The sniper gnome held onto a large, metal tube that I first thought was a polearm. I realized it was a launcher of some sort. The barrel on the thing was big enough to stick my fist through. He also wore a bandolier over his shoulder, dotted with round, grenade-like devices.
That’s the one we need to watch, I thought. The gnome glared back at me, his dark eyes boring into mine.
As I instructed, the archers spread out behind us. Louis remained at the chariot’s controls. Firas sat in the back of the cart, directly behind the sitting Henrik. Donut looked nervously over at me as the Negotiator gnome climbed out of the basket and sank knee-deep into the sand. The gnome was wearing an olive-colored uniform shirt, but it was old and ratty. There was a sizable hole in the left arm. The gnome took two steps toward us and stopped and straightened his back. This one was not armed. His dot on the minimap was white.
Leon. Level 44 Dirigible Gnome Negotiator.
Commisar of the Wasteland.
A master politician and stickler for rules, Leon might have been a tax attorney in another life. Now he lives as the chief political officer aboard the dreadnaught Wasteland.
I’d say he has a stick up his ass, but he’s always clenched so tight, there’s no way a stick would fit up there.
“Please,” Henrik said to Leon the gnome. “Please call off the bombing. There are children in that town.”
I cringed. Katia’s impersonation of Henrik’s voice was not very good. I hoped they didn’t notice.
“We received your message,” Leon said, ignoring the appeal. “We will take the Commandant’s uncle, but in your message, you said he required a potion. We don’t know which potion you mean. Which of you is the healer? Is it you?”
“Me?” I asked. “No.” I pointed across the way to Donut. Behind Leon, the sniper gnome leaned forward in the basket.
All eyes turned to Donut. She cleared her throat and used her actress voice. “It is I, Princess Donut the famed healer of Queen Anne! But there’s been a misunderstanding, my dear. We already have the potion he needs. My manservant holds it in his hand.”
I held up the yellow-green vial.
“What?” Henrik said, looking back and forth between me and Donut. “You said…”
Firas stood, standing behind the still-sitting camel. He pulled a long knife and ran it across the camel’s neck. Blood sprayed. Henrik gurgled and slumped over. Firas remained standing there, staring at the knife stupidly.
Carl: Goddamnit. Stomp his head. Do it fast.
Firas swallowed and then stomped down a few times onto the robe.
Carl: Good job. Now sit. Be inconspicuous.
The gnomes barely reacted. Leon turned his gaze back to Donut.
Donut made a show of licking her paw, pretending to barely notice the murder behind her. “We want passage onto the Wasteland. This sand is just awful. In exchange, we will heal Wynne and offer our services. I am a healer, and my crew here are all mechanics. My manservant is a world-renown masseuse.” She leaned forward. “He’s an expert with feet.”
Carl: Goddamnit, Donut. Stick to the script.
Leon looked over his shoulder at the sniper who shook his head “no.” I had my eye on the minimap. The moment it turned red, I would jam down on my Protective Shell and all hell would break loose. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that just yet.
“We know your filthy town is infested with changelings,” Leon said, “And it would be just like you to attempt to deceive us. Changelings are like rats, and one does not invite rats into one’s home. Now remove Wynne’s bindings, so I may converse with him. I wish to establish it is really him.”
Donut made a show of looking up at the Wasteland, which was still moving toward the town. It’d be directly overhead in twenty minutes. We needed to hurry.
“It’s not my town,” Donut said. “I am not a changeling. Disgusting. Can you imagine? Are you really going to bomb them?”
“If it’s not your town, then it is of no concern to you. But, yes,” Leon said. “No matter what happens here, we are going to settle this conflict once and for all. It has gone on much too long. And we are going to bomb you, too, if you do not do as I ask.” The gnome looked at the struggling, hooded form of Wynne dubiously. “I am beginning to suspect proof will be difficult for you. I warn you, these pilots and snipers have no love for me. If your plan is to take me hostage, they will not hesitate to kill us all. Now let me look upon him.”
Carl: How much time left on Wynne?
Donut: SIX MINUTES.
“I will remove his facial covering, but I’m not removing his bindings,” Donut said. “I don’t know what the silly camels told you, but they talked him into using his magic to resurrect some ghost thing living in the tomb. He is still suffering the ill effects of the spell. Carl, be a dear and unsheathe the patient.”
I reached over and ripped Wynne’s hood off. The zombie, reanimated gnome growled and snapped. The body had been chewed to hell by beetles, but he’d only been a few hours dead when the tomb raider guys had retrieved the corpse and brought it to Katia. The body was mostly intact. Thankfully, the face was untouched.
Donut leaped off Mongo and landed on Louis’s shoulder. “I am an alchemist and a healer. Like I said, Carl here holds a potion that will heal his affliction. I want you to do whatever you need to determine he’s the real deal. But I’m not stupid, gnome. I’ll give the potion to restore him once we’re on the balloon and on our way to the protection of your village.”
I held my breath. Before he’d been killed, Wynne was a class called a Flesh Mechanic. According to Mordecai, the type of spell he cast was famously difficult on the caster. Had Wynne temporarily given flesh to Quetzalcoatlus, he would indeed be in a zombie-like state for a short duration. He would heal on his own, but I was pretending not to know that part.
“There are too many of you,” Leon said. “We can only take you and Wynne. Any more, and it’ll be too much weight.” He held out his hands apologetically.
Donut scoffed. Above us, the line of airplanes continued to circle. She waved at me. “I will take my manservant, or there is no deal. Besides, who’s going to carry him? Me? Surely you jest.”
“Very well,” he said after a moment. He peered suspiciously at the archers.
“But,” Donut added, “Once your favored uncle is returned safe and sound, you’ll dispatch balloons to retrieve the others.”
Leon smiled wickedly. “He’s no uncle of mine, but of Commandant Kane. However, this is acceptable. Forgive me for appearing mistrustful, but first I must cast a spell. It will require me to touch him and a random sampling of your men.” Behind Leon, the sniper gnome leaned even further forward. The wicker basket creaked. He pulled up the weapon and pointed it directly at Donut. Zombie Wynne snapped and growled.
“No funny stuff,” the sniper called to Donut. “If we gotta fight our way out of here, you’re getting the first chest hole.”
“And you’ll get the second,” I called back to the sniper.
“There’s no need for such talk,” Leon said. “Surely this… dog creature… would never be stupid enough to attempt to trick us. There would be no purpose.”
“Excuse me?” Donut started to say, but I sent her a quick message to be calm. To stay on script.
The sniper grinned at Donut’s outrage, revealing a row of sharp teeth.
Carl: If this goes sideways, Katia and Donut focus on the sniper. I have the ambassador guy. Langley, you guys get the pilot before he can retreat. Fire then scatter. Meet up at the ruins of the Bactrian town.
Donut took a breath and calmed herself. “Do whatever you need to do, but be careful of the old gnome. He’s a bit cranky. He might try to take a nip.”
“I am familiar with Wynne’s post-spell stupors.” Leon waded forward through the sand. Mongo growled, so the gnome moved to the Chariot’s port side.
He paused in front of Louis and bade him to lean forward.
“I will cast a spell on you that will detect if you are a
changeling,” the gnome said. “If you attack me, you will die.”
I told Louis to comply, and the gnome touched the man’s forehead. A blue light burst into the air. He repeated it with Donut. He then insisted on doing the same to me. I went to a knee, allowing the perfume-smelling man to touch my head. The perfume was covering a deep, dirty stench I realized when he was up close. I knew that smell. It was the stench of a man who’d been rationed a gallon a week to shower with. They’re in trouble. Their ship is floundering.
I felt a tingle, and there was another blue flash. That was it.
He nodded and then approached the bound hostage. He raised his hand, but he couldn’t reach the tall seat.
I laughed, trying to cover my frustration. Donut’s Second Chance spell normally only allowed her to resurrect any creature up to ten levels above her own. At the spell’s current level of ten, it also normally resurrected the creatures for up to fifteen minutes. But thanks to her glass cannon class, the spell was remarkably more powerful. It now allowed her to resurrect any corpse up to twenty levels above her own, and for half of an hour. Donut was currently level 33, and Wynne had been 50. Still, the spell was about to run out. We’d cast it too early. I was afraid that they would use a farseer to examine him before they sent the ambassador, and if they saw he was dead, they would’ve simply bombed us to hell. Him being undead was barely better, but Mordecai seemed to think it would work. He insisted there were a lot of quests that involved raising key NPCs from the dead in order to trick the living. It was almost a trope. Either way, the spell was going to run out in two minutes.
“Do you want me to give you a boost?” I asked Leon.
The gnome glowered at me as he pulled himself up the side of the cart. Zombie Wynne snapped and thrashed as Leon placed his hand against the creature’s forehead. He tried to bite the gnome’s finger.
Carl: Keep him calm!
Donut: I’VE NEVER RESURRECTED JUST A HEAD BEFORE, CARL. OR SOMEONE THIS HIGH OF A LEVEL. THEY’RE A LOT MORE SURLY WHEN THEY’RE JUST HEADS. AND I’M THE ONE DOING ALL THE TALKING. MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU CAN RESURRECT THE DEAD, HALF-EATEN CORPSE YOURSELF WHEN YOU COME UP WITH A SUICIDAL PLAN.
We all held our collective breaths. I had no idea if this would work. The spell supposedly only detected changelings. If it was anything else, we’d be screwed.
Luckily for us, Leon was literally leaning up against Katia, who was disguised as the chair—amongst other things. One word from me, and she’d suck him into her mass.
A blue light pulsed. I let go of my breath.
“Well, he’s no changeling,” Leon said. He continued to peer suspiciously at the reanimated gnome. “But this is not a healing stupor. I have never seen anything like it.” He sniffed. “This is much worse than usual. He appears to be a ghoul.”
“The camels made him resurrect an ancient ghost,” Donut said. She indicated the potion, still in my hand. “Like I said, I can heal him. The camels did not understand what they were doing. I don’t think he knew, either. They were drugging him with mushrooms.”
Leon regarded the vial in my hand. “What is the potion anyway?”
Donut didn’t hesitate. “Healer’s Respite. Stichberries boiled with iron slivers and manticore shavings.”
Leon nodded thoughtfully. “That is not something we would have. That might work. If it doesn’t, you’ll wish we’d left you on the ground.”
The potion was actually a vial of Mountain Dew I’d gotten from a saferoom on the second floor, but Mordecai said the coloring was the closest of all the ones we had. We had no idea if this ambassador guy would buy this line of bullshit, but we’d made sure that Donut could at least pretend to know what she was talking about. I’d made her repeat the ingredients three times as we’d walked over here.
“The dromedarians would never attempt to resurrect their old slavemasters,” Leon continued, stepping down from the side of the chariot before moving to the back cart and toward Henrik’s “corpse.”
Firas: What’s he doing? What’s he doing?
Carl: Chill. We anticipated this.
Leon first did his changeling check on Firas before he moved to the body of Henrik and started rummaging through the remains.
As he did this, just behind him, the Second Chance spell timed out, causing Wynne’s head to disintegrate into a cloud of dust. Shit, shit.
Carl: Katia.
Katia: I’m on it.
Nobody seemed to notice the new head grow into place. The sniper only had his eyes on Donut, and Leon was bent over, rifling through Henrik’s robes and pack. He pulled back the clothes to reveal the dead body of Svern the changeling principal, the one we’d killed in the town hall. I’d kept the corpse because Mordecai had wanted to get some goo from his brain. The body was pretty beat up, especially the head, which was why I’d had Firas pretend to stomp down on the empty robe.
“The town’s leadership must have been usurped by the changelings,” Leon said, sounding disgusted. “I should have tested him, too.” He looked up and shouted at the sniper. “He doesn’t have it on him.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” the sniper said. “What’re we doing?”
“Are you looking for this?” I asked, holding up the watch. I’d made the facsimile from memory at my bench, only spending a quick thirty seconds to shape the thing. It’d been a last-minute hunch. I’d asked Henrik where the watch came from, and he claimed he hadn’t known, though I sensed he was being sketchy about it, which made me wonder how important it was. The prop would not pass a quick inspection, so I quickly put it away. “The Princess had me slip it out of his pocket as we were leaving town. It’ll be yours once you guys pick up our crew and bring them up there with the Princess.”
“As you can see, I only hire the most qualified servants,” Donut added.
Leon’s demeanor relaxed. “Good, good. At least we don’t have to go searching through the town’s remains looking for it.”
“So does that mean we have a deal?” Donut asked.
I looked up at the massive, floating structure. It appeared to be lowering its altitude. From this angle, it almost looked like a rusting, flying oil rig. Fifteen minutes.
“Very well,” Leon said. “We have a deal. Have your man take Wynne and bring him to the basket. But I must insist you give Wynne the respite now before we go. I can’t bring him in such a state onto the Wasteland. The Commandant will not be pleased if his uncle tries to eat him.”
“Okay, but the potion will take a few minutes to work.”
“As long as it works before we arrive. Otherwise, we’ll throw you all over the edge.”
“Carl, administer the medicine.”
I took the vial of Mountain Dew, yanked the cork, and poured it down the throat of “Wynne.” I suppressed a grin as he gagged.
Carl: Sorry.
Katia: Holy shit who can drink this bile.
Donut made a show of putting Mongo back into his carrier. The dinosaur screeched and put up a fight, hissing and complaining and kicking up dust, causing Leon to back away with alarm. But eventually she got him. Donut then leaped onto my shoulder as I picked up the duct-taped form of Wynne and threw him over my other shoulder. We trudged toward the wicker basket. As we marched, I prayed none of the gnomes would notice that the entire back seat of the Chariot was now gone. Or that Wynne, even though he was thoroughly wrapped in duct tape, was about two feet longer than he should be. I kept most of the bulk behind me.
Carl: Okay guys. Follow Langley’s lead. All of you be ready. Firas will puddle jump you out of there if necessary. Louis, you’re in charge of the chariot. Those planes have missiles on them, so we will need your ground support. I have confidence in you guys.
Louis: You know a plan is really desperate when it requires confidence in people like us.
Firas: Shut the hell up, Louis. He’s trying to build our self-confidence.
12
This is the message I had Henrik show to Commandant Kane:
Wynne is i
ncapacitated, and we are returning him to you. He cast a resurrection spell on our behalf and became gravely ill. A traveling healer has offered to help him, but this healer now reports only a potion you might have will revive your uncle. In a show of good faith, this healer, their party, and I will travel outside of the city walls in one hour and will bring Wynne to you. There, this healer will tell you how to save your uncle’s life. I will accompany them and offer myself as tribute. I hope and pray we can negotiate a peace that will save our town from your wrath.
The real Henrik remained in town, standing amongst the defenders, waiting for death to rain.
The bulk of this plan, once again, rested on Donut’s charm bonus and Katia’s shapeshifting skills. Not only was Katia shaped as the entire back seat of the Chariot—which I’d been forced to remove for this to work—but she also played the “body” of Wynne the gnome sitting atop it. Her real eyes were in there, mixed in with the duct tape, giving her a wide, raised view of the situation.
But it hadn’t ended there. Katia was playing triple duty. She was also the body of Henrik, sitting in the cart directly behind the chair. He was connected to the rest of the mass using the camel’s arm, which was designed to look like it was draped over the seat. The front part of the dromedarian/changeling’s neck had been a bag of actual ghoul blood I had in my inventory. That was a last-minute addition to make Firas’s throat-cutting ploy seem more authentic.
The robe and backpack and everything else was real.
When Firas cut the changeling’s neck, Katia had pulled the mass associated with the changeling, causing the Henrik form to disappear. The robes and pack fell, landing upon the changeling corpse already there in the cart, previously hidden by the fake dromedarian body. When Leon the ambassador investigated, it looked as if the changeling corpse had been Henrik the whole time.
She had pulled it all off. I couldn’t believe it.
I reflected on this as I climbed into the wicker basket of the Vahana, Katia dangling over my left shoulder and Donut sitting upon my right.
The Gate of the Feral Gods Page 17
