Threadbare Volume 2

by Andrew Seiple

  “That’s more burglar and scout,” Kayin said. “We’re good at bullshitting our way past people and being unobtrusive. Though my stealth skill is good enough that night should be all I need. Probably the best way to use me is to launch your assault, and I’ll use the chaos to slip in. Question is; what do you want me to do when I’m in there?”

  “I figured that would be self-evident, given the name of your old job,” Graves grinned.

  “No, you’re right Kayin,” Cecelia said. “We have no idea who the cult leader is, or if this Dreadbear guy is him, or what their command structure’s like. We need intelligence. Not the attribute kind, the military kind.”

  “We’ve got an imp wrangler, don’t we?” Renick asked.

  “Good thinking. Let’s check while we’re waiting on the scouts.”

  Cecelia got clear of eyesight from the wall, hunkering Reason down behind a copse of trees, and decanted. She took a breath, as she felt her pools slowly start to refill again. That was the downside to Steam Knight armor, it shut off the slow, natural regeneration that every living being got. Raising thy blade cast in steam and steel meant awesome power, at the cost of needing either someone backpacking you to keep it going, or carefully rationing what you had.

  And speaking of rations, she was hungry as hell, and more than a little thirsty. “Let’s have lunch while we wait.”

  The actual rations of the army had been distributed among the lower-level footsoldiers’ packs. They only had a couple of days worth, but they weren’t that far from the fort, and the expectation was that they’d have plenty to eat once the town was dead.

  Once the town and everyone in it is dead, Cecelia tried, and failed to push the thought from her mind as she ate her ration loaf. Dead, because we’re going to massacre them.

  “We’re going to have to kill everyone here because if we don’t the old ones will eat everyone, innocents or no,” Cecelia reminded herself.

  Graves took it as a question. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It isn’t our fault. They were dead either way once the cult grew too big for the locals to stop it. Me? I prefer the version of them being dead that doesn’t end up with me in an elder god’s belly.”

  “But it isn’t their fault either. The people who aren’t cultists, I mean.”

  “Yeah. It fucking sucks,” Renick said, looking at her soberly. “Which is why we need to win the wars, so we can concentrate on policing people and making sure it never gets bad enough that a cult grows this big ever again.”

  Cecelia thought it over, as she finished her loaf. There were some flaws in that idea, but she didn’t think the knights would be willing to listen to them.

  Things will be different when I am queen, she decided. She desperately hoped that was true.

  “You called for me, Captain?” The imp wrangler bustled up. A large man with a slightly-haunted look and cages strapped to his back, he wore the red sign of an approved cultist on his black robe.

  “Yes. What have we got, impwise?”

  He hauled off three cages and showed her. Three black, scaly little things with wings and overlarge eyes stared back at her, licking their needle-like rows of teeth and grasping at the bars of their cages with tiny clawed fingers. They were somewhere between a bat and a housecat in size.

  “Trained and disciplined. Aren’t you, you little vermin?” sneered the cultist as he rapped his knuckles on one cage. The imp inside cowered and shook.

  “That’s enough,” said Cecelia. “So they’ll obey orders and take messages?”

  “Yes ma’am. They can manage about five sentences, the shorter the better. Beyond that gets unreliable.”

  “Can you make more?” Cecelia asked.

  “Plenty of birds around here,” He fished around on his belt and held up a slingshot. Nostalgia stirred within Cecelia, and she shoved it aside as the sanctioned cultist continued. “I can do one, maybe two a day if I get access to the grog rations, but it wipes me out for anything else. The sanity cost is about a hundred each. And they won’t be as trained or disciplined. It takes about a week to work the kinks out of any pact.”

  “Is that how it works?” Kayin asked, surveying the little fearful demons.

  “Oh yeah. The basic pact just gets them manifested, and the basic directives installed into their new forms. Then you want to spend about a week or two hammering out the paradoxes, and ensuring that the vows are all locked down, and the loopholes are sealed. You do NOT want a demon running free without those, even something as simple as a Rank One. They’ll find tons of ways to twist your core commands, completely exploit the letter of the pact, and do things just to spite you. Even if it screws them over, as well.”

  “How boned am I if I carry two of them on me?” Kayin asked. “Say in some padding under a robe, while I’m trying to keep them a secret.”

  “Eh, they’re prone to weird noises when they get surprised.” He hauled off and whacked a cage with a stick, and all three of the imps shouted and squeaked, warbling in weird, repellent tones that were like birdsong only oilier.

  “Right. Give me two in cages then,” Kayin said. “I’ll stash them someplace accessible when I breach.”

  “Breach?”

  “Need to know stuff,” Cecelia told the imp handler. “Tell her how to use them then go back to the rear and summon another. Work on training it, I’ll send word if I need a message sent back to headquarters.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he pounded his chest in a salute, then pulled Kayin off to the side.

  “What now?” Renick asked her, as he walked back alongside. Graves followed on her other flank, eyes peeled as he watched the swamp around them.

  “Now we wait. Depending on what the scouts say, we either move at dawn or fort up for the night.”

  “The troops will get restless,” Renick pointed out.

  “Right.” Cecelia sighed. It was hard work managing this many barely-trained soldiers. “Put them to work building camp while we’ve still got daylight. Plenty of trees, and hey, there’s that pile the cultists already knocked down for us back up the road. I won’t say no to free logs.” Her scalp itched, and she ran her gauntlet through her hair, frizzy again in the moistness of the marsh. Yeah, it’d be time to shave it off soon, just lose it forever. Maybe she’d find a good barber and make that style permanent.

  *****

  “They’re stalling us,” Anise announced, fading out of the early-dusk shadows. Behind her, the mid-level scout staggered into camp, and threw her a sloppy salute. One arm was bandaged, and his armor was torn.

  “Report,” Cecelia commanded him, sparing a second to nod at Anise.

  “All’s quiet on the eastern gate. They only have a few people watching it.”

  “How’s the terrain between here and there?” Renick asked.

  “Bad. It’s mostly two-foot-deep water between the two gates, with lots of overgrowth and marsh plants.”

  “No good for a sortie then,” Cecelia decided.

  “Good for my purposes, though.” Kayin nodded. “I’ll go get changed.”

  “At the south gate there’s people leaving. They’re moving in groups. All sorts, and children are with them. No robes.”

  “They’re evacuating the townsfolk who aren’t cultists,” Cecelia said, surprised.

  “Or that’s what they want us to think,” Anise said. “This could be a trick, and they’ll come around on our flank.”

  “Evacuating them where?” Renick said. “There’s nothing but wilds out this way, ever since that one mining town was wiped out by rebels.”

  Cecelia felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked away, letting the lie slide. Telling the truth of the matter wouldn’t help the situation at all here, and the guilt weighed heavy on her.

  “There’s more,” the scout said. “Every group of them has a little stuffed toy or two following along with them. Some are carrying things.”

  “What?” Cecelia stood upright, so fast that her armor rattled. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes Ma’a
m.”

  “They’re going to take a chance on surviving the wilds.” Cecelia said, her mouth going dry. “With guardians along that don’t sleep, and can take on things five times their size.”

  “For what, an hour or two?” Renick frowned. “Animi don’t last that long. You told us that.”

  “They’re not animi. They’re golems. Those families are being escorted by golems. Little golems that think and learn and love their children, and will fight to the death for them.” Celia swallowed, hard. “I wondered where he’d gone, after father told me grandfather escaped his prison. Now I know. Oh gods—” she said, putting two and two together and getting five-hundred-and-ninety-seven. “—he’s even calling himself Dreadbear, to hide his real identity. He’s hiding here somewhere, talking to them through magic mouth on that poor little teddy. It all makes sense now!”

  “Ma’am?” The Scout asked.

  “Anything else to report?”

  “No ma’am. But the Inquisitor made it farther than I did. You should really hear her report, it’s concerning.”

  “Very well. Dismissed. Go talk to the clerics and rest up.”

  “Aye ma’am.” He thumped his chest and was off.

  “I wasn’t ignoring you,” Cecelia said, turning to Anise. “But he was pretty badly torn up, so I wanted to hear his report first so he could go get treated. What happened?”

  “They have scouts too. Not very good ones,” Anise shrugged. “But good enough to kill our senior scout. But that doesn’t matter, what does matter, is a hill about three miles out of town. There’s a circle of stones up there, and the old one linked to them is waking up. They’re ferrying sacrifices out there. Children, as far as I can tell.”

  Cecelia’s breath hissed between her teeth. “In my father’s name I order you to tell the truth. You’re certain of this?”

  Anise looked annoyed. “I’m positive. Children-sized figures in robes arrive by boat, and are accompanied up to the dolmens by people who are presumably their parents, based on the weeping embraces and pathetic goodbyes they get. I watched for a full hour, as closely as I dared. Not a single child came back down from the hill, and every time one went up there the old one’s power grew.”

  “They’re summoning him.” Renick said, horror filling his large features. “They’re stalling us here so they can summon him fully into this world.”

  “Something doesn’t add up,” Graves said. “Why are they letting the uninvolved people leave? To old one cultists, those would be perfect sacrifices.”

  “Grandfather.” Cecelia sighed, settling back down. “It’s because he’s working with them.”

  She didn’t see Anise twitch in surprise, didn’t see how the woman-thing’s face settled back into its usual mask, as Cecelia continued. “It was hushed up, but my Grandfather was a rebel. He escaped custody a few years back, and now he’s here.”

  Graves’ jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait wait whoa, you’re talking about the father of Amelia Gearhart. The guy who taught the hero everything she knew, before...”

  “Yes. Caradon.”

  “Well. Shit.” Renick summed up. “There’s no way that guy isn’t a level twenty-five tier two. We need to call in reinforcements. Get some Dragon Knights in—”

  “No,” Cecelia said. “I know my grandfather. He hates the Crown, but he won’t end the world. He’s a good man, just deluded. If he’s shown himself to the cult, it’s only to save people. Which means that he’ll try to intervene to stop the old one from being summoned, as soon as everyone’s safe.”

  “Your grandfather committed treason against the Crown,” Anise said. “The King’s commands are clear when it comes to traitors. Can you face him and fulfill your duty, Dame Ragandor?”

  Cecelia narrowed her eyes, as she gazed at the thing wearing her mother’s face. “I have not forgotten my father’s lessons on the weakness of mercy. But my father’s promise to me stands firm, and we shall both honor it. If he is here I will capture him. You shall not hurt him and you shall assist me in this task to the best of your ability.”

  “I know full well my place in things, Cecelia,” Anise said, bowing her head. “And I made my own promise to you, do you remember that?”

  “That you would help me become who I needed to be,” Cecelia said. “And you have, so deal with it. Now go, and tell the unit commanders to make ready for the assault. Renick, go with her and sort out the details. It’s going to be frontal, as soon as the night’s fully upon us.”

  The two departed. Graves remained, looking at their retreating backs, then over at the town. “Why? If your grandfather’s going to backstab the cult in the end...” One gauntlet rose to rub his beard. “But we don’t know that for sure, do we?” He answered his own question. “No. It’s possible he was driven mad by cultists, or they’ve managed to trick him.”

  “Grandfather was smart but gullible.” Cecelia sighed. “I realize that now. We can’t take the chance they’re stalling us, and this cult is sacrificing kids. It’s pretty clear-cut who the villains are. It’ll be painful but we need to assault them head on, now, and blitz through the town so we can get to the dolmens to stop the ritual.”

  “And the uninvolved townsfolk? The ones fleeing into the hills?”

  “Not our priority,” Cecelia said, feeling a great weight shift from her. “If they’re not fighting us and they’re clearly not the cult, then they’re not traitors. We’ll inform the general and she might send someone to hunt them down. Eventually.” And their blood won’t be on MY hands, she thought.

  “Even if there are cultists among them secretly? Old one cults are insidious,” Graves pointed out, with his quiet logic.

  “We know where their old one’s summoning site is now. What are the odds there are two of those in this valley? We just lock it down or destroy it and render their religion a moot point. Between you and the wizards I’m pretty sure we can figure out something.”

  Graves nodded. “All right. To tell the truth that sits better with me anyway.” He rubbed his beard.

  He really is a good man, Celia reflected. “What’s your first name?” She asked, suddenly. “You came in just after I did, and nobody ever used it. I don’t think we really properly knew it.”

  “Oh, uh,” Graves said, lowering his gauntlet. “That’s because I don’t use it very much. Herbert. I’m Herbert Graves. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re going to have my back tonight, and we’re going to kill our way through a lot of people who really, really deserve it.” Cecelia smiled. “It only seems polite.”

  Graves nodded, eyes glittering as he studied her smile. “Listen. If we get separated... try to keep me in view, okay?”

  “Well, yes. Steam Knights need support to guard their flanks and rear, that’s the first lesson we learned.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Graves said, shifting. “I mean if the worst happens, you won’t have long to get to the soulstone. Spirits last the longest around their bodies, but we’re talking minutes, here. It’s tied to willpower, so you should be good, but uh... You can travel a bit as a newly-dead spirit, but that cuts it down by a lot, the farther you go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to ruin the moment, this is morbid, and—”

  “Herbert,” She smiled, and he shut up. “It’s all right. Come on, let’s get the army straightened out, we’ve got a battle to win. We can talk more after that.”

  His smile was genuine, and he thumped his breastplate with enthusiasm. “Yes Ma’am!”

  “And keep that Deathsight spell of yours up. We know they have a necromancer, and I expect more surprises from that quarter...”

  *****

  They came for the cult in the night. They came with torches high, with shields up in the first few ranks, and with the more adept crossbowmen behind them, raining down rapid shots from their crossbows, sending the heavy bolts flying in ways that anyone without the archer job couldn’t match.

  The cultists returned fire from the walls, their own bows weaker but better ranged, even if their acc
uracy wasn’t as good. They had volume, and they punished the first ranks.

  Cecelia strode forward slowly in Reason, the darkspawn enchantment on her inner helm letting her see despite the uncertain light. Well, as best she could with Reason’s forearm held up to shield her visor’s slit. Peripheral vision she had. Forward view? Nah. But she only had to keep pace with her front lines, keep going forward until she got to the gate. Even as an animi, she was pretty certain it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Arrows thumped and rattled off Reason’s hide, and she swallowed. Occasionally one hit with enough force to do one or two points, but overall she wasn’t worried. Was happy, even. The more that came for her, the less that went for her troops. No, the gorge churning in her belly was from the fact that she was going up against people who actually wanted to kill her. She’d felt that feeling when they cut down Baron Comfort’s bandits, and she was feeling it again, here. It was bad. This wasn’t monsters, or beasts, or a situation where she was up against a thing following its nature. These people had made the active decision that they needed a Cecelia-shaped hole in their lives and were doing their best to make it reality.

  Well. She had a thing or two to say about that. “Mend,” she snapped as the damage started to mount.

  “To the flank! Right flank!” Renick bellowed, and she shifted.

  THINGS were coming out of the lake.

  “Right flank shields!” She screamed through the magic mouth. “We planned for this, people!”

  You don’t go up against old ones without keeping eyes on the nearby body of murky water. That was just asking to get tentacled.

  “Rally Troops!” Renick shouted. “Let’s send these eldritch fuckers back where they came from!”

  She heard the right flank roar with approval, as their moxie got a decent buff.

  Oh yeah, I can do that too. She risked an unshielded glance at the walls, found them near, and snapped her arbelest arm back up as arrows clattered off Reason’s helm. “Rally Troops! The gate’s right there, let’s go knock that fumper down!”

  Then her men were cheering, or screaming, and she didn’t know because she was lifting her sword up, and charging.