the run in barely over a minute and a half, Fritz was already back on her feet and ready for him. Her lone tear was gone; a dangerous glint now shone in her eyes. The moment Kieran saw that expression, he knew there was more at play than they’d realized. “What’s the report?”
“The report is that, while I still don’t know exactly what’s going on, I now understand why Kalzidar was so keen on keeping this place blocked off,” Fritz told him. “It wasn’t for the adventurers. Well, not just for them, at any rate. He was trying to keep all of Notch sealed away, because, as hidden as you might be, there are a few in Lumal who know about your secret village. People who would have called on you for help in a time of serious distress.”
“Lumal is the most well-defended place in all the continent’s kingdoms.” Kieran had been there himself, and the defenses were of a caliber that even he considered adequate.
“It used to be, but not anymore.” Fritz paused, the images of what she’d seen still flickering through her head.
“Lumal is burning. It may well be already lost.”
44.
She was toying with them—that could hardly have been more obvious. Two of her four humanoid plants, which Thistle had begun to think of as plantoids, were still doing nothing more than standing in front of her like personal bodyguards. Sending even one more into the fray would put his people on the defensive; they were already working hard to deal with the two mindless, attacking plantoids she’d spurred into action. Even with a few blessed weapons, his party could be overpowered by the strength of her forces. Yet the priestess refused to give the order. Instead, she’d pulled out a ravisher with a hunger for metal and turned it loose.
Why play a new card when she already had what could well be a winning hand? Thistle’s eyes roved while the ravisher gobbled up the remains of Timuscor’s sword. As soon as that thing moved again, he wouldn’t be able to risk looking away, so Thistle worked hard to absorb every detail he could. The attacking plantoids had backed off for a moment, both of them recovering from the divine wounds left by his and Eric’s respective weapons. Thistle paused, reconsidering that fact. Neither had been so wounded that it was risking death, so why not keep pressing the attack on the chance of killing an adventurer? If these were summoned warriors, their deaths meant nothing, especially when traded for killing a target.
The priestess was cackling. The ravisher was almost done with its snack, there were two unmoving plantoids right in front of the miniature flora-fortress, and two plantoids readying themselves to attack. His own people looked relatively fine, save for Timuscor, who appeared slightly distraught by the sudden loss of his sword. Despite the fact that they still had a numbers advantage—at least until she got the other twin plantoids involved—they were fighting on the defensive. That had been acceptable when they were still trying to draw out her plan, but the battle had been on her terms for too long. If they wanted to take control, they needed to start sweeping some of her pawns off the board.
“Grumph and I will deal with the ravisher.” Using an overhand toss, Thistle lobbed one of his daggers through the air, where Timuscor snatched it easily. “Everyone else, kill the plants however you can. Sorry it’s not a sword, Timuscor, but that’s one of our only blessed weapons at the moment. Make it count.”
Timuscor asked for no more t
han that. With his shield raised, he raced toward the heaviest plantoid, the one Thistle had been peppering with dagger strikes. They met in a sonorous clang. Leafy appendages stopped the charge cold, the plantoid’s superior strength winning out. Timuscor wasn’t merely a burly bruiser, however. He was trained as a knight, and that meant competency with all manner of weapons. Using the distraction of his shield, Timuscor leaned around and with his free hand jammed the dagger into his enemy’s side several times. Tough as the creatures were, their lack of armor meant that they were incredibly vulnerable to strikes from blessed weapons. The plantoid couldn’t just slam through an enemy like Timuscor; it was going to have to out-fight him.
Across the battlefield, Gabrielle and Eric stepped up their aggression as well. Gabrielle still hadn’t activated her anger or her axe, but she was plenty strong enough on her own to distract and block against the swifter plantoid while Eric slipped in to deliver strikes wherever he could. Even with blessed weapons, unfortunately, their opponents were shockingly hardy. Whatever magic flowed through them was incredible, perhaps even augmented.
Thistle had nearly forgotten that tonight, Kalzidar’s power was greater than normal. The priestess mentioned that these creatures came from his magic, so it stood to reason that they’d be enhanced as well. That thought alone nearly knocked his mind from its train of thought. If this one priestess was seeing a substantial increase in power, how much damage were the rest of Kalzidar’s people wreaking tonight? Thistle tossed the idea aside before he could dwell on it. He didn’t know how strong these plantoids were meant to be. Perhaps they weren’t augmented at all. If that were true, though, then it meant their enemy was all the more powerful. None of the options Thistle had to consider were especially good ones.
