by JD Cole
“How deep does that stream get?” Kassak wondered aloud. Everyone looked at him, then at the stream about seven hundred human paces distant. Several smaller streams ran down the mountain side, feeding into the one that disappeared into the forest.
“You thinking of drowning ‘em, kid?” Nim asked.
“Not drowning, but that stream appears to be a good distance from the wards…?” the ranger looked at Taryn.
“Spell casting would be safe there, yes.”
Suddenly everyone caught on.
“Good thinking, Kassak,” Graon nodded. “Now, all we have to do is figure out how to lure the brute that way.”
“Then Mae can just wrap it all up for us!” Julian said.
“I would appreciate,” the elemental shimmered into view, “if everyone would refrain from assuming I am here to assist you.” She walked over to Derek. “If the Hood wishes to use my power, it is his to command, and my magic will not be used except by him.” With that, the hooded vigilante vanished.
Julian raised his hands. “My apologies, I did not mean to offend.”
Derek sighed. “She’s touchy sometimes, don’t worry about it.”
“Regardless, we will respect your role as Veylsa’s wielder,” Lumina said.
The Hood nodded. “So, anybody have some minotaur bait handy?”
“Rocks,” Graon said. “Create little echoes to get his attention.”
“Then I can create a theatrical splash in the water if he gets close enough,” Taryn said.
“Small sounds might get him curious to take a look without becoming alarmed and calling for help,” Kassak nodded.
“Undine,” Derek spoke inwardly. “Does being in or near the water give you a power boost?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” she replied. “It would be more like… having your laptop computer plugged into a receptacle while you use it, constantly keeping the battery charged.”
“And how is your… battery at the moment?”
“I would say I’m a little more than half-full. I have plenty of magic to keep up this concealment spell, and can increase the range as needed if you engage the minotaur in battle away from those wards.”
“And how quickly do you recharge?”
“It does not take long at all, less than an hour if I have to guesstimate.”
“I hate to ask this, but… could you… take that thing out for us?”
“Yes, if that is your wish.”
“I really don’t wish it, but unless you have another option, we have to get rid of these guys.”
“I am afraid I do not have any alternative solutions to offer you.”
Derek waved for everyone’s attention. “Mae says she can handle the minotaur for us, we just need to get him to the water.”
Graon was already collecting pebbles from the slope, placing them in a small pouch that he was also filling with dirt and sand. “I will attempt to draw him out, if the rest of you will prepare an ambush at the stream.”
“But you’ll be out in the open without this concealment spell thing,” Samantha frowned.
Graon smiled confidently up at her, removing his pack and weapons and handing them to Nim and Kassak. “It is extremely dangerous, and I don’t mind admitting I’m terrified. But I am a ranger,” he replied, raising his hood over his head. He took a deep breath. “This is what we train for.”
The team carefully made their way down the slope, where Graon laid in the grass as the others continued in concealment toward the stream. His clothing helped him blend into the landscape as he crawled toward the camp. He held the pouch in his hand, the sandy dirt keeping the pebbles within from cracking together to make noise as he moved. He was coming at the minotaur from almost directly behind and downwind. Graon paused well before the camp and waited, giving the others time to set up whatever ambush Mae had in mind. Finally, he opened the pouch and pulled out three little stones. Using his fingers, he launched the first in a high arc at one of the boulders near the camp, followed by another directly at a tree farther away. His timing was perfect, and the first stone hit the boulder just a moment before the second stone struck one of the tree branches, noticeably shaking its leaves.
The minotaur stood, sniffing and turning its head to listen. It began walking toward the boulder while watching the tree, but its leaves had gone still. Graon laid perfectly flat with his ear against the ground, watching the beast investigate the boulder. It kept looking over at the tree as it inspected the boulder. Every time its back was to Graon, the elf quietly crawled backwards. Just as the minotaur appeared to be dismissing the noises, Graon launched his third stone toward a smaller boulder in the direction of the stream. The minotaur looked toward the direction of the sound when the stone struck, snorting loudly with suspicion. It stood there for several heartbeats, looking and listening. Then it reared its head and roared. A distant reply came from its partner.
Graon closed his eyes. The beast wasn’t falling for it. Graon began slowly creeping back toward the stream to report his failure. Before he made it halfway, the second minotaur managed to join the first, having run from where he was at near the clearing’s edge. The two minotaur conversed in their low, rolling language, with the first one pointing at the areas of disturbance. The second one nodded, and trotted back toward the cave where he took up a defensive position. The first minotaur collected a large warhammer from his lean-to and began moving toward Graon’s position.
“This is bad,” Graon thought. The guards had outsmarted them. If the first minotaur encountered something it couldn’t handle, the second one was in the perfect position to retreat into the waygate to get reinforcements. The elf’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched desperately for a solution.
Only one came to mind. “Forgive me, Hoille,” he thought to his wife. Then he stood up.
“Please,” he said, gripping a phony injury at his elbow and pretending to limp. “I, I just want some food, please!”
The minotaur’s eyes narrowed, and he stomped over to the tiny elf, grabbing him in its massive fist.
“Why are you here?” the minotaur rumbled, its Vomelri almost indiscernible due to its throaty vocals.
“Please,” Graon choked, “I was injured, I- I haven’t eaten in days…”
“Where are your comrades,” it demanded as its ears and nose searched for others.
“No one… I am… alone… urk!”
“I can smell the others on you, vyzen. And something… not an elf.” It continued to scan the forest.
“We were attacked… by a wyrm! I barely survived!”
The minotaur dropped its hammer, holding Graon out before him, showing him to any allies that might be hidden from view. Then he grabbed the ranger’s left leg and squeezed… and tore it from his body.
« CHAPTER 27 »
Diversionary Mercenaries
“It appears the goblins you were looking for finally showed up,” Sean handed his binoculars to Khun and continued observing on the tablet.
The faery general nodded as he looked through them. His troops were barely managing to keep their precarious hold on the gate, with wave after wave of undead trying to push them back. It would not be long before his troops lost their momentum, which would also severely damage the armies’ newly refreshed morale.
Sean held his hand out to Popper, who passed him his custom headset. General Vox preferred not wearing the radio unless absolutely necessary; even sized and shaped as it was for his large head, it tended to give him headaches. But if he was going to be stuck far behind the front, his troops needed to hear his voice at least occasionally. He pulled it over his ears and adjusted the microphone. “Boss, this is Beartrap. Are you in position?”
“Just about, sir. I need five more minutes to finish getting set up and coordinating with our faery friends on all the timing.”
“Do it quicker, soldier. I’m not sure those troops at the front gate have five minutes. Popper will be giving you the go order shortly.”
; “Yessir, roger that.” The S2 forces would not be engaging in the main battle. Boss’s men were only there to redecorate the wall with a few new doors, and cover the faeries and Paladins who would make their way inside. Sean removed the headset and passed it back to his XO.
Sean observed the tablet for just a couple more minutes, trying to give Boss some extra time, but the situation at the gate was falling apart. He looked at Popper. “Blow that wall now!”
Popper nodded, opening his radio. “Boss, you are free to engage! Open up that wall!”
Even without scopes or drones, the military leadership in Khun’s camp saw two ValianTs each launch a HEXSR at the base of Matari’s East wall, and they certainly heard the ensuing explosion. The remaining three ValianTs readied their launchers, scanning through the smoke and debris to assess the damage. The outer wall had a hole big enough for a ValianT to stomp its way through, but there appeared to be a hallway behind that, followed by an inner wall. The ValianT drivers quickly designated sections of the wall to take responsibility for and unleashed all of their remaining HEXSRs in waves, eight rockets in total blasting several large openings all the way through to expose Matari’s courtyard beyond. The faery battleproks immediately charged, having more than enough room in all the gaping holes for more than thirty troops at a time to pour in. Many squads began infiltrating the wall’s inner workings as well, seeking shadowlanders to kill and supplies to destroy.
“Good job,” Popper radioed, “take up position inside the breach and support the faeries at your discretion, but hold the arty until the General decides what to hit it with.”
“I would never have believed those walls could be taken so quickly,” Khun shook his head. He looked up at Sean. “My commanders have been ordered to prioritize rescuing the slaves, and they know the Goblin King could reappear at any moment.”
“We’ll hold that exit open for them,” Sean assured him. Boss’s team was moving into the new gateway they’d created, guarding against any reinforcements that might interrupt the invading force.
A squad of Paladins had found their way up inside the walls and were now atop one of them, firing down at the shadowland forces with their vissin rifles. They were soon joined by elf and dwarf archers. It looked as if the war was nearly over.
~
Maxillion and Lagraen raced through the streets of Matari with a hundred other rangers and orelords, slaughtering anything that got in their way. The city was large enough that half of it was dedicated to housing the Goblin King’s forces, and a majority of them appeared to have their own private residences rather than barracks. Such was the prosperity they’d gained from their slave economy.
The blue-haired ranger and the powerful orelord turned a corner and ran into a large group of dirty, malnourished elves fighting desperately against nine goblins. Maxillion and Lagraen both let out war cries and rushed past the slaves into the midst of the goblins, hacking and slashing at the monsters until they were joined by the rest of their battleprok. The minor horde was quickly destroyed, to the teary-eyed cheers of the slaves. Maxillion’s breath caught at the sight of them, fed and watered just enough that they could labor without dying, and nothing more. Denn came around another corner just then, and rushed to meet them.
“My brothers!” he gripped one of the slaves by his shoulders. “We are here to end this place, but we must be swift! Which way to the slave pens?”
“North!” the elf cried weakly, pointing. “Three blocks that way, and across the parade grounds!”
Denn looked that way and nodded, then clasped the slave’s forearm. “I am Denn, what is your name?”
“Yurim, Master.”
“Yurim. Take your fellows and anyone else you can find, and head to the southeastern wall to escape. Our forces outside the wall will look after you, but you must hurry! The Goblin King is on his way!”
The slaves all withered at that news, but Denn yelled courage at them. “Hurry! From this moment on you are free!” He quickly pointed to three rangers and an orelord. “You four, see them safely to the wall!”
“As you order, commander!” The pashryk saluted.
The battleproks raced onward, following Yurim’s directions but slowed by irenaks, wolves, and vampyres which seemed to materialize from every doorway and street corner. Many of them were wives and children of Matari’s garrisons, screaming their hatred. The sprite forces showed no mercy: they were all slavers living off the blood of elves and dwarves. Denn and Maxillion engaged a vampyre along with three other rangers, as Lagraen led a dozen others against two wolves using their spears to stab at anyone within reach.
The wolves wore armor protecting their torso and its thighs. Two elves managed to climb onto one wolf’s shoulders, but three of their comrades were quickly skewered by its spear. As the wolf viciously pulled its spear back, disemboweling the vyzen, it found its spear chopped in half by a Paladin wielding a glowing trinigar blade. Fair of skin with brown hair and eyes, he wore the signature armor of his people, made of white and gray metal that moved like leather. There was a shell-like pack attached to his back, where a long metal rod hung down behind his right shoulder.
The Paladin’s movements were stiff and mechanical, using a sword style no faery had ever witnessed. The human made no move that was not absolutely necessary, freezing in place after each movement until he needed to move again. He leaned sideways on one leg to dodge the wolf’s claws, simultaneously angling his arms and his sword so that the wolf actually carved its own arm across the Paladin’s blade. A long strip of furry flesh dangled, cut from its wrist down to its elbow, and the beast howled in pain. The wound was smoking, burned by the fire enchantment held in one of the blade’s rune acceptors.
The Paladin recovered his pose in a quick motion, standing upright with his sword in his right hand, waiting. The wolf charged at him once more, swinging the haft of its broken spear like a club. The Paladin shoved himself forward, sliding along the cobblestones on the balls of his feet until he was inches from the wolf’s torso. He dropped, spinning around three times into a cross-legged sitting position, but as he spun he swung his enchanted sword outward, slicing deeply into both of the wolf’s lower legs. His attack severed the wolf’s left calf and shattered its right tibia. The wolf howled once more and fell face-first to the ground, where elves and dwarves ended its life.
The Paladin stood and swiped his sword at the ground, flinging most of the blood and gore off of it before sheathing the blade on his back. He then reached to the other side of his pack and retrieved his hilgrad, thumbing the activator for its ammo pack. He took aim at the second wolf, who had its back turned to him as it slashed and smashed at the dwarves and elves around it. The Paladin aimed at the base of its neck and pulled the trigger, killing it instantly. He then took aim at the vampyre, who was armored but had no helmet. A trigger pull later, the vampyre also did not have most of a head. The Paladin stowed his hilgrad and drew his sword once more.
Maxillion waved his thanks. “You are most welcome here, Paladin. I am Maxillion. I have never seen that sword style before.”
“Attrick Ja’Elios,” the Paladin replied in cultured Vomelri, gripping Maxillion’s forearm before they joined everyone in resuming the rush for the slave pens.
“I only caught part of your fight from the corner of my eye, but that was most interesting. Are you a blademaster, then, Master Attrick?”
Attrick shook his head. “I am a farmer.”
Maxillion thought it was a joke at first, but the Paladin was not smiling or laughing.
“And,” Attrick continued, “the Winter Sword is probably the least popular sword-form in Tirapan. It pleases me that you find it interesting.”
Maxillion shook himself clear of the shock. “I would very much enjoy learning more about this Winter Sword and your magic light weapon when the war is over.”
Attrick nodded, but by then they had reached the slums. The area was filthy and decrepit. The pens were row after row of multi-level apartments. Many of th
e slaves had bravely left their quarters and were spilling out onto the street to find out what was going on. A group of irenaks appeared and headed toward the army, kicking and slashing at any slaves too slow to get out of their way. Denn led the battleprok to meet the irenaks before they could harm any more slaves, and a roaring kathet leapt from the top of a nearby building to join them. Maxillion broke off from the fight and ran to the slaves cowering near an alley. “Friends, we are here to free you! Quickly, get everyone out here and follow us back to the southeastern wall! We must get you all out of here before the Goblin King arrives!”
Cries and wails echoed loudly at mention of the King, but dozens of slaves began running back into the apartments to call everyone down. There wasn’t enough room for all the battleproks to jump into Denn’s fight with the irenaks, and Maxillion began quickly organizing the mass of elves and dwarves that were converging in the area. There were friendly wolves, kathet and vampyre who had made their way here as well, along with two more Paladins who joined up with Attrick.
“Our priority is getting the slaves out!” Maxillion reminded everyone. “Break into groups of ten and we’ll begin escorting our brothers and sisters to the wall!”
The rescue proceeded quickly, despite the frailty of many of the slaves. There were so many rangers, orelords, and other sprite-loyal warriors inside the city now that they managed to hold the goblin forces at bay while the numerous escort groups brought the slaves out through the human-guarded breach. It was becoming common to see wolves and kathet carrying three or four slaves at a time, unfortunate souls too frail to escape under their own strength. Just as common were the slaves throwing themselves at goblins and irenaks to protect their loved ones, trying to make up for their lack of strength and skill with pure fury and desperation.
Roughly half of the slaves had been evacuated to the hills beyond Matari when the Goblin King ripped an ethergate open in Matari’s main courtyard near the front gates. Thousands of goblins, irenaks, wolves, trolls, minotaur, and vampyres poured through the gate into the city.