The Last Garrison (Dungeons & Dragons Novel)

by Beard, Matthew

  Kohel straightened. “I will stay, Father. My place is here, defending our home.”

  Sten ignored Kohel and spoke only to Londih, in a quiet voice so that only the three could hear. “You know the boy barely has the stomach for this, Honored One. You know he does not have the presence of mind. He will fight with us. He may notch a kill on the hilt of his blade. But if he stays, he will not survive. Take the boy. He is too frivolous for this work.”

  Sten saw Londih consider his words carefully. He looked at his son and after a long moment, wilted a little. “Kohel,” he said, loud enough for all around to hear, “you are the only heir to the Crook of Haven. Though it is sure that many of these creatures would fall before you today, you will stay by my side. This is my dishonor, boy. Not yours.”

  Kohel appeared ready to speak, but Londih’s face stopped him. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly. And then, louder, “For Haven, I will stay by your side. And protect you if necessary.” The two walked off, back into the village.

  Spundwand approached Sten. “They have waited until morning to attack. An odd choice for a bandit race.”

  “True, my friend. An advantage for us, though. I will take any such advantages I am given. We have the sun. We have a good position here, slightly higher up the mountain.”

  “True. If only we had numbers. Ekho said she has seen many of the bird men in the forest. Many preparing for assault. Many more than we have here. And warriors all. Not just hunters used to engaging dull-minded beasts and farmers used to engaging with the soil.”

  “Ever the optimist, my friend.”

  “I expect that I will die this day, Captain. Forgive me if I have made my peace with it.”

  Sten rubbed his head, and stared into the trees below. Spundwand twirled the end of his beard between his fingers and spat upon the ground. “Bury me with my hammer, Sten,” he said. “Bury me with a fine braid in my beard and a clasp of amber.”

  Sten heard Magla give a whistle and all attention was given to the tree line and the road. It began with a rustle of leaves, and continued with a series of thumping steps. Before long, in parties of five or six, bands of kenku emerged from the trees into the clearing below the walls and fences. They had short blades drawn and stood shoulder to shoulder. A dozen emerged, then two, then three. They kept loose formations, but were moving in step with one another. When all had flooded out, a mass of black feather and brown leather, cloaks and blades, slings and polearms held close, from the rear came a kenku in finer regalia. Older, some of the feathers near his beak and eyes had gone gray and white with age. To his left an unarmed raven man who appeared to hold a glass orb of swirling purple. And behind them, staying near the trees, a figure cloaked and covered entirely, taller than the others, but obscured by clothing and shadow, all except the huge blade at his side. Who is that? wondered Sten.

  The older kenku, the warchief, peered at the village, the newly built fences and newly piked walls waiting to hold back his warriors. He cocked his head and croaked a word heard all the way in Haven to the creature with the orb. Both stirred and puffed the feathers of their chests. Sten wondered if they were simply amused by the preparations that had been made for their arrival, or surprised that the people of Haven had managed to ready themselves to the extent that they had. Either way, they appeared defiant. Or so Sten assumed. He had faced all manner of creature, all manner of monster in his day. He had learned to read the nuances of behavior—knew confidence from doubt—even on visages that could hardly be called faces. The kenku, though, were uncommon enough for him to wonder at their behavior. And the inhumanness of them—their bird’s countenance—made them even more difficult to understand.

  But after a short exchange between the two, Sten saw a behavior that was the unmistakable action of a commander preparing to let loose his soldiers. The older kenku squawked loudly, gathering to him the attention of his bandits. With sound and gesture he harangued them, readied them for attack in the way Sten had many times done himself. He was, it appeared, making sure all the kenku knew their duties, and were confident in their plan. The kenku, beginning with a murmur, began to respond. The bird men grew excitable, loud, enraged. And the warchief continued his speech, working the bandits to a near frenzy, until, at a moment of great murderous excitement, something fell from the sky.

  Something landed in the warchief’s eye. Something buried itself into the warchief’s head. The creature reacted quickly, startled and shook. Reached up to its head, grasping at whatever it was. Sten squinted, looked, saw: an arrow. The creature had been struck well. The flight had been true. The arrow had burrowed deep into the warchief’s head, ended his speech to his bandit army. He fell, dead. Sten turned, searched Haven, and saw Magla lowering her bow and reaching to her quiver for another arrow. “It appears you will not need a second,” Sten said quietly.

  “I grew bored waiting,” shouted Magla to Sten when she saw him looking up at her. And then shouted louder down through the clearing at the kenku. “What say, creatures? Let us not waste time.” She nocked a new arrow, raised her bow, and fired a shot into the earth at the feet of the closest flock of kenku, waking them from their stunned silence, their surprise at the sudden loss of their chief.

  In the fleeting moment of disorientation, Sten saw Magla signal the other archers. “Choose your targets well, my friends. And fire until your quivers are empty.”

  The arrows flew. The kenku, though stunned by what had happened to their chief, were quick to regroup, and quick to make ground on the fences and walls of Haven. Magla’s archers cut down a few during their advance, but they were quick, agile, and able to speed over the clearing.

  At the entrance to Haven’s main thoroughfare, a squadron came upon the seated Imony. Their movement slowed, more curious than fearful. The archers had turned to other targets for fear of hitting the woman, so the kenku were able to approach her in a more measured, careful way. Imony sat, legs crossed over each other in the way she had first been encountered by the teenagers, the old warrior, and his dwarf companion—tracing a line on the parchment with the brush in her hands. She appeared unaware of the battle about to commence, of the projectiles flying overhead. Sten watched carefully. He had, in the time he had spent around the disciple of unarmed combat, become a student of such situations with her. His greater task—the command of the defense of Haven—could spare a moment, he thought. A moment to observe her.

  The moment arrived. A kenku bandit, short blade aloft, fell upon Imony, and another followed. But before their blades had cut the air, she was already up and beside them. They hacked into the dirt, turned, and before they could lift their blades again, Imony had thrown herself against them. One fell into the next, and Imony grappled the closest by the neck. She placed her forearm against it, applied pressure, snapped its spine. She transferred her body’s momentum to her legs, used the dying kenku as an anchor, caught the second in the back of the head with her right foot and sent it flying forward. Three more had gathered near, and Imony landed on her feet, dropped the kenku in her arms to the ground and stared them down.

  Sten turned back to Spundwand and to the hunters he had armed for close combat. In the back stood Padlur, strong and tall, but very much afraid. Very much a teenage boy. “Hold steady, lad,” Sten said. “It’s your home we fight for.” The words sent a rush of confidence through the boy, and Padlur, newly steeled, spun his blade in his hand.

  “My home, indeed. No carrion bird can take it from me.” And Padlur took his place beside the others, the farmers with pitchforks, and sickles fresh from the whetstone. A few even carried simply a heavy club, a solid piece of wood wrapped with a remnant of leather. Padlur looked at home among them, but more. He could make a fine soldier, the old man thought. A fine protector of this place.

  Mikal had asked Nergei to stay near him, and the boy followed as the wizard found a place near his sister. Mikal had allowed Nergei to watch as he had prepared, through an evening’s study, his spells, marked them and memorized them. As the ru
shing mob of kenku reached the middle of the open clearing—the group that had managed to bypass Imony, who was doing a surprisingly good job of slowing and stopping any who dared charge the center road to Haven—Mikal unleashed multicolored missiles of arcane energy that struck them, sent some reeling, and slowed their advance. He held his orb aloft and, with a word, a wave of thunderous sound flew forth. It knocked the kenku down, threw them back—deafened them. But for every one that fell, three more emerged from the trees and started their own charge. Nergei wondered, Is it within me to do this? To gather and focus power like Mikal? The half-elf was masterful. Could he be, too?

  A kenku arrow flew and landed near Nergei. “Keep your head down, boy,” said Mikal. “Observe but stay hidden.” Nergei obeyed as best he could.

  Sten shouted to the men behind him. “Enough waiting. Let us meet them in the clearing. No kenku shall reach this village, my friends. Forward!” So ordered, the villagers of Haven, all old enough or strong enough to wield a weapon, ran at Sten’s heels through the entrance to the village. Some, though, did not make it much past the door. A bolt of shadow blasted through, forcing the air from their lungs and toppling a handful with ease.

  “Brother,” Nergei heard Magla shout to Mikal. “Their arcanist. We should fight their magic with our own.”

  Nergei looked on to see the bird man in heavy robes and headdress, the one holding up a staff of wood topped with the antlers of a great stag, pitching charms in the sky that burned the arrows of the Haven archers out before they found targets. And he was not alone. Near him stood another kenku, but one whose body was twisted and strange. It was slender, limbs as thin as branches. It had a shaggy head, but not one covered just in feathers. There was something else. Moss, more like. It held twin totems in its hands, one of dark gray bone and one of polished pale ivory. A cloak of leaves surrounded it. The kenku spellcaster helped provide it cover as it, too, advanced with the kenku army. Nergei saw Mikal craft more missiles from the magic in his influence, sent them in the direction of that twisted creature.

  Kenku bandits sacrificed themselves to shield the creature. “I must get closer to that one, Magla. Watch my back.”

  “As ever,” said Magla. She was nocking arrows and picking off targets with precision, but took a moment to carve out a path for Mikal to approach the kenku cloaked in leaves and moss.

  “Stay here,” Mikal called to Nergei.

  Spundwand and Sten met up with Imony in the center of the clearing, where she was surrounded by the prone bodies of three kenku who had tried to flank her. In a single spinning move, she had sent them to the ground. “Brickboots, my friend. Can you offer me Moradin’s mercy?” She had taken a blade to the side, and a wound shone with her blood. Spundwand said a prayer and felt the dwarf god’s grace within him. Sten held back a kenku charge, spinning his blade with little art but great vigor, as Spundwand placed a hand on the woman’s side. The cut remained, but the bleeding was stanched. A kind of peace settled on Imony’s face. “I owe an offering,” she said.

  “The head of one of these bandits should do, my lady,” replied Spundwand. Imony nodded and sought one out. Sten shifted back beside the dwarf as Imony rushed away, and Padlur stepped up beside.

  Nergei did as Mikal asked, but watched him as the half-elf went down to face the twisted kenku. Mikal had instructed him, told him all he could about how the boy could, with reliability, call the fire from within himself, but Nergei had managed no more than a wisp of flame. “My years have been spent searching books, studying how to access the world’s magic. You are a different sort, Nergei. You have it within you. The kind of study I have had to do would be fruitless for you. I envy you, really.

  “What you need, then, is to understand the key to unlocking the power in you. I have discussed it with others like you, and they say it is not a question of discipline, not really the exercise of some muscle that you have that others don’t, but it is like that. To let the power indwell, and then to release it is a matter of compelling it as a man seduces a lover or convinces another to follow him. It is not willing it to happen, but being of a disposition that draws it to you. Anger and frustration can trigger a small flare of what is within you, but you will never control it, and will never be able to count on it to do what you want it to do.” Nergei understood, but had little experience with any interaction beyond his long time spent with the Old Stargazer.

  From the rooftop, Nergei watched and wondered if he would ever be of any use not simply to the people of Haven, not just the old man, but to anyone. Would he find it within himself to protect those he wanted to protect, and to defeat those he needed to defeat. Confidence crippled, the boy took to his knees, and simply watched the fray.

  Mikal approached the twisted kenku, sending another wave from his orb to knock down the kenku bandit who had been standing with him. A long, vegetal beard trailed off his face, clear to Nergei even from the rooftop. The creature clucked at Mikal. His skin—rough and thick patches of brown and green—appeared to ripple and move. But it was not his skin. It was something on him. Nergei strained to see, and noticed a few tiny creatures floating around the beast. Flies? Bees? Wasps? wondered Nergei. Was his body was crawling with insects?

  The kenku knocked his totems together, clucked and tutted, and held his arms out to Mikal. The little creatures swarmed from his body, shot out from his arms in a cloud. It leaped at Mikal, who dropped to his hands and knees, and yelled an incantation. A purple field bubbled out from his orb and surrounded him, but it did not stop the whole of the swarm. A few penetrated the force, and dived toward Mikal’s back. Nergei saw Mikal react as if they had stung him, and saw him curl with what he assumed to be pain. The kenku knocked his totems together again. The insects formed another cloud, and shot forward.

  When Magla’s brother fell, she nocked two arrows at once. She sent both toward the kenku, splitting them to try to hit both its arms. One was unable to pass through the swarm, but the other did and buried itself in the creature’s wrist. The totem fell, and the portion of the cloud that had formed from it dispersed. The other, the creature redirected to Magla. As they got close, Nergei heard the buzz. They were indeed wasps.

  Ekho had been in the woods, Sten aware that she intended to sneak behind the kenku bandits, catching them up in thorny traps and ambushing the stragglers. When he saw her charge from the clearing to join the battle proper, he knew her culling had been discovered. The kenku spellcaster with his antler staff did not see her coming, distracted as he was neutralizing the archers, and was the first to fall to her hammer. He didn’t even have time to squawk, to warn the others. She strode up behind him and swung the hammer to his head, removing it cleanly with the strength of the hit. The canopies of force that stopped the arrows dissolved, and the arrows began to rain down, finding kenku armor and muscle.

  Next to the kenku spellcaster stood the robed figure with the massive blade. He was unmoved by the fall of the kenku, barely registered the goliath’s appearance. When she swung her hammer at him, he dodged it easily, stepped aside, and with a motion threw the cloak away. Sten saw that beneath he wore simple black clothes, a raven emblem on his breast. He and Ekho exchanged a stare, and words, but Sten was too far away to hear. There was a change to the man’s countenance—his pale skin darkened, and his features sharpened. He held his blade at his shoulder and began to run at an astonishing pace toward the entrance to Haven.

  Sten readied himself to face the new foe, completely out of place among the raven men. Why does this human fight alongside the kenku? he wondered. But he did not dwell.

  No matter, he thought. Perhaps I can consult his corpse. Sten lowered himself to prepare for the man’s charge, but to his confusion, when the man neared him, he shifted his direction as if to simply run right by. Sten shifted to block him, but the human was too fast. He did not even bring the great blade from his shoulder, instead giving Sten a simple shove on his way by. “Not for you,” the man shouted.

  It took Sten a moment to reconcile.
He looked at Spundwand who, side-by-side with Padlur, was engaged with a squad of kenku, but who had seen the strange encounter. “Run, old man. What other choice do you have?” he called.

  And Sten decided Spundwand was right. He would try to catch the human with the blade. For the first time in many years, Sten ran as fast as he could, cursing his old legs.

  Nergei saw Ekho approach the twisted kenku and Mikal. The rest of the defenders of Haven seemed to be holding their own, but the wizard had fallen to his knees and was surrounded by a faltering field of energy. Nergei had gotten closer, come down from the rooftop and snuck around the walls, worried that the half-elf was in the greatest danger, but sure that there was nothing he could do. Swarms of wasps slammed against the magic. The kenku was gathering a new swarm, too, to send against the archers. Ekho gripped her hammer and approached him from his flank.

  “Stone mother,” it said, “why fight with these humans? They disrespect the mountain.”

  “And your kind brings winter before it is time,” Nergei heard her defiantly reply.

  “Winter is the cycle. Summer is the cycle. Tearing down the trees for houses, though. This is not the cycle.” The creature pointed his totem to the rooftops, and the swarm flew to the archers.

  Ekho drew up her hammer and swung it, but the kenku sunk away and it missed. He stomped his foot into the frosty ground and a line of crawling insects—bright red ants?—scuttled forward. They climbed Ekho’s leg, bit hard, and her knee buckled. She growled low, and breaking through the ground, a thorny vine wrapped around, crushing the ants and creating a guard for her foot and calf.

  Nergei looked up and saw the swarm harrying the archers, giving the remaining kenku a chance to advance on the defenders who remained in the clearing. There was a cry of “Fall back, my friends. We will hold them off from the entrance,” and the orphan was certain it was the voice of Spundwand.