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

by Drew Hayes

  As he moved, Thistle narrowed his mind, focusing only on his surroundings. He could hear Grumph land a painful blow on the ravisher, see Gabrielle losing ground in his side vision, and… something else. Thistle realized that he could feel his body pulling in mana with unexpected clarity. Whether it was the adrenaline of battle or the rush of focus was hard to say, but Thistle was finally able to truly see what the instructors had been trying to teach them. To his surprise, he could also feel a tingle of mana running through the dagger in his hand. That made sense: a paladin’s primary weapons became blessed by virtue of being constantly exposed to concentrated divine energy, so the mana in the blade should feel similar to his own.

  A wicked grin appeared at the edges of his mouth. Finally, Thistle had an idea. Technically, he’d be stealing this move from Grumble, but followers were supposed to take inspiration from their gods. Redirecting his mental energies, Thistle took hold of the mana flow, guiding it with his will. The task was coming easily, naturally—a little too much so, in fact. He had a feeling that Grumble might be helping with this, and Thistle had no objection to the aid. After everything Kalzidar had done to stack the fight in his favor, a little heavenly intuition was the least they were owed.

  The mana moved, flowing into its new destination. As it did, Thistle noticed his body growing slower, more sluggish. The easiest mana to manipulate was that filling his body, which made it the only viable source in these circumstances. His paladin strength was going to be diminished until the process was over, a necessary trade-off of using the magic for another task. Unfortunately, it was just about at that moment the plantoid recovered enough to attack, leaping forward with arms raised to crush the gnome in a single blow.

  Rolling to the side as best he could, Thistle barely avoided the strike. Worse, he was only getting slower. If he wanted to survive long enough to see the plan play out, it was time to start moving.

  * * *

  The ravisher was hurt, but not down. That alone would have been bad enough, yet their luck failed them even further as it swiveled around to sniff in Grumph’s direction. Initially, it had only cared about Eric, making Grumph’s task of sneaking up and stabbing it in the leg exceedingly simple. After cutting through its chest with little effect, Grumph had decided to go for crippling blows rather than killing ones. He would switch tactics again once they figured out where the damn thing’s weak spots were; until then, their best option was to slow the ravisher down.

  An unfortunate jerk to the left turned a strike meant to take off an entire leg into a wound that was deep, but not insurmountable. Black teeth loomed before Grumph as the ravisher snapped its mouth open and closed, nose-slits stretched wide as it decided whether it cared more about the prey that could hurt it, or the prey that held a tasty morsel. Were he a tad more confident, Grumph might have fired off a spell while the creature was undecided. But his mana was far from infinite, and seeing the way the priestess had countered every tactic they had so far made him hesitant to waste a spell until it was absolutely necessary. Thus far, she hadn’t stopped him from casting, but he also hadn’t gone for anything too potent.

  Instead, Grumph swung his staff near the ravisher’s head, eliciting a jerk backward and a snarl. The goal was simple: get its attention away from Eric and his sword, freeing the rogue up to go help the others. Grumph wasn’t as quick as Eric, and even with the new ring, his armor wasn’t superior, so the wizard was under no illusions about how this would go. He’d be in a fight of attrition, trying not to falter before the others could finish the battle. Thistle wouldn’t have approved; he loathed sacrificial maneuvers, even when they were needed.

  Stabbing at the head, Grumph kept the ravisher a few steps back and out of biting range. Behind it, Eric looked uncertain. His eyes glanced over toward Timuscor, then Gabrielle and Thistle. Both needed help. He just had to decide who to aid first. The obvious choice was Timuscor, who had a single opponent. Freeing him up would make the second fight easier, since they’d finally have a numbers advantage. As Eric’s eyes moved, he seemed to reach the same conclusion, starting over to Timuscor. Then, damn him, the rogue looked back over to Grumph, who was rapidly retreating under the ravisher’s assault.

  Grumph couldn’t pay full attention to Eric—he did have his own fight to deal with—so it was with no small amount of shock that he noticed the man’s graceful movements creeping up behind the ravisher. Shaking his head, Grumph tried to urge him away. Even with a blessed sword, that blade was still metal, and the ravisher had shown complete immunity to such weapons thus far. In the pommel of the short sword, a gem glowed—the enchanted item that gave Eric a single powerful strike once per day. Though that might help, Grumph couldn’t imagine it would make a significant difference. He locked eyes with Eric and was surprised by the intensity staring back at him.

  This wasn’t some idiotic attack doomed to fail; Eric had a plan. What that might be, Grumph couldn’t imagine, which meant he had a choice to make. Trust his teammate and play along, or try something on his own. Even if he hadn’t already seen Eric prove his judgment several times over, Grumph had no other ideas. Any plan was better than his, which consisted of trying to bleed out slowly. Stepping back, Grumph continued to harry the ravisher, keeping its attention on him with a few careful slices. There was no way it couldn’t smell Eric’s sword in the area, but evidently, the leg attack had been enough to make the ravisher care about safety over hunger. It wasn’t afraid of a nearby metal weapon, and with good reason, so the attacks stayed centered on Grumph.

  He had no clue what Eric was waiting for, so when the strike finally came, it was as much a shock to Grumph as it was to the ravisher. The gnashing monster had tried to swipe at Grumph, claws just barely sliding off a thin magical barrier, when the effort sent it tilting forward, slightly off balance. That was all Eric needed as he leapt into action. His sword’s blade glowed with the same light as the gem, and Grumph hoped against hope that it would be enough to pierce the ravisher’s flesh.

  As it turned out, that was a needless concern. Eric didn’t hit the ravisher’s skin. He wasn’t even aiming for it. Instead, he thrust directly through the hole in its upper torso, twisting the blade as it passed so that the hilt positioned correctly. The weapon slammed down, striking the ground, the power of the strike digging deep through the stone and dirt, going all the way in and taking the ravisher with it.

  It happened in a flash, yet when Grumph got a look at the finished product, he instantly understood. Eric hadn’t been trying to kill the ravisher. He’d merely pinned it down. The sword was jammed through its own unbreakable flesh, staking it to the ground. Not wasting a moment, Eric leapt forward, using his entire body to take hold of a single arm.

  “Hurry! It can reach its back, and it’s too damn strong to hold down for long.”

  Of course, the ravisher would be able to get out of this. Pinning it was only step one. They’d finally managed to stop the thing, though, and Grumph had a weapon that could do real damage. Whispering a few words, Grumph quickly cast as he hurried over to the struggling ravisher. As he moved, his muscles began to swell, the magic of the spell already taking effect. He tended to use the invigoration spell, which heightened the strength and endurance of the recipient, on their melee fighters most of the time. Today was an exception, because he lacked the time to hack and slash at these limbs. They didn’t know how long the ravisher would stay down, so every blow needed to count.

  Rearing back, Grumph put everything he had into the swing. There was a spark as the demon-bone blade hit the ravisher’s skin, causing it to twitch and tense, and the weapon cut true, cleaving the arm off in a single hit. Ravishers were dangerous, deadly creatures, but if one could overcome their defenses, then they actually weren’t that hardy. Had this one not been immune to metal, they could have cut it apart in minutes.

  The wound enflamed the ravisher’s struggles. It tried to reach around and grab the sword with its free hand, moving at angles impossible for a normal creature. Did this
thing even have any internal structures? Grumph would have checked the arm he’d just severed, if Eric hadn’t already been on top of the other, doing all he could to keep it away from the sword. This time, Grumph didn’t need a cue. He hacked away at the limb immediately. Unfortunately, it was a harder task, since this arm was thrashing about, and he had to avoid Eric as well.

  It took four hits to finally cut the appendage off; the ravisher struggled to the very end. While Eric turned to the legs, Grumph cast his attention to the head. If he decapitated the ravisher, that might be enough to kill it, but it would also open an easy path for removing the sword. Thanks to Grumph’s earlier attack, there was enough of a gap near the neck that once its head was off, it could easily slip out. The chances of it surviving were infinitesimal, yet Grumph still turned away. After seeing everything else this otherworldly being had been able to shrug off, there was no sense in taking chances. The ravisher would be just as dead if he decapitated it after he took its legs as it would be before, and on the chance that they were wrong, then at least the hungry monster would still be left unable to attack.

  Grumph got the left leg off without much issue; however, the right kicked and squirmed despite Eric’s best efforts. Just as Grumph was lining up his shot, a huge blast of energy burst through the air, knocking him sideways. When the wizard finally managed to haul himself up and look at the source, he really wished he hadn’t.

  There were some sights a life would be simply better without.

  49.

  The dagger was almost ready. It was nearing the point of disintegrating from the amount of mana contained within. Thistle kept careful watch on it, even as he scrambled away from his enemy, the sole remaining twin plantoid—the one the priestess had called Luran. Darting around the battlefield, Thistle managed to catch view of Eric’s spectacular strike that drove the ravisher to the ground. It was a heartening sight, especially as Gabrielle and Timuscor fought just to maintain a stalemate. For his part, Thistle likely would have been stopped long ago if not for his armor. Every blow Luran landed sent him hurtling around, leaving the gnome scraped and bruised, but not crushed. It took all he had to focus on dodging while keeping up the flow of mana into the dagger.

  Finally, Thistle reached the end of the process. Whether his weapon was ready or simply at capacity was impossible to say; his likely-divine intuition didn’t stretch to actual knowledge. Rather than hurl the weapon right away, he waited and dodged for a bit longer, letting the strength return to his limbs. A potent dagger was no use if he lacked the power to make an accurate throw. Much as Thistle would have liked to use it on the priestess, she was too well guarded. The fortress made her highly difficult to hit, even when she was showing herself. There were also bound to be defenses Thistle couldn’t see. If they wanted to bring her down, the first step was taking out her minions. With more of his group free, Thistle could employ new tactics, forcing her out of her thorny defenses.

  That meant his dagger was destined for a plantoid. One was on him, one on Gabrielle, and one on Timuscor. Breaking through all that foliage was going to take muscle, meaning that, in terms of pure strength, Gabrielle was the best choice. All the better if she could manage that axe trick once more. Ideally, it would give them a chance to reclaim the priestess’s brooch, and keeping anything she wanted away from her hands was simple common sense.

  Thistle waited until Luran’s next attack, then sped up, his legs moving faster as the gifts of a paladin returned. Buying himself enough space to aim, Thistle eyed Gabrielle’s plantoid carefully, waiting until it had reared back for a slam on her, and let the dagger fly. Its course was true. It flipped through the air and buried itself in the graceful plantoid’s chest. Thistle held his breath, waiting to see if there was enough divine magic in the dagger to do real damage.

  That same breath was expelled in shock as an explosion of light tore through the air, sending Gabrielle flying back with a scream. In an instant, Thistle’s heart dropped. He hadn’t expected the effect to be anywhere near that big, so large that it would hit Gabrielle too. Worse, Gabrielle was also weak to divine magic, meaning the blast would do serious damage wherever it hit. Thistle raced over to her fallen body, taking note of the burns across her face and hands. Healing her with his magic was impossible; it would only do more harm. But Thistle had planned for such a possibility, even if he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the method he’d come up with.

  Moving fast, his ears still filled with ringing from the recent explosion, Thistle pressed the back of his hand against the axe, cutting into his flesh. Pain came quick and steady, but he endured, even as his body started to feel weaker. Thistle cast a spell of healing on himself, and the feeling faded without vanishing. After a few seconds, Gabrielle stirred, though she was still severely wounded.

  It had all happened in less than a minute, which shouldn’t have been much. But as Thistle looked over to the priestess, he realized just how long a minute could be, and why the free plantoid hadn’t hit him while he was healing Gabrielle. Luran had been busy, it seemed, shifting through the debris of the other plantoid. Aside from burning flecks of shattered dagger, it had found the brooch concealed in its brethren’s body—the brooch that now glowed brightly in the priestess’s hand.

  Already, the change was happening. The winding thorns and branches that formed her defenses wormed their way into her, fusing with her flesh. To Thistle’s horror, Luran soon began to do the same. The ground rumbled as vines and roots appeared, dragging the remains of the fallen plantoids—as well as the one still fighting Timuscor—over to her. With a start, Thistle noticed a thrashing figure and realized she was drawing in the ravisher as well, or what remained of it. Evidently, Eric and Grumph had managed to take most of its limbs. Glancing back, Thistle saw both of them slowly rising up; the blast must have caught them totally off guard. Their eyes widened as they saw the priestess, body riddled with wriggling plant life. Eric put a hand on his sword. Evidently, the vines had just pulled the ravisher off, rather than dislodging the blade, leaving Thistle to watch as Eric struggled and failed to pull his weapon free from the ground.

  That was an extremely unlucky break, given that Eric’s sword was the last blessed weapon on the battlefield. Thistle now realized that by packing his dagger to the point of near-destruction with divine mana, he’d created a bomb, not an empowered attack like he’d unintentionally used against the demons so long ago. Such was the trouble with testing a new skill on the battlefield; even with intuition, some lessons came down to trial and error.

  Before them, the priestess was growing, the new mass adding to her previously average frame. Already, she’d reached nine feet tall, and was still increasing. Thick armor made of thorns and dark bark coated the majority of her skin, with sections on her arm and chest covered in the same leafy grass as the plantoids. The few parts of her skin that still showed had turned mottled, similar to the ravisher’s flesh, though not entirely the same. Her head grew and warped as a crown of sharp branches burst out like a tangle of horns, blocking easy attacks on her eyes and face. When she opened her mouth, they could see a long tongue covered in vines, surrounded by teeth stained gray, rather than the onyx of the ravisher.

  She was absorbing them, that was obvious, but as he observed the shift in coloration, Thistle hoped she wasn’t getting her minions’ strengths in their entirety. If the woman had just become metal-proof, the fight was as good as over; Grumph’s staff would never break through all that armor, let alone get near her flesh. None of them could, Thistle realized. The dark magic was reinforcing everything, meaning they needed their blessed weapons to break through—the blessed weapons they only had one of, one currently jammed in the ground at that.

  In a surprising twist of fortune, Thistle turned back to find Grumph taking grip of the stuck weapon. Between the half-orc’s natural strength and the way his muscles were bulging with magical aid, yanking the weapon free should have been a simple effort. Their good luck was not long-lived, however. No sooner had
Grumph reached down for the sword than a set of vines wrapped around his arms.

  They came from the priestess’s left hand; the leafy material of a plantoid had shifted into a ranged weapon. With a tug, she yanked the wizard from his feet and whipped him through the air, bringing him down on the nearby ground with a crunch that left Thistle cold. It was too much. Not even someone as tough as Grumph could have survived it. Thoughts of survival were replaced with images of vengeance as he started to turn toward their giant enemy.

  A slight stirring caught Thistle’s attention, though. Grumph wasn’t dead quite yet. That ring had saved him from some damage, and the spell’s boost must have given him enough endurance to survive. How long that would hold true was anyone’s guess.

  With Gabrielle stable, Thistle was off like a shot, racing toward his oldest friend with healing at his fingertips. Unfortunately, he was hardly inconspicuous. The vines around Grumph released, surging toward Thistle instead. A flash of silver appeared from nowhere, creating a sudden wall between Thistle and the vines. It was Timuscor, shield ever at the ready, Mr. Peppers following only a few steps behind. He caught the vines on his shield and, without a plantoid attacking endlessly, was finally able to unsheathe the blade he’d been given as a backup. Swinging it around, he managed to strike the vines, driving them back. There was a slight smoking from where they’d touched the blade, but not the full flash of fire they saw from the blessed weapons hitting. The sword did have a hint of divine magic—just nothing potent enough to count as a true blessing.

  It was enough to drive the vines off for a moment. Thistle slid to the ground at Grumph’s side, healing fast to stabilize the wizard. Grumph’s heart rate slowed, and his breathing grew normal as the worst of his injuries faded, but he was still in bad shape. That wasn’t likely to change soon, either. Hurting himself to heal Gabrielle had consumed a healthy amount of Thistle’s power, and reviving Grumph was no small chore. He had enough left to keep someone alive; bringing them back to full health was more than he’d be able to manage. Unless Gabrielle’s healing patched her up in time, it looked as though they were going to be facing the chimera-priestess without their wizard, barbarian, or blessed weapons. That left them with only a disarmed rogue, a near-spent paladin, and a knight wielding an unfamiliar sword. Not the odds Thistle would have chosen for a fight, especially when they were trapped without any method of escape.