by Drew Hayes
For an instant, Elora considered trying to bluff her way through by pretending to murder the others, but she dismissed the idea. It was too complicated, and Holdram would probably just strike as soon as she turned her back. No, she needed something simple, something quick. She had to outthink him.
As it just so happened, she’d just gotten an excellent bit of inspiration—albeit from a rather unlikely source.
* * *
Every swing from her axe caused a small blast of wind, a physical reminder to everyone nearby of just how much power was in those attacks. Gabrielle would have been far more satisfied if the attacks were displacing her opponent’s innards and not just the air, but she did take some comfort in the fact that she’d changed the dynamic of the battle. No longer were she and Eric merely trying to keep up. Now they were on the offensive, driving the cloaked man back as he struggled to defend himself.
It had only taken one attempt at parrying Gabrielle’s enhanced strikes—a single blow that had shattered his left short sword and, judging from the way he was favoring his arm, knocked at least a few bones out of joint. It had been a heartening but short-lived victory. Instantly adapting, their opponent stopped trying to parry at all, focusing instead on dodging her and Eric’s strikes while darting in and out to slice at them.
If she’d had unlimited time, Gabrielle would have felt secure that they’d wear him down and claim eventual victory. Sadly, such was not the case. Already she could feel the magic beginning to ebb, as well as exhaustion creeping in at the edge of her mind, threatening to overwhelm her fury. Soon she’d be weakened, if not useless, and once that happened, they were all as good as dead. Fighting smart wasn’t on the table, it seemed. Which meant she had to be just stupid enough to get things done.
Gabrielle shot a glance at Eric, and he returned her look with a quick nod. Nothing else needed to be said, not between friends as old as they. He knew she was nearing her limits and was about to go for an all-out offensive. All she could do was trust him to find some way to distract their opponent, to give her a window. If he failed, then she likely would as well, yet there was no other choice.
Pushing all thoughts of potential death aside, focusing only on the burning rage in her chest, Gabrielle charged forward. The cloaked man didn’t try to counter or meet her with his blade—that sort of maneuver would open him up to reprisal, and he knew it. Instead, he dashed to the side, making sure to keep a firm distance between them. That was when Eric ran in, his own short sword raised in preparation. She caught sight of a small smirk on the cloaked man’s face. He wasn’t scared of Eric, and he no doubt planned to use this chance to remove her partner from the battlefield.
That certainty no doubt made it all the more surprising when Eric suddenly halted, swinging his blade forward with the momentum of his charge, and letting go just as it was pointing straight ahead. The short sword shot through the air, a makeshift javelin on course for the cloaked man’s chest.
It was swept aside easily; such a poor throw from an inexperienced warrior had no chance of breaching the cloaked man’s well-honed defenses. He even seemed annoyed by the idiotic display, as though he couldn’t quite believe that Eric would think such a haphazard maneuver would defeat him.
Gabrielle saw the realization hit her opponent just a moment too late, as he took in the triumphant look on Eric’s face. That throw was never meant to hurt him; it was only meant to be confusing. The sheer madness of it caused uncertainty and, more importantly, hesitation. All of that ran through her enemy’s eyes as the truth of what was going on struck him.
But that realization hit only a split-second before Gabrielle’s axe. The swing was so powerful he may as well have not even been there. She’d poured everything she had, the last of her rage and Grumph’s magic, into the blow. It took the cloaked man just below the shoulder, cleaving through him completely. Blood sprayed through the air as her attack left his body, which now fell to the ground in pieces.
Seconds later, Gabrielle joined his corpse on the ground as exhaustion won out over everything else. She wanted to keep fighting, to help Elora finish things off, but no matter how she tried, her body wouldn’t move. Like Grumph before, she’d pushed her body up to and past its limits.
With the last of her consciousness, she released the axe from her grip. There was no way she wanted that thing in her head while she slept. Those would not be pleasant dreams.
* * *
It was the waiting that was hardest. Inexperienced rogues always failed on that front, unable to hold themselves back when what seemed like a good opportunity presented itself. They were overeager and ambitious, lacking in the same patience that allowed Elora to sit on rooftops for hours on end. Holdram had been that type; a little too eager, a little too quick. He’d force a situation rather than letting the chosen moment come to him. True, sometimes one had to create their own fortune; no rogue favored slacking around and hoping for the best. But to see a situation for what it was, to recognize the best avenue forward and patiently wait until an enemy did your work for you, that was a talent that separated the good rogues from the great ones.
Elora knew how to wait. She dodged an attack from Holdram that was close, but not quite right. At his feet, Mr. Peppers had switched from trying to attack to simply getting in the way, slowing down those graceful movements and taking more than a few kicks for the trouble. The boar was surprisingly hardy and refused to be deterred as it created flaws in Holdram’s footwork. Things were getting closer; she was seeing mistakes in his thrusts. Not enough to exploit, not yet, but every motion Holdram made convinced her they were almost there.
And then, Gabrielle swung her mighty axe, sending a spray of blood across the room. The wet, red liquid hit them both; droplets appeared on Holdram’s face just as he drove his rapier forward. It distracted him only the smallest bit, yet it was enough to change the angle of his attack. Waiting was the hardest part, but it was just as important to know when to stop doing so. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elora began her final attack.
Bringing the dagger in her left hand forward, she made a path for the rapier, as if she planned to parry. At the last moment, she released the dagger from her grip, dismissing it back into the bracelet with a single thought, so that it appeared to evaporate from existence. Angling her hand up, Elora kept her arm moving forward, catching the tip of the rapier in the center of her palm and driving onward, just as Grumph had. All those enchantments on Holdram’s weapon made her job easier, as it skewered through her hand with virtually no resistance. It still hurt like all hell, but she grit her teeth and bore through it.
In a flash of motion, she’d impaled her palm on Holdram’s sword and forced it all the way down to the hilt, where she seized the base of the rapier with as much power as her aching hand could muster. She wouldn’t be able to completely hold him in place like this, but she’d limit his mobility and hopefully keeping him from jerking the sword sideways, carving its way free.
Her right hand was still in motion, even as her left came to a stop. She swept it upward, aiming for Holdram’s face. Ordinarily, there was no chance she’d connect; he was too skilled a fighter. But with the combination of surprise and his sword being held, Elora hoped she might just pull it off. The dagger moved so fast even she could barely see it as the sharp edge drew in close…
Close, but not quite there. Holdram leaned back a few inches and let the attack sail uselessly past. His own grin hadn’t diminished in the slightest, and as she caught sight of the dagger in his free hand, it was easy to guess why. She’d overexposed herself. With her left hand on the rapier and her right thrusting upward into the air after her failed strike, Elora’s entire right side was unprotected. A decent strike to the chest, and it would all be over. Holdram had reacted to her distraction with incredible speed and mental dexterity.
Just like Elora had hoped he would.
As Holdram began his own thrust, Elora flipped the dagger in her right hand around. She’d made sure he saw the first one
vanish as soon as it left her grip. He needed to think that she couldn’t let go of them for the plan to work. Otherwise, he’d have been on guard for exactly the attack Elora really intended.
Holding her blade overhand, her arm raised high in the air, Elora plunged the dagger straight down, into the spot where Holdram’s neck and skull were joined, just above the top of his armor. There was almost no resistance, only a smooth slide inward. Without so much as a final word or gasp, Holdram stopped moving, his own blade inches away from Elora’s ribs.
He fell limply to the floor, and would have dragged Elora along if not for her grip on the rapier, which came free from his suddenly loose hand. Carefully, all too aware of the pain she was in for, Elora tugged the rapier’s blade out, barely biting back the shouts of pain that tried to make their way up her throat. When that was done, she leaned down and slit Holdram’s throat for good measure. One could never be too sure a rogue was actually dead.
“You were a decent student,” she whispered to his corpse, using her unbloodied right hand to close his eyes. “But you relied on your strength too much. I think you’d have been happier as a knight or a barbarian. You never learned to fight cleverly, to use surprise as much as your blade. Still, you had some talents, and you were enthusiastic. I’ll remember you as you were, rather than as you became. And I’ll pray that Tristan accepts you into his domain, where every purse is easy to cut and they’re all stuffed with gold.”
That done, Elora rose once more to take stock of the room. As things stood, only she, Eric, Timuscor, and Grumph were still awake, and the half-orc kneeling on the ground barely qualified. Everyone was exhausted, wounded, or a combination of both. Reaching into one of her many pockets, Elora pulled out a bottle of salve that she spread across the open wound in her hand. It wouldn’t be a substitute for real healing, but it would stop the bleeding until she could get it tended to.
“I know I’m not much of an optimist, but I have to say, if there’s anyone else inside this place, we’re probably done for,” Elora told them.
“I can still fight,” Eric said, stepping to her side. He’d taken a lot of cuts in the fight with whoever Holdram’s lackey had been, probably even more than Gabrielle had noticed as she attacked over and over. Still, he refused to go down.
Elora wondered what this student would be like when his training was done. When she met him again as a fully capable rogue, would he greet her like an old friend, or try to stick a blade in her back? One never knew, especially not this early on, but somehow, she doubted he’d end up like Holdram. Eric wasn’t like the impatient, ambitious man she’d trained decades ago. Eric had a party, friends he shared a bond of trust with.
And Elora was beginning to remember just how important that could be.
“Stay close, but behind me,” she ordered. “We’re going to scout the other two rooms. By now, anyone remaining knows we’re here, so move quietly. No sense in warning them they’re getting snuck up on.”
She looked at the others, sparing a long glance for Timuscor, who was still seated with one arm around Thistle and the other holding a sword. “If anyone comes while we’re gone, just yell and try to survive until we get back.”
Timuscor and Grumph both nodded their understanding, and Elora didn’t hang around to flesh out any more details than that. She and Eric needed to either confirm they were alone or deal with any remaining threats.
Everyone was counting on them, and, for a change, Elora found that she actually cared a little about that fact.
Chapter 34
Thistle’s return to consciousness was not an easy one. He didn’t simply snap awake. Instead, it felt as though he were swimming against a current in a river made of heavy sludge, an image that would never have occurred to him if not for a wizard he’d worked for, years back, who’d created just such a river as a deterrent to adventurers. Thistle did press on, however, and slowly, he returned to the waking world.
Voices came first, audible but impossible to discern, as the sounds were dull and warped. Prying his eyes open, Thistle saw the cavern ceiling, which he took to be a good sign. If his friends had failed and they were all dead, Grumble probably would have brought him around somewhere more welcoming. There was cold on his back, and as Thistle stirred, he realized it was the chill of metal; he was lying on Timuscor. Using more effort than it ought to have demanded, Thistle pulled himself up, stopping halfway as the room began to spin.
“And the fearless leader joins us at last,” announced Elora.
Despite his blurry vision, Thistle scanned the room, determined to understand their new situation. Every one of his friends seemed to be breathing, although some appeared more haggard than others. Farther away, lying on the floor, were a pair of half-naked corpses. Holdram and the man in the cloak had been stripped of most of their equipment, with only a few bits of clothing left to preserve their decency. The mood seemed cheerful, despite their recent brush with death, but Thistle had to ask, just to be certain.
“Are there any more threats?”
“None that we could find.” Eric came into focus as he stooped down next to Thistle. “Elora and I checked the other tunnels. One led to a barracks that was empty—we think that’s where the guards were sleeping—and the other led to five really nice rooms, but we couldn’t find anyone hiding in there either. Our best guess is that these two were the only ones here when we stormed in.”
“You searched that much? How long was I asleep?” Thistle asked. His whole body ached, though whether that was from the effort in healing Timuscor or the poor sleeping conditions was impossible to say.
“A few hours,” Elora told him. “Long enough for Eric and me to do a full sweep, go back to the surface to have a chat with the lone surviving guard before tying him up, move the horses into the shack, and lock the door on our way back.” She tossed a small metal object in the air and caught it. “Much easier to get through with a key, you know.”
“Tell him the other thing,” Gabrielle prodded. She was leaning against a wall for support, her axe lying on the floor. It was strange to see her without a weapon, although Thistle could hardly blame her. Gabrielle seemed like she could barely hold herself up, let alone an axe.
“I was getting to that. Don’t take all the fun out of it,” Elora said.
Thistle finished pulling himself up, turning to look at Timuscor. The knight was pale—no surprise, given how much blood he’d lost—and the center of his stomach still needed a lot of healing before it would be truly whole once more, but he met Thistle’s gaze with a weak smile, as if to say that he was fine. While Thistle accepted the gesture, he couldn’t get the image of a bloody Timuscor out of his head. They needed more safeguards than just his healing; they needed tools and potions to keep themselves alive. The close calls were getting narrower and more frequent. At this rate, it was only a matter of time until Thistle would fall short.
More things they needed and couldn’t afford. Thistle set his resolve: when they got back and were all healed up, the next quest would be all about getting gold. If Grumble needed another favor, he could damn well pay for it.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Elora had moved closer while Thistle was lost in thought, her slender face only a few feet away. His eyes were drawn to the splash of red on her hastily bandaged hand. A souvenir from the battle, no doubt, but from the mischievous expression, probably not what she was alluding to.
“I was getting my bearings,” Thistle told her. “What is this ‘other thing’ that Gabrielle mentioned?”
“Welllllll, as I was looting the excellent equipment from Holdram—which we’ll need to negotiate the division on—I happened upon something interesting: a small lock-box that he kept on his person. It was probably enchanted to open only for him, but since you were so caught up in napping, I spent some time coaxing it, and what I found was well worth the effort.” Elora’s hand shot out, and this time, Thistle could clearly see what she was holding. It was a sizable key, half a foot long at least, forged from dar
k metal. Without context, it would have been quite the curiosity, but Thistle had seen where it went only minutes before passing out.
“You found the key to the doorway,” he said.
“That, or a very well-planned trap,” Elora replied. “What do you say we go find out?”
“It could be dangerous,” Thistle warned. “And we shouldn’t linger here. More of them might come.”
Eric moved closer, stopping only a few inches away from Thistle and Elora. “It is possible, but Thistle, the daylight is nearly gone. It’s already dusk, and none of us are in any condition to travel right now. We need to rest, and for you to regain the power to heal. If we take to the roads now, any stray monster could wipe us all out.”
“This place is dangerous,” Grumph added, taking wobbly steps closer. “But it has walls. Same can’t be said for outside.”
Elora stood up and offered a hand to the gnome, who accepted it and allowed himself to be helped up. “Besides, I re-armed most of the traps and made sure the fireplace door was shut tight. Unless they’ve got someone as good as me, we’ll get a little warning.”
Thistle wanted to argue the point more, to insist they flee from this cavern soaked in blood, but as he nearly toppled over upon trying to stand, he realized that the others were right. They were in no condition to leave this place. One wolf catching the scent of their blood and that would be the end of things. Rest was not optional. They had to wait out the night in their enemy’s base. Tomorrow, when they’d gotten true rest and he could offer more healing, they could try to make their way back to town.