by Drew Hayes
Elora moved forward, reaching his side before Timuscor and Gabrielle, who’d also begun shifting position to take their places at the front of the formation. “I do have one vial left. If I hit them while they’re running down the enclosed tunnel, I bet we can slow them down. At least long enough to get a few shots off.”
A few seconds; a couple of extra strikes. It wouldn’t be much, but judging from how skilled the men they’d already fought were, the group would need every advantage they could muster. Then again, they might need the vial further down the line... no, that was poor thinking, and Thistle wouldn’t permit it. A resource saved had no value if they died here and now. Better to use all they had and survive. They would deal with the next problem when it came.
“Do it,” Thistle said.
Before his words were even done, Elora was steps ahead, arm reared back as she prepared to round the corner. For his part, Thistle drew his daggers and followed her. Grumph fell into pace next to him, as did Eric, who was holding a crossbow of far less quality than what Elora used. Gabrielle and Timuscor stayed close but hung to the rear. As soon as the ranged volley ended, they’d need to get between the others and the guards. Until then, they made sure to stay out of the way, a consideration Thistle deeply appreciated. There was no telling how many shots they’d actually get; it was imperative to make each one count.
Thistle rounded the corner just as Elora made her throw. It lacked the power of Grumph’s earlier attacks, though the vial did have a certain grace as it arced through the air. Her lack of half-orc muscles made little difference, as the targets were a scant thirty feet away, if that. Six of them, all with swords drawn, a few holding crossbows of their own. The vial shattered at their feet, engulfing all six in a cloud of the thick, choking purple smoke.
“Now!” Thistle hadn’t needed to give the order—already Grumph was casting, and Eric had sent his first crossbow bolt into the cloud. Thistle hurled his first dagger as well, whistling for it almost as soon as it vanished in the purple fog. His second, he held, waiting carefully for some shape to become visible. The guards would charge them—that was the only practical move to make in such a situation— and Thistle wanted to slice into them as they made their approach. Perhaps—if his aim was perfect—he might even take down an opponent, but he’d settle for simply hampering a few to make the work ahead easier.
A guard appeared, stepping forward as he tried to clear his lungs. Ready as Thistle had thought himself, he was still beaten on the draw by Grumph. A blast of magical fire roared through the air, striking the guard in the center of his chest. That much, Thistle had seen many a time, but what happened next, he was completely unprepared for. The flames expanded as they struck, turning a single bolt into a massive fireball that blocked out the entire tunnel, along with the guards in it.
In a heartbeat, the flames faded to reveal five charred, but standing, guards. The one Grumph had struck fell to the ground, however, burned far worse than any of the others. For a moment, both groups stared at each other in confusion, until Elora’s soft mutter echoed through the tunnel.
“I did not realize that stuff was flammable.”
With that, the spell of hesitation was broken, and the battle began.
* * *
Using magic was a constant practice of risk versus gain. The ability to warp the world around him, to conjure existence from emptiness, was nothing short of miraculous. However, Grumph’s limited capacity for storing mana meant that every spell he cast had to be necessary. There was no room for error, because if he ran himself dry too early, he might fall short when the party truly needed him. Despite the heavy toll it had taken, he didn’t regret the earlier spell to help him throw the vials. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been essential. And the fireball, while unexpectedly clearing out the purple cloud, had at least resulted in weakening their enemies. He wasn’t out of mana yet—his training with Dejy and constant effort had deepened his mana pool more than this—however, he was at the point of having to make hard choices.
One more powerful spell would wipe him out, but he could throw several of his weaker ones. Enhanced strength might help them make shorter work of the guard, but a powerful attack didn’t help his defense, and if he got himself killed, it would be a waste of mana. Ranged attacks, on the other hand, could further weaken the enemy and allow him to aid the party. Or he could simply trust in his martial prowess and fell the enemies with a blade.
All of this raced through Grumph’s mind in the seconds it took for the guards to initiate their charge. Making his choice, Grumph raised his free hand and began to whisper the incantation to cast the same spell once more. On the off chance any of the cloud was still hanging in the air, it made sense to try and ignite it. Even if he was wrong, it wasn’t as though fire didn’t still hurt. The blast of flame roared from his palm, soaring through the air toward its target. Unfortunately, with no purple fog to obscure his vision, the guard leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack.
His cohort a few feet behind wasn’t quite so lucky. The torrent of flames struck him in the center of his chest. The guard’s momentum faltered as he tried to push through the pain. He might even have succeeded if not for the dagger that flew through the air and caught him in the side of the neck. Thistle’s handiwork sent the attacker tumbling to the ground, even as the gnome whistled for his dagger to return. By Grumph’s count, that made two down, with four still to go.
The others weren’t standing idle as the attackers came closer; Elora and Eric had both let several crossbow bolts fly, even managing to land a few in shoulders and stomachs. The guards’ damn leather armor kept their attacks from going too deep, but it was enough to slow the men down. And every little bit had to help. From behind, Gabrielle and Timuscor both raced forward, just as the guards were nearing Thistle and Eric at the front. They met the charging enemies head-on, and Grumph shifted back to reassess where he was most needed.
Ranged magic was out—that had been made clear by how nimbly the guard dodged. With Timuscor and Gabrielle fighting amidst them, Eric and Elora stabbing in from the sides, and Thistle too slow to reorient, Grumph couldn’t risk an attack striking his friends. Melee then, though he dearly wished he had some manner of protection. The only question now was whether to use more mana and cast a spell to gain a shapeshifting weapon, or risk using his semi-fractured demon-bone sword.
As it turned out, the decision was made for him, as a guard got the not entirely novel idea to try and take out the party’s wizard. He was a tall man with piercing green eyes and a would-be-piercing rapier, which he thrust toward Grumph’s chest as he broke past Gabrielle and Timuscor. Grumph easily deflected the blow—the guard was slowed by his burns and a bolt sticking out of his shoulder—but the next attack came in the span of a heartbeat. This one, too, Grumph turned away; however, as he adjusted his footing, the half-orc realized he was being pushed back. The guard wanted to move him away from the fray, where those green eyes would only have to focus on a single enemy. Given how well the man was fighting with split attention, Grumph wasn’t certain he could defeat this enemy in an isolated match.
There was no time to think of strategy. All Grumph could do was make his choice and trust in Thistle’s healing magic. When the next blow came, Grumph parried it, but rather than moving away to a safer spot, he drove himself forward. Although he’d hoped to take the guard at least somewhat by surprise, that quick rapier managed to pierce the side of Grumph’s stomach. The attacks were so fast; if the guard hadn’t been injured, there was no chance Grumph could have won.
In this case, though, the man’s speed worked against him. Rather than let him pull his blade free, Grumph kept pushing forward, driving the rapier deeper into his torso. Now that he’d managed to take the guard by surprise, Grumph didn’t waste the opportunity. Lurching ahead, he grabbed the guard’s wrist in his free hand, ensuring the rapier wouldn’t be getting free anytime soon. Grumph’s blade, on the other hand, was still perfectly able to strike, which wa
s exactly what Grumph did.
The guard attempted to block, but the bolt in his shoulder kept him from getting a hand high enough to stop the first strike. A blade fashioned from demon-bone slid easily through the leather armor, jamming deep into the guard’s chest. To Grumph’s surprise, the man’s entire body seized up and tensed. While he’d seen, borne, and delivered many a stabbing, this was the first time Grumph had ever witnessed such a curious reaction. But unlike his enemy, Grumph refused to be slowed by the unexpected. He jerked his sword free, which made the guard suddenly relax and fall limp to the floor. Grumph thrust in another blow, just to be safe, noting that the whole body seized up once more. Once he was sure his opponent was down, Grumph turned to the rest of the battle.
Timuscor was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but his opponent was a heap of open wounds on the ground. Gabrielle had managed to chop another guard nearly in half and was trying to free her axe from the corpse. Given the way she was favoring one of her arms, it seemed her victory hadn’t come without some cost. Elora and Eric were dancing around the final guard, who would lunge at them only to hit air. A dagger thrown by Thistle whipped across the hall, and while he spun in time to bat it away, the guard exposed his flank to Elora in the process. Her own daggers sank into his flesh, slicing aside the armor like it wasn’t even there, and he fell softly to the ground.
Gabrielle finally freed her axe and spun around to attack the next enemy, only to find them all defeated. “Wow, looks like we—holy shit! Grumph, you’ve got a sword in your gut!”
“I was waiting until Thistle was ready before I pulled it out,” Grumph said. He wasn’t sure if the others knew enough to understand that a plugged wound was far less dangerous before the piercing object was removed, but it was something he knew Thistle wouldn’t need explained.
The gnome made his way over slowly, looking Grumph up and down, shaking his head in that way that said he was disappointed in himself for allowing anyone to get hurt. It was a gesture Thistle had used even before his paladin days—which, in fact, might have accounted for why he was chosen for the calling in the first place.
“I’m ready when you are, old friend.” Thistle raised his hands, the barest traces of light already flickering across his palms.
With only a nod, Grumph carefully gripped the handle of the rapier. Pulling it out would be easy. Trying not the scream, however, was going to be a real challenge.
Chapter 31
“Sorry, Eric, looks like you’re not getting a replacement today.” Elora held up a crossbow yanked free from one of the dead guards. Even from several feet away, Eric could see the burn marks and weakened sections on the weapon.
“Guess Grumph’s fire did more damage than we realized,” Eric said. He wouldn’t have minded getting a replacement for the half-broken crossbow she’d provided, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the attack that had severely weakened their opponents.
“You don’t know the half of it. These were some tough bastards; if your group had taken that same attack, Gabrielle or Timuscor might have stayed standing. Maybe. The rest of you would have been gone, though.” Elora prodded the dead guard carefully as she stripped his body of everything valuable. “Whoever is hiring these people has a deep purse. If there are many more, we might have to retreat.”
Eric bristled at the suggestion, his eyes darting over to the corner where Thistle was slowly mending the hole in Grumph’s stomach. “We can’t retreat. Not after coming this far.”
“A rogue can always retreat,” Elora told him. “That’s one of the many things that makes us different from paladins and other do-gooders. Nothing wins out over survival. Not money, not pride, not even loyalty. If the time comes to run, we run. Don’t get me wrong—we nurse the anger we feel at having to flee. We plot and scheme to take revenge on those who forced us to run, but we still run all the same. Better to win tomorrow than die today.”
“And if running means leaving people we care about behind?” Eric asked.
Elora finished looting the corpse, tossing a coin purse in the air once before catching and making it vanish into one of her many pockets. “There’s a reason rogues aren’t encouraged to make a lot of friends.”
“That seems like a lonely life.” Eric turned away from her looting to go check on his friends. Grumph was getting to his feet with some aid from Timuscor, whose cheek had finally stopped bleeding. Gabrielle was waving Thistle off as he tried to heal her.
“Save it for later,” she said. “Or use it on Timuscor so he doesn’t get a scar. I’ll be fine.”
“Like hell you will,” Thistle replied. “You can barely hold your axe upright. What’s going to happen if we run into more of those guards? I know you want to save my magic in case someone else gets hurt, but if we fight without you in top condition, then others will get hurt—possibly beyond my ability to repair.”
Gabrielle glowered at the gnome, even as she slowly extended her wounded arm. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach, but once Thistle’s hands fell upon her skin, a soft light started glowing. Seconds later, he pulled away, and Gabrielle made a few swings to ensure her arm was working once more.
“It still needs more; that’s just enough to get us through,” Thistle said. He turned to Timuscor next, who took a healthy step back.
“A wound on my cheek does not hinder my ability to fight in the slightest,” he said.
“Gabrielle was right, it will scar if left untreated,” Thistle pointed out.
“But not overnight. If we survive, then you may heal me tomorrow. At the very worst, I have no fear of some small scar.” Timuscor wiped the blood from his face, and Mr. Peppers snorted at his feet, as if to further drive the point home.
“So be it.” Thistle walked over to Eric and Elora, scanning them carefully, no doubt making sure they weren’t hiding any wounds of their own. He must have been satisfied, because a few seconds later, he faced the rest of the party. “When everyone is ready, we should head back to the main cavern. This is a dead end, and we still haven’t found the man we came for. However, at this point, we’d be idiots to think our presence isn’t known, so let’s proceed with as much caution as possible.”
Thistle waited in front of them, probably to see if anyone had objections or ideas to add. If such existed, Eric wasn’t sure what they would be. Right now, the party was pinned down. Fighting their way out was unavoidable, which meant that, no matter what, they had to go back to the central cavern. Once there, they’d still have two paths to choose from, three if one counted the option of fleeing back out the narrow tunnel they’d entered through. Until then, however, they had a lone path forward. They would go, they would be ready, and they would fight if needed. There was nothing else to say beyond those facts.
The others must have agreed, because only silence greeted Thistle until he turned around and led the way. Elora joined him at the front, followed seconds later by Timuscor. She was the scout, eyes open for traps, and he was the shield, in case someone tried to ambush them. Gabrielle hung back a bit, falling into pace beside Eric as they walked back toward the cavern.
“Don’t even think about it,” she snapped as Grumph started to press forward. Although he didn’t say anything, Eric did fix the half-orc with a withering stare, making sure he understood that a wounded wizard’s place was at the back of the formation, protected by his friends. Grumph frowned but fell a few steps behind.
“The nerve of that guy, trying to hog all the glory for himself,” Gabrielle said, eyes darting between the way ahead and Grumph. “Like taking down three guards in the last fight wasn’t good enough for him.”
“Selfish, that’s what it is, downright selfish.” Eric threw a small grin back in Grumph’s direction, making sure he knew the teasing was meant in a harmless spirit.
“Think we’ve got many more guards to fight?” Gabrielle’s grip on her axe was looser than usual, although whether it was due to her hurt arm or fatigue, Eric couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t often that Gabrielle ha
d to fight so hard back-to-back. He didn’t know a lot about barbarians, but he’d been given to understand that their fury wasn’t limitless. Like Grumph’s mana, eventually the well would run dry.
“Hopefully not,” Eric replied. “I can’t imagine the others wouldn’t have heard all that and come running. Of course, it could also be that the ones who did were just smart enough to hang back and prepare an ambush. Although, if that’s the case, I’m not sure it will be much of a problem. We’ll probably die too quickly to even be bothered.”
“Don’t you go getting my hopes up.” Gabrielle raised her axe slightly higher, failing to hide a small wince of pain that darted across her face. Eric made no comment; if she wanted to suffer in silence, that was her right. So long as she could fight, she would be okay. Or as okay as any of them could hope for in this sort of situation.
They were drawing near to the cavern when a noise reached Eric’s ears. From the way Elora tilted her head, she had no doubt heard it too, though the others didn’t show any signs of noticing. More footsteps—two pairs, by his guess—were coming from the leftmost tunnel, the one Eric had falsely claimed they were going down. Seconds later, a voice echoed forth, and this time, it was loud enough for everyone to take notice.
“About time you all finished. How hard can it be to handle a couple of... well, now, isn’t this interesting?”
The man addressing them had stepped into view, as did another gentleman to his left. The speaker was dressed in a manner similar to the guards—dark leather and a blade at his hip. What marked him as different was the quality of his equipment, which was visibly better than anything on the men they’d fought so far. There was something else, too, some ineffable quality in the way this stranger held himself that put Eric’s teeth on edge. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Eric was certain with one glance that this man was far more dangerous than anyone else they’d fought today.