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

by Drew Hayes

  Worse, his time had officially run out. The ravisher gulped down the last of Timuscor’s sword, the slits on its head beginning to expand and contract once more. It was sniffing; Thistle already knew that much. He had to make sure the scent it caught was in his direction. Otherwise, it would pounce on an existing fight. With a quick motion, Thistle whipped a spare dagger—one lacking the inherent blessing of a paladin’s main weapon—into the ground between him and the ravisher. Movement caught its attention, as did the scent of freshly unsheathed metal. In a bound, it had crossed the gap, scooping the dagger up with its long tongue and crushing it between those obsidian teeth. Thistle’s spare dagger wasn’t of the same quality as Timuscor’s sword, so it was gone in seconds, ground into quickly swallowed splinters.

  Thankfully, he’d already drawn its attention, and before the ravisher had a chance to sniff again, Thistle was in front of it. With a free hand, he clanged heavily on his armor, making sure it heard the sound. “That was a mere morsel. If you want a true meal, come and give me a bite.”

  As a mindless creature ruled by hunger, the ravisher needed no more convincing. One bound took it on top of Thistle. It pinned the gnome easily as those massive jaws opened wide, bringing the dark teeth down on Thistle’s breastplate. Unlike the sword and dagger, it didn’t easily chomp right through. In fact, its teeth were grinding against the armor, unable to make so much as a scratch.

  Inheriting the armor of Grumble’s first paladin had been a deeply spiritual, emotional moment for Thistle, but since then, he’d mostly enjoyed the protection on a practical level. Despite having taken a direct strike from a dragon, he hadn’t actually been sure that it would stand up to the continued gnawing of a ravisher, so this was a welcome discovery. It was still possible the creature could make headway with enough time, which was why Grumph had already moved into position.

  They had come a long way from Maplebark, and in their journeys most had upgraded parts of their equipment. There were still a few items from their first trip that had endured, though. Thistle’s magical belt and sheaths , Gabrielle’s armor, Eric’s inherited short sword, and of course, the demon-bone sword that Grumph had warped in his mage trial. He had eventually incorporated the sword into the tip of his staff, which meant he technically wielded a spear. On top of being forged from the bones of a particularly nasty type of demon, the weapon bore a slight lightning enchantment, and, most importantly of all, had not one ounce of metal within.

  Lining up his blow, keenly aware that the next one wouldn’t be so easy, Grumph took advantage of Thistle’s distraction and slammed the demon-bone blade through the ravisher’s back. It burst out the front with a spray of black ichor. The wizard had hoped he would kill it outright by hitting the heart, or at least cripple it by clipping the spine. Strangely, he felt neither as his thrust finished. It was like the ravisher was all shell and muscle, with nothing else to hit.

  It did feel pain, though. A horrendous screech reached Grumph’s ears as the ravisher wrenched back its head and howled. Turning at what should have been an impossible angle—if this being possessed bones—it swiped at Grumph. The attack was crude and jerky. Electricity surging from the weapon was enough to weaken, not incapacitate, but the blow still managed to shove Grumph back a full foot. These things were powerful. Had it been intent on eating them instead of their weapons, they might already be in bloody heaps.

  The ravisher reared back for another attack, seeking to strike Grumph while he was still off balance. Before it had a chance, the sound of scraping metal rang out as Thistle sliced at it with his other blessed dagger, the only one he could reach under the ravisher’s near crushing weight. Annoyed as the monster was by the augmented staff rammed through its chest, its hunger still evidently topped everything in priority. In a blur, it slapped Thistle’s hand down, knocking the dagger from his grip. Before he had a chance to think, let alone try to recover the weapon, it was gone into the ravisher’s mouth.

  This one did demand a little more chewing, so Grumph grabbed hold of his staff and jerked it upward, trying to cut from the chest to the neck. Whatever the biology of this thing might be, Grumph felt reasonably certain it would stop eating things if he cut the head from the body. It wasn’t a solution that worked every time, but the number of creatures that could keep fighting after decapitation was limited.

  He managed to widen the wound by a few inches; however, the ravisher wasn’t without survival instincts. It spun around, ripping the weapon from Grumph’s grip before slamming both its arms into the half-orc’s torso. The blow sent him flying back toward one edge of the barrier, where he landed heavily. Almost as an afterthought, the beast reached around and yanked the staff from its back. Giving the weapon a test sniff, it cast the staff away without another thought. The ravisher then leaned back down to Thistle, licking his armor with that swollen tongue. Moments later its head was back in the air, sniffing.

  “We didn’t just feed that one metal, you know. We went out of our way to feed it every piece of blessed metal equipment we could find. While it will eat any metal, it has an undeniable preference for the kind you’re counting on.”

  She’d barely finished speaking before the ravisher was off Thistle and lumbering toward Eric and Gabrielle with stilted, jerky movements. At least the staff-stabbing had left electrical damage, though how long the effects would last was anyone’s guess. Thistle looked from the priestess to the ravisher, and then to the pair of twin plantoids still standing silently in front of her.

  It made sense now. This wasn’t a battle. It was torture. That was why she hadn’t unloaded all her tools at once and crushed them. She wanted them to keep fighting, keep hoping, coming up with new ways to win that the priestess could blow apart. They knew Kalzidar was a vengeful god, but they’d forgotten that he was renowned for his cruelty as well. Simply killing the party wasn’t enough; he wanted them to suffer first. When the killing did finally start, Thistle had a hunch that he wouldn’t be the first to go. They would start with the others, slaying his friends one by one as he, their paladin, failed to protect them.

  He had to figure something out, and soon. Thistle held no particular fear of death; as a paladin, he knew what awaited him on the other side. Still, as much as he looked forward to seeing his wife once more, it wasn’t worth the lives of his friends to hurry the reunion along. Thistle might be okay with dying, but he would be damned if he let Kalzidar take the others along with him.

  * * *

  It was clear they were losing, even before the ravisher had taken out one of their three remaining blessed weapons. Gabrielle could count, too, and it hadn’t escaped her attention that half of the priestess’s flora forces were relegated to guard duty. Grumph getting hurled through the air was enough motion to draw her attention, which turned out to be a good thing, since not long afterward, the ravisher whipped around, making a run for Eric.

  Holding off the surprisingly graceful attacks of their first enemy was taxing enough; the creature of leaves and branches was adept at slipping aside every time Eric came in for a strike, turning devastating blows into glancing ones. Eric still had the soft glow of the gem on his sword’s hilt, meaning he could deliver a single, devastating attack before it needed a day to recharge. That wasn’t a strike they could waste on a potential blow: it had to be a sure hit. Unfortunately, as Gabrielle watched the ravisher shudder and bound toward them, she found herself wondering if perhaps they shouldn’t have been a little more daring. If they could have downed the plant first, they wouldn’t be in nearly so dire a position.

  No, that was silly. Gabrielle checked the field once more, making sure the twin plants were still rooted in place. Killing one enemy would likely just mean they got another rotated in. Better to hold on to their limited abilities for when they could count the most. Of course, she did still need to deal with their immediate problem. The ravisher couldn’t be allowed to reach Eric. Not only was his sword an heirloom, it was now the best blessed weapon the party had. Losing it would both wo
und and weaken them.

  The trouble was, Gabrielle’s axe, magical though it had proven to be, was made of metal. She wasn’t so sure it would be easy to bite through, but in this case metal was a weakness, a weakness that would definitely make injuring the beast more difficult. There was a chance she could use her axe’s abilities to negate the ravisher’s protections; however, she’d never attempted to use it in such a manner. Not to mention, she hadn’t actually tried to use the axe’s negation powers since her change. It had always seemed like a needless risk to take, something better reserved for optimal conditions.

  Had she been trained as a knight, taught the proper uses of weaponry and battle, Gabrielle might have faltered in that moment. Thankfully, her education was that of a barbarian. Her time with goblins had shown her the way smaller, weaker creatures fought. They had no rules or dignity; the only thing they cared about was survival—of the clan first, then of themselves. Hers had been an unintended education in the methods of improvisation, tactics, and listening to one’s instincts.

  With a toss, Gabrielle flipped her weapon through the air, catching it after a single half-rotation. Her grip was roughly a foot above the head of the axe, the remainder of the shaft sticking up like she held a staff. In her human form, the weight would have been too great to wield in any manageable way. Fortunately, she was no longer fully human. And there was a reason some people gave themselves willingly over to undeath: the perks were nothing to sneeze at, and enhanced strength was only one of them.

  This had all happened in a matter of seconds, too slow if the ravisher had been moving at normal speeds, but just fast enough thanks to its jerky lumbering. Whipping the shaft of the axe around, Gabrielle cracked it across the head, sending the monster sprawling back. It landed heavily, shaking itself and slowly trying to rise back up. Although the attack had been a surprise and her next strike wouldn’t be so easy, Gabrielle felt a rush of elation. It had worked. She had a way to fight this monster. With luck, she could smash its head in, and they could focus on the plants.

  Gabrielle’s attention was locked on the ravisher, a move that was understandable, but ultimately unwise. To her credit, she could hardly have known that the first act of the plant twins would be to move together in a coordinated attack. She felt something sharp—several somethings sharp, actually—try to jam its way through her back. Most of the sharp objects were stopped by her demon-hide armor; however, one branch managed to find a gap, stabbing deep into her midsection. Even while already turning to defend herself, it was too late to stop the other plant twin’s attack—a slam that was rapidly nearing her head. Jerking around so as not to take the attack in the face and risk her vision, Gabrielle felt a blow that should have torn her neck from her shoulders land on her skull.

  While her body held, the attack flipped her from her feet, causing the world to spin until she came down hard on the ground. She was facing up, looking at a surprisingly starless night sky. It might have been pretty, if not for the pain in her gut and the ringing in her ears. Evidently, the priestess took the protection of her pet ravisher seriously, if she’d decided to finally let her guards join the fight.

  Just as that thought went through Gabrielle’s head, a pair of figures appeared in her vision, blocking out the empty night. The twins weren’t done with her. Already, wickedly sharp branches were emerging from their hands. No, they hadn’t come to stop her from neutralizing the ravisher. It seemed the priestess had finally decided to start killing, and Gabrielle was her first target.

  45.

  Clouds of ash billowed up from below, swirling in with the smoke and drawing coughs from everyone as they struggled to make their way off the arrival platform. It was hard to tell under the current circumstances, but from what little they could make out, this appeared to be some sort of receiving area for those first arriving in Lumal, set slightly apart from the nearby buildings. There were lush seats, as well as signs directing people to all of the wonderful destinations Lumal had to offer. Of course, most of that was on fire, though a few remaining pieces were enough to give context to the observant.

  “Again? Fucking two bad teleports in a row? I think this module is getting a little repetitive,” Chalara complained between coughs.

  “Or maybe it was giving us a hint that we shouldn’t always assume we’ll end up somewhere peaceful,” Wimberly countered. “A hint that we ignored, even after last night. We still didn’t walk through that doorway expecting a battle.”

  Gelthorn quietly drew an arrow as sounds from nearby reached her ears. “No, we didn’t, but we’re certainly ready for one now.”

  Timanuel took the cue and moved into position in front of Chalara and Wimberly. Gelthorn was too mobile during a battle, he couldn’t effectively tank for her, so he focused on protecting the ones who needed a shield. “Ready.”

  After prepping her bow, Gelthorn crept forward, down what would have probably been a lovely marble hallway under other circumstances. As things stood, the nicest feature of the hallway was that it was made from stone and therefore had yet to catch fire. Her own steps were near silent, but there was no muting the sound of a fully armored paladin walking over marble. Deciding that stealth was out, Gelthorn realized that their only shot at surprise was to get there quickly. Making a motion for the others to follow her, she darted ahead, moving as fast as she dared.

  Getting too far ahead was dangerous; however, she was also the only one who might have a chance to analyze the sounds and make a call before an enemy noticed her. If escape was possible, they might have to consider it. That would go out the window should they see people in trouble—such was the cost of traveling with a paladin—but otherwise, she could probably convince Timanuel that it was more honorable to wait, learn, and strike well than to throw his life away in a brawl.

  Hurrying around a corner, Gelthorn skidded to a stop, unsure of how to process what she saw. A pair of huge men in golden armor held the arms of something that was shaped like a human, yet was clearly not. The fact that the creature was made from metal was the first giveaway, as was the fact that a third guard was slamming an enormous greatsword down on the creature’s neck, over and over, the cut barely expanding with each blow. As the third guard kept cutting, the metal man continued to struggle, and from the way it swung its huge captors around, Gelthorn knew the damn thing had to be strong.

  There was no chance to consult the strategists—that metal warrior looked as though it could break free at any moment. Making a snap decision, Gelthorn barked out orders as the others caught up to her. “Help them hold the arms as best you can, and if anyone knows a way to damage that thing, do it.”

  Racing forward, she grabbed hold of the right arm, where the guard was more visibly struggling to keep control. Now that she was this close, Gelthorn could see the metal man had no legs, wounds that looked suspiciously like acid burns lingering where his thighs ended. Even with two limbs down, the monster was this strong? How deadly were the fully capable ones?

  Her guard gave Gelthorn an uncertain look as she grabbed hold, but he was smart enough to accept help when it was needed. Seconds later, Chalara was at her side, taking hold with what little strength her sorceress’s body could provide. “I know about these things; most mages do. They’re called automatons, built by some crazy asshole a long time ago. The fuckers are basically immune to magic. Hence why all casters know to avoid them.”

  On the other side, Timanuel was helping to pin the left arm, while the guard with a greatsword continued slamming his blade into the automaton. Progress was being made, just not quickly enough. From the corner of her eye, Gelthorn noticed that Wimberly had wandered over to the front, a healthy distance from the swinging guard, and was looking the automaton over carefully. Given her size and proportional strength, it was questionable whether or not she could have even reached an arm to hold, so perhaps she’d found a better use for her skills.

  Even with the adventurers’ help, it was a struggle to keep the automaton contained. Finally, after seve
ral more minutes of hacking, the guard managed to cleave through, sending the head tumbling to the ground. In a surprisingly speedy movement, the same guard yanked a dark bag out from a pouch on his belt and slipped the head inside. Almost instantly, the struggling came to a stop.

  “Is it dead?” Timanuel asked, releasing his grip and flexing his hands.

  “No. They don’t die, because they were never alive in the first place.” The guard who’d done the slicing held up his bag, jiggling it gently. “But if you cut off the heads, they lose access to their senses. Can’t attack unless they can identify a target. Have to either blind the heads or get them far away from the rest; there’s some relay potential between head and body otherwise.”

  Wimberly, who had slipped closer to examine the automaton, let out a sharp gasp as she suddenly took several steps back. “That’s… the seal of Ignosa. But it’s so new, how is that possible? Ignosa’s Unfeeling Army marched millennia ago. His story is taught to all gadgeteers, a warning of what happens when ambition outstrips morality.”

  The head guard—in that he both seemed to be the one in charge and was also holding an automaton’s head—looked her and the others over more carefully. “His army was deemed too powerful to destroy, and too dangerous to leave in the world, so it was brought to Lumal for safekeeping. Given the direction you’re coming from and the lack of attunement runes on your person, I presume you just arrived here. What are your names?”

  It didn’t escape Gelthorn’s notice that, as the guard spoke, his lackeys moved in closer around them. “Isn’t it traditional to introduce yourself first?”

  “Hoit Mercruft, lieutenant of the Lumal Guard.” His tone was polite, but no one missed the fact that he’d adjusted his grip on the greatsword. “Now, I’m going to have to insist on your names. We know there are servants of Kalzidar at work in our city, and we cannot afford to take risks for propriety.”