by Drew Hayes
No one missed the implications of Thistle’s words—Gabrielle least of all. When the critical moment came, Thistle expected there to be a discourse over whether the risks to Gabrielle’s body were worth the potential gain of using such power. And so far as she was concerned, he was welcome to the discussion. She just wouldn’t be a part of it.
Gabrielle was a barbarian: she cut through things and bore her wounds until they drove her to unconsciousness. Just as Thistle couldn’t walk away from his duties as a paladin, she couldn’t shirk the ones she’d accepted. And with the strength of her enchanted necklace flowing through her, Gabrielle had a feeling she was going to be able to cut through quite a few of the party’s problems before she dropped.
Perhaps, if the need arose, she might even test herself against a dragon. But a small one, of course.
* * *
Elora was bored. Sitting on her horse, listening to the sorcerer and the knight whose names she’d barely bothered to memorize bicker about the best path forward (the sorcerer wanted to try and shield them from sight, while the knight seemed to have a burning desire to put down as many dragons as possible), Elora was reminded of why she rarely took these sorts of jobs. Regular adventurers were usually so dull. Their only way of thinking was to rush forward with no regard for their lives, or occasionally to use the barest of stealth skills to try and sneak around. Even then they only relied on stealth to get them into a good position from which to attack. It was as though the idea of slipping by an enemy had never dawned on them. Sure, there was gold to be made from dead opponents, but it was a poor return on time and effort compared to simply taking whatever one wanted without being seen.
The trouble with adventurers was that they had no crooked turns in their brains. A small few who took the path of the rogue held potential, yet even among those there was such a boringly straightforward mentality that Elora wondered how they’d survived so long. She’d forgotten that aspect, somehow. A combination of time away from these jobs and the last few weeks spent with Eric and his friends had robbed her of the memory. Weak and inexperienced as they were, at least they were interesting. Theirs were minds that embraced their twists and turns, finding more interesting solutions to problems than just to simply run forward and strike. Grumph’s throws of her vials had been a particular favorite of Elora’s, the memory bringing a brief smile to her lips before the sounds of bickering forced it away.
At least these two were powerful; given their equipment, their confidence, and the fact that they’d cleared a qualification quest with only the two of them, that much was obvious. And the share of treasure Elora had negotiated was ample: she’d be taking home a clean third of all gold and gems, with everything they’d have to sell being split for profit or put into a lottery among the three of them. Not bad for someone who hadn’t even helped them make it this far. Yet Elora wondered if perhaps she should have come in more aggressively. Dragons were certainly dangerous foes; however, she’d expected something on this level from a Grand Quest. No, the true enemy she had to grapple with was the endless, overpowering boredom that already had her leaning back on her horse, staring up at the early morning sky.
“Are you listening?” The knight was staring at her, his sapphire eyes pinched above those wide cheekbones.
“Not even a little,” Elora admitted. “Do we have a plan yet?”
“We will, as soon as you weigh in and agree that there is no sense is wasting the mana on a spell of invisibility when—”
Elora’s loud groan stretched on for nearly half a minute, until her breath ran out and she pressed her head into her horse’s mane.
All of a sudden, a six-way split didn’t seem quite so bad.
* * *
Five thousand gold had, admittedly, been a staggering amount of coin to pay per person for gear that wasn’t used to deflect attacks or strike blows. However, as their horses raced along the increasingly barren terrain, Timuscor could see why the cost may have been worth it. With the enchanted saddles affixed to them, each steed was moving far faster than they ever had before.
From his position in the rear of the formation, Timuscor kept a careful eye on his friends, as well as constantly sweeping the area behind them. He wasn’t especially worried about the other adventurers, most of whom were taking their own routes. Even his untrained eye could see that the equipment on him and his party was far below what most of the others were using. The one possible exception was Thistle’s armor. Mundane as it looked, every now and then, Timuscor thought he saw something twinkle in its gray depths, always just out of the corner of his eye. There was something unique about that plate, even more so than the way it seemed light as leather when Thistle moved. He wasn’t sure if the others had noticed, if they understood the weight of plate well enough to understand. True, the gnome’s lightness might be in part because of the boots, but Timuscor doubted it. One idea, a mad notion, kept reminding him of the meeting he’d sat through between Ulkin and Thistle, and the secret divulged within. Crazy as the thought seemed, Timuscor didn’t dismiss it completely. Bit by bit, he was learning to trust his intuition.
A sharp whistle came from up ahead where Gabrielle and Eric were riding in the lead. Eric’s hand rose upward to the sky, drawing Timuscor’s attention to a set of moving bodies at least a hundred feet in the air. Four of them, seemingly floating on some invisible platform, raced toward the mountain at far greater speeds than any horse, enchanted saddle or no, could hope to match. Timuscor had to admit, it did seem like a safer way to travel. Being off the ground meant not having to keep an eye out for monsters—or at least, the non-flying ones.
“Poor choice,” Grumph said from Timuscor’s side.
“Why?” Useful as the method appeared, Timuscor trusted Grumph’s judgment. If he thought it was folly, then clearly there was a reason Timuscor had failed to grasp.
“Dragons don’t like anyone prowling around their nest. They use more than just stopping wards. They stop teleportation, plane rifts, and... flight.” At Grumph’s final word, the party in the air suddenly stopped moving forward and plunged toward the ground at a rapid pace. They were much too far away for Timuscor or the others to do anything; their figures were barely discernable as they fell, vanishing behind a large hill on the horizon that barred Timuscor’s view.
“Do you think they’re okay?” Timuscor asked.
“With a mage who can cast such a potent spell, I’d assume they have enough magic or equipment available to endure such a fall,” Thistle called from over his shoulder. “Although, the dragons who noticed their approach might prove to be a more difficult challenge.”
Grumph let out a rough snort. “So much for surprise.”
“Oh, we were never counting on that, old friend,” Thistle replied. “Too many other adventurers with faster means of travel. No, by the time we arrive, the dragons will certainly know that they are under attack. This is, in fact, an essential part of our plan. If surprise is off the table, then chaos is the best camouflage one can hope for.”
Something stirred in Timuscor at those words. Blending in by using the fighting to their advantage, using the chaos as a tool rather than a detriment... he found he liked that idea. Quite a bit, actually. Unthinking, he reached out to the small pouch on his horse’s side where Mr. Peppers was carefully bundled and scratched the boar’s ears. Crazed as the battle ahead would no doubt be, they needed to survive these dead lands first.
Two short whistles from the front, and Timuscor forced his horse to slow down. That meant Gabrielle or Eric had spotted something potentially dangerous. The horses might not seem like prey, but the people on their backs would certainly register, which meant the party needed to be wary. If Gabrielle let out three whistles, Timuscor had to be ready to spur his steed onward. Caution was their first recourse, evasion their second, and combat was to be used only if all else failed. They couldn’t risk fighting random creatures on the way to the mountain—dealing with dragons would take all they had, and probably more.
Carefully, they rode around a small bend, and Timuscor caught sight of what had caused the front to grow wary. Scattered amidst the dust and gravel were scraps of clothing—a half-shredded bag spilling gold coins, a dark saddle, and a gleaming sword, all framed by bright crimson streaks of blood. Turning himself to keep a constantly moving field of vision, Timuscor caught sight of some shattered arrows not too far off. From the looks of their broken shafts and dented heads, he’d guess they struck something incredibly hard.
No one said a word as they silently crept along. The story told itself, and it wasn’t a pretty one. Their only hope was that whatever force had snared these earlier adventurers was either full or moving on to some new territory. Step by step, the horse’s hooves made their way along the bloody ground, every sound making Timuscor and the others grow more tense. His head was moving so fast as Timuscor scanned for the slightest sign of disturbance that dizziness began to swim at the edge of his mind.
It was thanks to their vigilance that the soft tremor didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the shifting of dirt from near the doomed party’s belongings. Something was there, nestled beneath the ground, growing impatient at their speed. Only then did Timuscor realize why the belongings hadn’t been entirely devoured: the creature was baiting them. It wanted others to draw near, to walk into whatever range allowed the mysterious monster to lunge out and ensnare them. The tactic could have easily worked, too. Timuscor could remember the ones he’d traveled with before his current party, how bold and reckless they were, especially when chasing treasure. They wouldn’t have even hesitated at the sight of goods prime for the taking, and their greed would have come with a heavy price.
Gabrielle and Eric swung the route wide, and Timuscor turned his gaze to their new path. Just because they’d spotted one monster didn’t mean the way ahead was clear. His hand rested on his sword, ready to react if something new appeared or the creature beneath the ground grew tired of waiting. It wasn’t until they rounded another bend and the battle site faded from view that he allowed himself a moment of relaxation.
Even that was tempered, however, as the ride forward started anew. The mountain wouldn’t take them that long to reach and every inch they traversed was perilous. Worse, the creatures they were hoping to avoid down here were nothing but prey and pests to the dragons that dwelled nearby. Truth be told, they might be better off meeting their end on the way to the mountain. Whatever else one could say about a hungry monster, it would offer a quick death.
Angered dragons weren’t nearly so kind.
Chapter 42
The sounds of battle reached them long before the sight. Screaming, explosions, horrendous roars that shook them down to their very bones. Noise echoed through the twists and turns of the uneven landscape, until at last they crested a hill and the chaos came into sight. Dozens of adventurers surrounded the base of the mountain, firing arrows and spells at several red dragons drifting through the air. Occasionally, one creature would sweep down and strike at a figure in robes with their bone-white claws, but most of them seemed to favor spraying the landscape with fire.
“Why aren’t they trying to charge past?” Eric asked. Despite their strength, the number of dragons was relatively small, and none of them were much bigger than a pair of oxen standing in line. Just at a glance, he could see several paths farther up the mountain, some even offering cover and perhaps leading into tunnels. There were too many adventurers to chase every one of them; if they ran all at once, the dragons would have to choose targets.
“The first ward.” Thistle nodded to a figure near the fringes of the battle, a robed woman standing just at the threshold of the massive mountain. Her hands were outstretched, and while they were much too far away to make out her face, Eric was sure that if they could, they’d see her casting some sort of spell. As they watched her work, a dragon took notice of her as well, flying over to spray her with fire and interrupting whatever task she was toiling on.
“I get it. These dragons aren’t actually trying to repel adventurers, as much as they are keeping the mages from getting through,” Gabrielle said. “Instead of fighting everyone who shows up, they just make certain the wards hold. Then the other dragons can pick off the few who get past.”
“Easier to hold a gate than repel an army from inside your walls,” Grumph added.
They were right, Eric could see that at a glance, and the realization disturbed him. Somehow, in spite of all he’d heard about dragons, he hadn’t been expecting them to use strategy. Eric had imagined that they would be like wild animals or demons, using pack tactics and wielding rudimentary magic at best. Whether it was hope or ignorance, he couldn’t afford such delusions. Mentally recalibrating, Eric tried to think of what their best option forward might be.
“If Gabrielle can cut through, then we could slip by them without staying in the battle for too long,” Eric said. “But once we were past, we’d stand out like fireflies on a starless night.”
“Precisely my thoughts.” Thistle looked a bit surprised, and something else as well, as he glanced at Eric. “Just because we have the ability to progress doesn’t mean it’s wise to do so. Not yet, at any rate.”
“Do we join the battle, then?” There was nothing hopeful or anxious in Timuscor’s face; he asked the question with hardened resolve and nothing more. Eric was rather thankful for the fact that, much as he might excel at combat, Timuscor never seemed to crave it, only turning to fighting when it was truly necessary.
“No, I don’t think there’s need for that, either,” Thistle said. “We’d be little help, anyway. Those who’ve taken the front lines of this fight did so because they knew it was where they were best suited. Better we hang back and wait.”
“For what? You think the dragons are just going to drop their ward out of kindness?” Gabrielle asked.
“Certainly not.” Thistle smiled, so small and quick that Eric wasn’t sure if anyone else had seen it. “However, I do know a thing or two about adventurers. This many, having come this far… they will not allow one lone ward to stand in their way. Just make sure you’re all ready to move. I can’t say for sure how it will happen, but when that ward comes down, we want to make sure we’re just a few more bodies in the wave of invasion. That’s our best hope for surviving the first obstacle.”
Eric and the others rode their horses off to the side, and then began to dismount and tie them off. They’d scarcely finished before a trio of people in dark armor appeared, scroll of parchment in hand, to ask if they’d like the animals brought back to Camnarael. Although none of the group knew if they’d make it back themselves, there was no hesitation as they forked over the absurd amount of gold demanded. These horses had served the group well, and no one wanted to abandon them in a place like these dead lands as thanks. With the bargain struck, they proceeded to quickly strip everything of value from the steeds—magic saddles included—and stow it all in their Satchels of Containment.
Once that was done, everyone took a spot in as concealed a position as possible. Eric willed his armor to be the same color as the gray stone around them. Stealth would be difficult in what was to come, but every little bit helped. Getting into a crouched position, Eric readied himself to run at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know what the signal would be; he merely trusted that he’d recognize it when it arrived.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait very long.
* * *
The dragons thought they were winning, which was all according to plan. Those scaly, over-confident jerks always thought so little of the ‘lesser races’ that it would never occur to them they were chasing decoys. While a few of the mages drew their attention by making overt attempts to create small holes in the magical wall, the majority of spell-casters were clustered together in a small zone of invisibility. Keeping the spell active in spite of the dragons’ magic and powerful vision was an arduous task, one that was severely taxing three of their number. Everyone else was focused on another task.
A massive
blast of dispelling magic was gathered in the hands of the strongest mage present, a half-elf wizard whose entire face was covered in sweat. It was all he could do to hold the magic together, yet he finally nodded to the next person, a gnome warlock who began to merge her spell with all the others.
Making a hole in the ward was a poor solution; that had been obvious at the outset. What they needed wasn’t a gate where they’d be funneled through and easily picked off. No, their only hope was to bring down the whole damn wall. That was why nearly every mage, every wizard, sorcerer, warlock, spell-dancer, shaman, and other oddball casting profession had gathered up to pool their attempts. Casting small dispelling blasts would only have drained their mana and made minimal difference. Pooling their efforts, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. With one collective shot, they stood a chance at succeeding with a task that would have been impossible individually.
The elf swayed a bit on his feet; unbeknownst to the others, his vision had gone blurry. Containing this much magic, keeping it shaped and focused, was taking every bit of focus he possessed. He’d be leaning heavily on his party for a few minutes after this was done. Hopefully, there would be places to rest as they made their way up the mountain.
“One. More.” His teeth were gritted together so hard that the words came out more like grunts. A blonde female sorceress stepped before him. Her spell was smaller than some of the others, but extremely focused and precise. It merged easily into the central mass, and she quickly backed away, pumping her arm once in triumph.
That was it; the mass of energy might be able to hold more, but the elf couldn’t. Either they used this now or risked loosing a concentrated blast of wild magic. With a few shaky steps forward, the elf aimed. An earlier spell allowed him to see the weave of magic wrapped around the base of the mountain. It was well-done: picking it apart to create a hole would have required quite a lot of time and concentration. However, as his group’s barbarian was prone to pointing out, there was no need to pick the lock of a door you could kick down instead.