by Drew Hayes
“Get them up as best you can,” Timuscor said, stepping closer to the priestess. “I’ll hold her off.”
“Timuscor, you know you shouldn’t—”
“I’m not throwing my life away, Thistle.” Timuscor kept walking, shield and sword at the ready. “I finally got it, watching you fight today. A paladin’s job isn’t to die for his party. It’s to protect them with every breath in his body. Sometimes, that will cost everything, but that should never be willingly accepted. I have to keep living to keep fighting, to keep protecting you all. That’s the cost of being a paladin: not a death, but a life spent in service to those in need. I’m fighting to buy you time, not to sacrifice myself. So move quickly.”
His speech ended as he drew near the priestess. A volley of vines fired off from her left arm, driven away by a swing from Timuscor’s new blade. He leapt back from another shot to the right, swiping at them while keeping his shield raised. For a moment, he seemed to have found her rhythm. Thistle felt his spirits rise as he hurriedly poured more healing magic into Grumph—enough to get him capable of casting. As a wizard, Grumph didn’t need to be on his feet to help the battle.
The stalemate lasted for nearly a full minute, longer than Thistle would have expected. The turn came when Timuscor tried to dodge another attack of vines, only to discover his legs stuck in place. Eyes wide, both of the adventurers traced the bindings along the ground to the priestess’s legs, which were coated in the green plantoid substance. She’d drawn his attention with her arm vines while sneaking up on him using the ones on her legs.
Timuscor tried to raise his shield; however, this time, the priestess didn’t attack with vines. She drove one heavy, bark-armored fist into his shield, sending Timuscor tumbling through the air until he landed with a crash of metal. Already, Mr. Peppers was sprinting over to him, a sign that told Thistle all he needed to know about the knight’s health.
There was a good chance Timuscor was either dead or dying. And with the priestess in the way, there was no way Thistle would be able to heal him. Especially since there was no longer anyone around to draw her attention.
50.
Stealth had never been this particular group’s strongpoint. Between Timanuel’s armor, Chalara’s volume, and Wimberly’s gadgets, they tended to prefer hitting fast and hard to sneaking around. That didn’t mean they were incapable of the tactic, however, when occasion demanded. It only meant they weren’t especially good at it.
Fear was a powerful motivator, though, and as they crept from hallway to hallway, following the lead of the guards, each adventurer took care to step as quietly as possible. Thankfully, even the heavy armor of Timanuel and the guards was partially muffled by the chaos outside. Between the fires, people screaming, and various noises they couldn’t place, there was plenty of background noise to conceal their movements.
That was a much-needed lucky break, as they nearly encountered two patrols of automatons passing through the halls. Each group had three roving metal killers, all walking in perfect unison. No one needed to state the obvious: if they were found, they were dead. It had taken three guards to hack down a lone automaton that had already lost its legs. Against three at full strength? They probably wouldn’t even last long enough to buy the others time to escape. Thankfully, care and stillness allowed them to remain undetected as the patrols wandered past.
Chalara noticed that they didn’t seem to be looking for anyone; they weren’t turning over vases to expose hiding spots or setting up ambushes. They were just walking, strolling around to look for anyone still breathing. That did make some sense, she supposed. Controlling this many troops couldn’t be easy on a single person, even a skillful caster. The most efficient strategy would be to give the bulk of the group simple instructions, then directly manage only when essential. If she was right, it meant they would encounter more patrols on the way, but it also increased their odds of getting past without being noticed.
When the last trio was gone and her party started moving once more, Chalara explained her theory in the quietest voice she had. Wimberly looked up from the automaton corpse to nod in agreement. That was something. An intellectual advantage might not have been their preference, but in light of the automatons’ incredible physical gifts, it was the most they were going it get.
They continued on, going as quietly as possible, until Hoit checked around a corner and held up a hand, instructing them to halt. Looking back, he put up a single finger, then pointed to the corner he’d just checked. The message was clear: one automaton in the hall.
Chalara didn’t know hand signals very well, so she held out her left palm, flat, and with her right hand, pretended to be a pair of legs walking across a flat surface. She cocked her neck and raised both eyebrows, doing her very best to imply the existence of a question mark.
Hoit seemed to understand, which made it even more disappointing when he shook his head. Mimicking her motions, he made a flat plane and a pair of legs, too, only his stood stock-still. Shit. That meant this one was planted: a sentry, rather than a patrol.
This time, Chalara’s finger-legs walked a more purposeful path around the edge of her hand, intentionally avoiding the center. It was a rudimentary way of asking if they could go around, but it got the point across. Sadly, she was met with another shake of Hoit’s head, though this time, he didn’t bother with more finger gestures. There were probably several good reasons why they couldn’t use another route, just not the kind they could talk about at the moment.
Which left them with a lone automaton, standing guard in a hall they needed to cross. Even with the overwhelming numbers advantage, the fight would be a tough one, not to mention loud. Fighting one automaton was a maybe; with luck and the right moves, it was possible they’d win, albeit not without casualties. But if even one other joined the fray, that would be it.
Chewing on her lip, Chalara ran through their options. Fighting should be a last resort, especially with such terrible odds. They needed to move the thing, which required a distraction. Could any of them escape, once they drew its attention? Unless the guards were hiding magical resources, probably not. Then again, if the automatons were set to go after any life they found, there might be another way.
It wasn’t magic Chalara had gotten to practice with much—their fights tended to be quick and dirty—but after that fight with the lyranx, her sorceress powers had grown, enough that she’d gained the power to cast new spells. One, in particular, had called out to her; it was a power she’d been waiting some while to achieve. Muttering the verbal parts as softly as she was able, to the point where Chalara worried it wouldn’t work, she wove her new spell into existence.
On the ground nearby, a soft light appeared, growing quickly and then fading to reveal a dark cat that stood several feet tall at the shoulder. It looked at them all with hungry eyes. Had this been a different situation, there would have been a very verbal reaction to seeing Chalara conjure a panther, albeit a small one. Creating more powerful creatures demanded more mana, and knowing what this one’s purpose was, Chalara had elected to save the energy.
She guided it silently; the thread of mana connecting it to her was also a conduit for her will. Everyone moved back, into the nearest alcove and out of sight, while Chalara sent the panther forward at a casual gait. It loped in front of the door, not bothering to pause, and kept going. Around the corner, they could hear movement already—thunderous clanks from the stone hallway. Immediately, Chalara ordered her panther to run, commanding it to go as far away as their connection would allow. Without delay, the deadly feline picked up speed, not quite getting out of sight before the automaton came tearing out of the hallway and saw it race around a corner. The mechanical sentry gave no signs of slowing, turning with unnerving precision and racing off after the panther.
Seeing it chasing down her summon, Chalara mentally gave the cat permission to unmake itself when caught. The creature was shaped from mana rather than truly alive, but that didn’t mean it needed to suffer n
eedlessly. Her experience in the dragon’s cave had left Chalara, and the woman who controlled her, with many questions about the fundamental nature of what was and wasn’t real. Better to err on the side of compassion, just in case.
As soon as the automaton vanished, they moved, hurrying through the previously guarded hallway. It wasn’t an especially long stretch, but when they emerged, they were on a completely new side of the city. Grand, sweeping balconies stretched out before them, showing off a view that would have been dazzling if it weren’t engulfed in flames. Chalara realized that the hall must have been connecting entirely different buildings, perhaps even city sections. No wonder going around wasn’t an option.
With a rush, Chalara noticed something else. Below their balcony, some distance off, was a golden platform that rose from the ground. On it, magic was flowing as doorways of flickering light gleamed. Automatons were trying to attack both the platform and its foundations, but were being repelled by a veritable sea of golden armor. More of Lumal’s guards, then. Perhaps most of Lumal’s guards? By grit and sheer numbers, they were holding back the automaton attackers as people made their escape. How long they would last was another question.
Hoit pointed out the platform, in case anyone had missed it. “That’s our goal. The guards need help, and you can use the portal to escape. Move fast, but stay quiet. We cannot risk discovery just because we caught sight of our goal. Those numbers don’t help us until we’re there.” He kept his voice low, yet the authority in his tone never wavered. The man clearly took his position, and the duty it entailed, seriously. While that wasn’t Chalara’s style, she could respect it nevertheless.
As they crept along, Timanuel sidled up next to her, also speaking in whispers. “That’s the first summoning spell I’ve ever seen you cast.”
“It’s the first summoning spell I ever wanted to,” Chalara replied. “The lower-level ones are mostly for fodder. I held out until I got something a little more… appropriate.”
“How is a panther appropriate?” Timanuel kept his voice low, but wasn’t entirely able to shake the incredulity from his tone.
The response he got was a gleeful smile that told him he’d just given Chalara precisely the setup she had wanted. “Everyone knows witches have black cats. I just gave the old image an upgrade.”
* * *
Leaving the Bridge behind not only meant that Fritz couldn’t slow the time displacement anymore; and technically, she couldn’t leave without it. Of course, a mage of Jolia’s talents would be able to create a portal for them if needed, and Fritz did have some last-ditch options of her own, but it was still a vulnerability, one she minimized by staying out of sight as soon as the other three split up, each racing off to lend their aid wherever it was needed most.
Even after all these years, their adventuring instincts hadn’t dulled. No sooner had Brock, Jolia, and Kieran arrived in this chaotic hellscape than they began analyzing the damage and discerning where both their targets and the exit platforms were most likely to be. They’d only paused long enough for Jolia to layer an enchantment on top of Brock and Kieran before finally adding it to herself. Originally, Fritz had been annoyed by the gnome’s idea, but once Jolia had relented and cast it only after they’d arrived, minimizing the time lost, was Fritz able to see the use in the technique. Though the enchanted illusions wouldn’t fool everyone, they would at least offer an excuse of reasonable doubt. With what the town of Lumal was going to owe these three when the fighting ended, she had little doubt the figureheads would back whatever explanation the adventurers of Notch decided to offer.
None of that was Fritz’s concern. When the other three ran off, she’d rummaged around in her bag until she produced a glowing bracelet. This trinket had limited appeal, since it served one dedicated purpose: it allowed a person to hide from magical vision sources. Most people used them when they were afraid of being scryed, combined them with other magic for true invisibility, or when they needed to sneak into a place where the guards had enchanted vision. However, since the magic did nothing to stop normal vision, the demand for such tools was limited, keeping them cheap enough that Fritz could afford to stock the items for when she did have a customer with a pressing need.
Slipping it on, Fritz casually strolled through the halls of Lumal, ignoring every automaton she passed and being ignored in return. People seemed to forget that even though they were resistant to spells, automatons had still been built using magic. With no eyeballs or nerve endings, the only vision they could possibly have was magical in nature, meaning that Fritz occupied a giant blind spot in their perception as she slowly made her way through town.
Never was a stop or a misturn made; she knew precisely where she was, and where she wanted to be. In many ways, Fritz considered that to be her greatest strength. All these adventurers out there, wandering around with only a generic thought of what they were aiming for. “Do good” or “Find gold” or something else seemingly simplistic, yet with no actual goal in sight. She was not among them. Fritz knew what she wanted, and she had for a very long time. For centuries, it had seemed like a hopeless struggle; however, in the last few years, something had changed. More pieces were popping up; ones she’d never heard of before were entering play. At long last, she had momentum, and she wasn’t inclined to let it fade.
Fritz arrived at a pair of gleaming golden gates. They were smashed into pieces, scattered across the road like a corpse left as warning. A damn shame, too. These gates had been a marvel of magical crafting. They could discern a visitor’s intent, desires, and whether or not they were trying to smuggle anything dangerous. The nature of some of the items in the Vault of Sealed Magics made these doors necessary to permit entrance, meaning that they couldn’t be simply locked away. One such example was the fact that many of their items were tied deeply to the gods, and were therefore the destination of pilgrimages. Complicating matters further, without that continual faith from a god’s followers, such items’ power could fade. There were similar issues with various items of different sources, as well. In the end, Lumal had been forced to allow visitors into the Vault of Sealed Magics, albeit only after they had passed through the gates and another few dozen safeguards. This wasn’t the first time someone with wicked intent had found a way in, but it was by far the most successful theft in Lumal’s history.
Tempting as it was to assume the robbers had broken the gates to gain entrance, Fritz had a hunch that the automatons had done the actual smashing. Wrecking these gates would take a while for most people, giving the guards plenty of time to react. If the thieves had that manner of power, the army might not have been necessary.
As she made her way up the road—a single path with now-vacant guard stations perched on either side—Fritz noticed that a dozen automatons were waiting at the end, standing in formation, no doubt to stop anyone who might desire to gain entry. Moving silently, lest she draw unwanted attention, Fritz crept through. Years of skulking around dangerous places had left her surprisingly adept at staying unnoticed. Just when she was nearly past, Fritz noticed that one automaton on the end looked different. When she examined it more carefully, the issue became obvious.
This automaton, the one at the left edge of the formation, was destroyed. Someone had put a dozen puncture holes in its torso, along with several more along the arms and legs, as well as cutting off its head, though it remained propped up on the neck. The automaton had been killed before any of the others, could notice, let alone react.
Fritz resisted the urge to make any sort of satisfied noise. It was heartening to see that even the great Kieran had slipped up after so many years. He must have been spotted; otherwise, he wouldn’t have wasted the time to wreck the automaton before it could raise the alarm. She’d rib him about it later, when the day was won. Mid-battle aspersions didn’t seem appropriate.
If nothing else, at least she wasn’t the only one breaking into the Vault of Sealed Magics. Kieran probably assumed it was where the person with the helm had holed up
, taking the town’s best-defended position. Fritz wasn’t planning on stealing the helm back; that was what the warriors of Notch were for. She would, of course, help out in whatever ways she could, but Lumal could hardly expect her to contribute without some manner of weapon. And was it her fault if the best equipment was tucked away inside the vault? True, by now, the whole place was locked down, the rooms sealed away in other planes. Then again, that was only a problem if one wasn’t intimately familiar with the sealing mechanisms, though said person would also need extensive knowledge on planar gates and a general idea of where the rooms had been shifted to.
Rummaging through her bag quietly, Fritz dug for the tools she would need. With luck, she could find what she was after and slip out before anyone noticed. If fortune was really on her side, she might even run into Kieran along the way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him truly in action, and there was no telling if she ever would again. There were some sights that only happened once or twice in a lifetime, even with elven longevity.
51.
The fog surrounding him was familiar, a fact that shamed Timuscor to his core. After a speech about understanding the value of his life, he’d gone and gotten crushed, probably to death, or most of the way there if he was in this place once more.
