Threadbare Volume 3

by Andrew Seiple

  Cecelia nodded. “Which is why I’ve got a plan. And in an hour I might just have someone to help with the initial breach...”

  It took five hours, actually, before Mastoya caved in and agreed to help. But that was more than enough time, for the golems to wrap up their dreamquests, refill their pools, and ready themselves for what lay ahead.

  They said their goodbyes, and took one last look around Fort Bronze.

  One way or another, they wouldn’t be coming back.

  *****

  Waystone duty was boring. The guards on shift hated it, the four wizards encircling the chamber and watching through windows above hated it, and the alchemists in the slaughterpits below hated it.

  That changed the second that the bell tolled. The guards went from numb boredom to wide-awake adrenaline.

  This was an unscheduled incoming arrival.

  “Dispel Magic! Dispel Magic! Dispel Magic! Dispel Magic!” The wizards did their thing. Nothing exploded, so the guards relaxed. A bit, just a bit.

  “You have ten seconds to utter the passcode! Fail and you die!” The sergeant on duty called through the grated door. “Ten nine eight seven—”

  “The password is Gladius Piscine!” Mastoya snapped. “Fort Bronze has fallen. Get ready to shatter the waymark!”

  The guards paled and stared beyond her, at the pillar in the center of the room. For twenty years it had stood, emblazoned with glowing glyphs, allowing easy transit from the center of the Realm to the Eastern and Western edges. “Ma’am? I...” The sergeant stuttered. This was way, way above his paygrade.

  “FUCKING DO IT!” Mastoya yelled, slamming her gauntlet against the door. “AND GET ME OUT OF HERE BEFORE THEY STONE IN!”

  “I... I...” The sergeant said, after she was past the barriers and traps. “Yes Ma’am. Will you, will you sign the logs at least?”

  Mastoya looked at the book. She picked it up and ripped it in half, with such force that the wooden toy on her belt jiggled and rattled. “I’m calling in Damocles protocols, and you want me to sign the fucking book that is irrelevant after today?” she snarled.

  The sergeant swallowed and turned gray.

  “Do it, before—”

  The bell tolled. The wizards doled out dispel magics, and were answered by arrows. LOTS of arrows. “Rapid Fire! Razor Shot!” Mordecai and Jericho bellowed in unison, and mages screamed as glass shattered.

  “Damocles!” The sergeant bellowed, running for the door. “I declare and authorize Damocles! Blow the room!”

  Mastoya snarled and pushed her way through the mob of guards. Behind her, the gas rolled in, the explosions started to shake the room...

  ...and unnoticed in the chaos and fury, two rangers used temporary waystones to return back whence they came.

  Five minutes later, as guards rushed past her, she turned a corner, opened a door, and walked into guest chambers that hadn’t been used in months.

  “Alright,” she cleared her throat. “We’re safe.”

  “Dude,” Glub said, untying himself from her belt. “That was intense. Waymark!” he said, as he touched the floor. “You got the thingy?”

  She handed him the Greater Waystone, and without a word, he took it, and faded, disappearing from Castle Cylvania...

  ...and reappearing back at Fort Bronze.

  With a sigh, Mastoya sat on the bed, and looked in the mirror. Soon the little fishman golem would be making waystones and handing them to the invasion parties. Soon the room would be full of invaders. And the last one to arrive would bring her the waystone that would take her back to her cell.

  Her part in this was done.

  And though she’d never admit it, for the first time in years, she was very, very relieved she wouldn’t be around for what came next.

  CHAPTER 14: THE SINS OF THE FATHERS

  “Theah!” Madeline said, as Emmet’s massive hand reached into the pack. “It’s go time!”

  “Makeup. Parry,” Threadbare said, smearing his face with paint and feeling it shift into the patterns that resembled a grinning, cocky face with a sweet goatee. He moved to the front, grabbed his brother’s gauntlet, and rode it out.

  He arrived to a large bedroom full of dwarves, hopped out of Emmet’s grip, and started looking around until he saw the familiar form of Kindness. Feeling relief, he moved over to it and tapped on its knee with his scepter. “Are you okay in there?”

  “Just waiting for the signal,” Cecelia said. “Activation is loud. I can’t risk doing it until-”

  The room shuddered. A gong rang outside, echoing through the castle.

  “Yeah, there we go. Stoker Feed Activated!” Cecelia shouted, and the miniature steam knight shuddered as metal ground on metal.

  Threadbare turned, looked back to Emmet, who had gotten through most of the golems and was working on drawing out his mortal friends. Pulsivar came out, scrambling, as his form blurred and shuddered around Emmet’s arms. Then the golem let the Misplacer Beast go, and the great black cat hopped up onto a bed and started grooming himself with an aggravated air.

  He calmed down once Threadbare clambered up next to him, and Pulsivar did that air grooming thing, tongue rasping against the little bear even though he was visibly several feet away.

  Then the dwarven commander shouted. “Alright lads and lasses! Through that door! Hold the halls! GRUNDI AND BROKESHALE!”

  “GRUNDI AND BROKESHALE!” The dwarves roared and burst out of the door, shields ready and axes high.

  “Boiler Shunt is Go!” Kindness screamed steam, and Pulsivar flattened his ears. Mopsy, who’d just emerged, tried to clamber back into the pack until Fluffbear grabbed her by the hind legs and wrestled her back.

  The dwarves rushed out, as fast as their commanders could haul them out of the plus-sized backpacks that they’d been shoved in. They hadn’t lacked for merchants among their own ranks, even if their packs of holding couldn’t fit quite as many people in as the plush golems had.

  Beryl and Jarrik were two of the last to clamber out, and with a grin, Garon waved them over. “Family party’s over here, bro. Sis.”

  “Technically I’m not your sister,” Beryl said, adjusting her long-disused chainmail.

  “Neither’s Sloopy,” Bak’shaz pointed to the enormous serpent coiled in a corner. “But she’s close enough.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  “Clockwork Engaged!” Cecelia bellowed. Clattering ticks and tocks chimed out from Kindnes, a rattle at first, then turning to a solid, drawn out hum.

  It’s about time, Threadbare knew. So he put up all the buffs he could while he waited. “Bodyguard Pulsivar. Organize Minions to Stop Melos. Flex. Self-esteem. Strong Pose. Deathsight. Guard Stance. Harden.”

  “Is Cecelia going to be much longer?” Graves asked.

  “No,” Kayin said, clambering up above the doorframe. “Just cover her for like another minute.”

  Emmet kept pulling more and more of the golem army from the bag. The forty surviving teddies and plush toys were joined with about fifty more who hadn’t been part of the assault on the Wark Riders. They spread out, filling the room now that the dwarves had vacated, readying their weapons, putting up buffs, and staring at the door with button-eyed intensity.

  “Linkages Aligned!” Cecelia yelled, and Kindness straightened up, flexed its arms, and drew its sword and shield from the magnetized holders on its back and side.

  “You be safe Gar, awright?” Madeline went over and thumped her head gently into Garon’s. “We got a lot to talk about aftah this is done.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Garon hugged her neck. Then he shot Zuula a look.

  Zuula didn’t see it. She was too busy kissing Mordecai.

  “I’d say get a room, but she’d take me literally.” Jarrik elbowed Bak’shaz.

  “Cast in Steam and Steel, Raise Thy Blade! All Systems Go!” Cecelia finished. “Let’s go finish this!”

  The plan had hinged upon Glub.

  He’d been carried in by
Mastoya and established a lesser waymark in an out-of-the-way place that was centrally-located enough to be a good staging area. Then he’d used one of the Fort Bronze greater waystones to return to the waymark there.

  Once there, he started creating lesser waystones and handing them out to the leaders of the assault teams, each of whom was carrying a merchant’s pack of holding full of their people.

  Lesser Waystone used fortune. Glub had about enough fortune left in his pool after casting the waymark that he could make twenty waystones.

  The first wave of people through had been six rangers, each carrying a pack of about five to six more. They’d spread out in advance, using their superior infiltration skills to roam unnoticed and get to critical points of the castle.

  The next wave of people through had been thirteen dwarves, clerics, officers, elementalists, and other skilled veterans. Each of them had borne a pack holding about four more dwarves and some assorted gear. Their job was to wait for the signal, then spread out and secure the halls, advancing forward bit by bit and leaving a rearguard at every junction.

  Emmet had been the last one through. And he’d had the honor of carrying not only Threadbare and his friends, but all the doll haunters they could cram into Madeline’s packspace... which was by now up to a pretty good-sized sitting room. It had been a tight, tight fit, and air had been a bit limited for the living ones, but they hadn’t had to wait long. It was done in a matter of minutes, and now they followed behind the dwarves, looking for their objectives.

  They only had two.

  And it was only a matter of minutes, before one of them surfaced.

  Threadbare straightened up on Pulsivar’s back. “He’s in the inner courtyard!” he called. “Where is that?”

  “Follow me!” Cecelia turned and metal slammed on stone as Kindness charged past them, with Emmet in hot pursuit. The squads of toys behind made space, waiting for Threadbare’s team and Garon’s team to catch up to her.

  “Remember,” Threadbare told the doll haunters as he passed, “He’s very dangerous. Leave him to us, just keep a perimeter and stop the guards from intervening.”

  They emerged onto a scene of slaughter.

  Guards lay strewn about the courtyard, bleeding and dying, filling the air with their screams. Dwarven bodies lay among them... not as many, but enough to show that a mighty battle had taken place here.

  The battle still raged on.

  Up on the battlements, gray-cloaked men and women clashed blade to blade with a huge man in black-armor swirling with red demonic faces. Six blades scythed around him, driving his foes back as he clashed the largest sword, the one in his left hand, against his shield. Everything that was metal on him roiled with demonic features, eyes and arms and claws and maws, gaping and hissing and shrieking. And in the split-second that passed as Threadbare took it in, the figure called “Entropic Strike!” and brought his blade crashing THROUGH one of his opponent’s, and into the man below. Black light flared, and the ranger fell, flesh crumbling to dust, clothes fading and falling to bits, until what hit the ground below the battlements was old bones that shattered on impact.

  “Father!” Cecelia’s voice rang out from Kindness.

  And King Melos, first of his name, turned.

  The surviving rangers fell back, escaping the flashing blades.

  “His blades leave wounds that don’t heal,” Jericho whispered in his ear, faint as the wind. “We’ll support you as we can. Good luck!”

  “So this is what they’ve made of you,” the King’s voice was as deep as Threadbare remembered it. With a mighty leap, the monarch hurled himself over the battlements. Red, blazing batlike wings stretched from the back of his armor and flapped, as he glided to the ground below, alighting with a crash of metal. “He’s turned you into a slave, a hollow suit of armor.”

  “Father, Anise has been playing you from the beginning to the end of this. You have to—”

  “I know,” he said.

  The courtyard fell silent.

  “Then...” Cecelia said, voice tight and trembling, “then why?”

  “I have no choice. Never did. I needed allies, to contact the King, to keep things under control. I turned the strongest-willed woman I knew, used her as a host. I knew she’d become corrupted in time. But I hoped that her love for me would buy me the time we needed. Time to find a solution.” The King’s voice wavered. “But there wasn’t any solution. No way to fix things before it all fell apart. And I’ve been here ever since, trying to stall, hoping that time would present a solution. But it hasn’t, and everyone’s betrayed me. As I knew they would.”

  “You had a choice every step of the way,” Threadbare said. “And you chose to trust daemons over everyone else. And it’s gotten you here.”

  Melos’ helm turned, turned to look at the little bear sitting on the big black cat. “And so my daughter’s enslaver shows himself.”

  “I’ve enslaved no one,” Threadbare said. “Betrayed no one... well, not really,” he shot a look at Madeline, who shrugged. “And I’m here to stop you from killing this country and everyone in it.”

  “We’re here to stop you!” squeaked Fluffbear.

  Melos laughed, loud and long. “Two parties? Two parties of rabble, toys and half-breeds and traitors? What hope do you have? Come then. This won’t be the first assassination attempt that I’ve destroyed.”

  “Assassination attempt?” Garon snorted. “Oh no, buddy. This is a Raid!”

  And with that, the two parties charged the demon king.

  Garon’s new job had many drawbacks, thanks to Cylvania’s weird situation. You couldn’t form a guild in a dungeon, it was that simple. And since the entire land was a dungeon, that meant no guilds, no way, no how.

  They’d even tried forming a guild in Madeline’s pack, just to see if that was possible. But evidently you couldn’t form a guild in an extra-dimensional space, either. Jarrik had even led Garon a few steps into the Oblivion, to see if it was possible to do it there, but no, that still counted as a dungeon. Which left Garon with four out of five skills that he couldn’t use, since three of the rest of them dealt with Guild functions.

  But the fifth one? The fifth one made up for that.

  Because now all parties involved were linked in a raid, a coordinated attack that let them talk at the speed of thought and be heard by everyone on the same mission. “Our healing is useless,” Threadbare told the others. “The strikes from him don’t heal, Jericho told me that. Zuula, Fluffbear, can you switch to damage?”

  “Sure, she do dat.”

  “Okay!”

  Threadbare continued. “I can tank him—”

  “No! Let me! Boosters!” Cecelia said, speeding ahead of him. “He thinks I’m Kindness. He might pull his punches.”

  And then they were on him, and his corona of blades screamed as they came, lashing out at Cecelia, slicing towards Fluffbear.

  “Rapid Fire!” Mordecai shouted, and five arrows slashed a blade out of the air.

  “Rapid Fire!” Jarrik echoed, and gunshots cracked out, and another blade dropped and shattered.

  “Dolorous Strike!” Cecelia lashed out—

  —and her sword rebounded from Melos’ shield. The daemons inside shrieked, as it carved a chunk free from the steel. Then she was backpedaling, as Melos lashed out at her with all four of his blades, whittling her down. “Entropic Strike!” choked out the demon king, beating her back, as red numbers ground from Kindness with every strike.

  Green numbers did as well. Only ten or twelve at a time, but they slid from her as she gasped and fell back. Mopsy and Fluffbear, who were moving around to the side, striking at his blades, shuddered as well. “What is this?” Fluffbear shrieked.

  “Fear. It’s fear!” Threadbare realized. “But that’s all right. I can use an Emboldening Speech, because you’re all very brave! We can survive this. Keep fighting! I believe in you!”

  Melos’ helm whipped up to study him. “A ruler? Oh no no no, this nonsense en
ds NOW!”

  Quick as a wink he tossed his sword up into the air. “Animus Blade!” Before Cecelia could react, he slammed his hand onto her helm, grasped it by the visor. “You will never know how sorry I am for this, my dear. All is Dust.”

  And Kindness melted away into a cloud of rust. Melos was already moving past her, snatching his sword out of the air again, and missed seeing the little armored porcelain doll poke her head out of the rust pile and draw her sword.

  “Stay back Cecelia!” Threadbare said through the raid chat. “Let me tank! Find things to animate! Melos, I challenge you!”

  Your Challenge skill is now level 12!

  Even with the boosted speed of raid speech, he barely had time to get that out before Melos was on him.

  But as the King closed, Mordecai and Jarrik shot down the last of the animated swords, and the rest of the melee team encircled Melos. Bak’shaz fought side by side with Sloopy the snake, borrowing his minion’s venom, manifesting it through paired knives. Fluffbear smote into Melos with lashes from her whip that left long, smoking wounds in the demon-infused steel of his armor. Garon struck out with his hatchet, reforged by the dwarves into a proper weapon, while Madeline chomped bites into his shield, keeping that side of him busy. Zuula dove and harried him from above, spear flashing as she tried for his eyes. And Kayin, tiny Kayin, leaped on his legs and did her best to stab him through the chainmail protecting his knee joints.

  For his part, Threadbare focused on staying alive. He’d put up all his buffs and guard stance back in the room while he was waiting for his friends to prepare, and he was very, very glad that he had. Even with his blades gone, Melos was an unrelenting foe.

  But for all that, even the King couldn’t land a solid strike on the teddy bear. Pulsivar was a Misplacer Beast now, and Zuula had spoken with him, hammered his part in their plan home. He dodged for all he was worth and between that and his image displacement, Threadbare was everywhere the King’s blade wasn’t.