Going Rogue (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 3)

by Drew Hayes

  Fortune seemed to be on their side, if only for the moment, which was probably the lone reason they were all still standing. Between the chunk chopped from its shoulder and Grumph’s ice, the dragon’s wings were slow and weak, which had allowed Gabrielle to keep chipping away at them from her position on its back. It shook and bucked to try and send her flying, but Grumph’s spell still seemed to be in effect. Gabrielle was as planted to its scaly flesh as she had been to the wall, and she was using that advantage to bring down blow after blow on the thick scales protecting its spine.

  The wizard himself was keeping a careful distance, using just enough magic to make sure that the beast’s right wing stayed iced over, and then darting in to jab with his staff when an opportunity presented itself. The dragon would undoubtedly have lunged for Grumph if given the chance, but Timuscor was planted squarely between the two, fending off attack after attack with his shield while striking back using his new longsword. Every time the dragon tried to press a full charge on Timuscor, Thistle was ready, using his blades to hit every soft spot the dragon exposed and quickly putting it back on the defensive.

  It was a solid strategy, for what they’d been able to think up on the fly, but it wouldn’t work for long. Sooner or later, the dragon would grow frustrated and cry out; right now, vengeance and pride were probably the only things staying its tongue. A slow battle would be their downfall, which was why Eric was working his way around the creature, searching for an opening. They needed a vital hit, something that would genuinely wound this monster, to turn the tide.

  His eyes scanned the creature’s hide, recalling every combat lesson the guard captain had tried to teach him and all the advice about seeking vulnerabilities that Elora had deigned to impart in their limited time. Scaly hide covered the entirety of the beast, denser in some parts than others but almost always present. Even aside from the danger zones, it had little in terms of weakness. The neck was an obvious choice, and the dragon guarded it appropriately. There was a chance the underbelly was unarmored; however, with the dragon crouched low to the ground and a claw or tail blocking every angle, Eric had little hope of reaching it.

  There had to be a way to beat this thing, though. Other adventurers managed to take down fully-grown dragons, albeit rarely. Surely they weren’t all wearing them down slowly like this. They were certainly more powerful and skilled than Eric’s party, but this was only a hatchling. There were vulnerabilities to exploit, if only Eric could force his eyes to see them.

  A flash of red blazed from the dragon’s front—another torrent of flame blasting at his friends. They wouldn’t be able to take many more of those; even magical shields could only withstand so much. Eric took note of the way the dragon’s head swung back around as the fire died away, and an idea began to form in his mind. Thistle had managed to land a dagger in the roof of its mouth when it was preparing to breathe on them earlier in the day. While that had been a combination of exceptional luck and incredible aim, it also shouldn’t have been quite that easy. One snap of the jaws and the dagger would have bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s armored snout. But it hadn’t seen the attack, hadn’t reacted at all. There was a chance, slim as it might be, that breathing fire took more focus than they’d realized. Whether it was mental or physical effort, the dragon did seem to halt all other attacks when trying to roast them—an odd habit, given that the rest of the time it struck at them from multiple fronts without issue. Elora would have told him it was thin, and Eric agreed, but it wasn’t as though he had better ideas to try first.

  Keeping low, Eric moved as quietly and carefully as he could back toward the dragon’s front. This would have been an impossible task if he were alone; only the others drawing so much attention gave him a chance at slipping past the dragon’s attention. Even then, it was still uncertain. Eric could be getting baited, walking into a position that allowed the dragon to pull him from the fight entirely. He pressed on anyway, his heart hammering in his chest. Testing his wits and stealth against that of a worthy opponent, this was truly what it meant to be a rogue.

  He almost missed the opportunity, his caution was so great. Eric had just arrived at a spot near its shoulder, closer to the left front claw than he was comfortable with yet still just out of sight. Or at least, he hoped he was still out of sight. The others looked weary. Scorch marks dotted Timuscor’s shield, and he was sporting a host of small cuts along his face. Thistle looked little better; his hands were definitely moving slower than they had been as he tried to keep up his constant barrage. The dragon was wearing them down. If this blast didn’t do them in, the next probably would, or they’d be picked off by its claws and jaws in between bursts.

  The dragon’s head pulled back slightly, coming closer to the protection of its body. From his vantage point, Eric could see the neck muscles tense as it began to gather flames. He imagined them rising up from somewhere deep in its belly, flowing into the neck, then the mouth, and then racing out toward his friends. His fingers flexed against the hilt of his short sword, slowly moving his thumb to the crimson gem set in the pommel. Elora had said it would give him extra slicing power, but only once a day and for a short while. One strike: that was how she’d described it. If there was ever a time when one strike might decide a fight, this seemed like a hell of a candidate, so Eric activated the gem and began his all-or-nothing charge.

  He’d never found such speed in his feet. It was a combination of the enchanted boots and his own body’s eagerness to strike. Eric felt like a snake whipping forward to sink its fangs into prey. Even with all that, however, he was still in a tight race. The dragon had been distracted, and that bought him an extra second, maybe two. But this was still an intelligent creature in the middle of a fight; it wasn’t going to entirely let its guard down for any reason.

  As Eric’s feet pounded across the ground, the head swiveled toward him. One bite—or worse, one fiery blast—and that would be the end of his opportunity. He might survive—the armor on him was quite exceptional—but with the lone vulnerability he’d spotted no longer useful, Eric would be of little help in the rest of the battle. His sword hummed in his hand, power surging through it from the stone, and Eric pushed his legs to go faster, giving everything he had, everything he could muster. Eric had bet the fight on this moment, so he couldn’t let himself come up short.

  The hot breath from the dragon’s nostrils washed over Eric’s neck as its mouth closed shut, snapping down on empty air as Eric skirted the attack by no more than a few hairs’ breadth. His sword whipped forward, thrusting into the base of the dragon’s neck with all the strength he had. The scales resisted for a moment, but the enchanted gem coupled with Eric’s momentum were enough to pierce through the natural armor. He kept shoving as deep as he could, driving the short sword in until he reached the hilt.

  Eric felt his blade begin to rise and kept a firm grip. The dragon was panicking, trying to buck and shake him away. That was the trouble with intelligence, really. The freedom to make decisions meant one was capable of making the wrong decisions, and as Eric’s body dragged the sword down, it became clear that that was exactly what the dragon had done. Rather than simply having a blade in its throat, the attempt to fling Eric off was dragging him and his sword around, turning a small hole into an ever-widening gash. Blood was gushing forth, covering Eric’s torso, yet he redoubled his grip and held on. The more damage he could do with this wound, the better off he would be.

  Then, abruptly, the writhing stopped. The dragon fell to the ground, weak, panting, and while not yet dead, it was certainly not long for this world. Its snout opened, and though Eric readied himself to pull the blade further around if it attacked, what came from the mouth was neither fire nor a vain attempt to bite.

  “Well... played…” The breathing was ragged—no great surprise, given the hole in its throat—but the beast still had the strength to look at Eric, then Gabrielle, and at last to Grumph.

  “By the gods, I didn’t know it could talk.” Gabrielle stood
at her same position on its back, hands gripped on her axe, ready to swing at the slightest provocation. Yet she still looked pale, seeing what they’d done. Even if the dragon had started the fight, even if it had been a battle for survival, there was something that felt intrinsically off about killing such a magnificent creature.

  “I have... lived more... than fifty summers. Of course... I can talk…”

  “Dragons grow slowly,” Thistle said, making his way carefully closer to their enemy. “As I recall, it takes a hundred years for them to pass out of the hatchling phase.”

  “A feat... I will... never accomplish.” The breathing was getting more ragged, and some part of Eric wanted to pull his sword free. Having the blade still plunged in with victory close at hand felt needlessly cruel. But the rogue part of his mind stayed the kindness, reminding him that dragons could use trickery too. Yes, it was dying; however, it might decide to bring some company along in its trip to the afterlife.

  “You came to kill us,” Thistle said, crouching down slightly to look the dragon in the eye.

  “It is... my duty... to defend... my nest. But you... won... fairly. Please... grant me... a swift death.” The dragon shuddered, causing Eric’s blade to wobble.

  The soft smack of leather on gravel echoed from nearby as Gabrielle hopped to the ground, axe in hand. Her face was set, and her eyes were grim. No one needed to say that she was the only one who might hope to finish the dragon off with a single blow. Just like with so many wolves between Briarwillow and Alcatham’s capital, she knew her role to play.

  “You will... die... up the... mountain. Too many... others. Too strong... Too wise.” The dragon let out a hacking cough that sprayed Eric with more blood. “But... if you... make it... stop Rathgan. Gone mad... he has. We must follow... but you... could stop... him. Save... our nest.”

  “Given how difficult a fight you were, I must agree that we will almost certainly perish in our ascent.” Thistle reached out, carefully, and laid his hand on the dragon’s snout. “If the gods should see fit to guide us there, however, we will do all we can. Though I doubt we’d be able to defeat a dragon such as Rathgan.”

  “No... Just get... the artifact... from him. Ever since... he found... it... Rathgan has... spoken only madness.”

  Gabrielle stopped her approach, looking at Eric with the same uncertain expression he knew was also on his face at that moment. Thistle, thankfully, hadn’t missed the hint, as he leaned in to the fallen dragon. “What sort of artifact? And what, exactly, is the madness he speaks of?”

  “Strange... object. Rathgan says... it shows him... other worlds. Not just... the planes... but more. Things... beyond us. Beings... controlling... our world.”

  “The Bridge.” Timuscor had limped his way over, coming just close enough to look the dragon who’d tried to burn him alive in the eye. “Rathgan has found a piece of the Bridge.”

  “You... know this... object?”

  “Aye, we’ve seen it before,” Thistle said. “Rathgan isn’t the first to find a piece and lose his senses. In fact, we came here seeking that artifact specifically.”

  “Then may... the gods... be with you…”

  “Or... what if we were to reach a mutually beneficial arrangement?” Thistle’s hand was still on the creature’s snout, and Eric thought he saw the barest flickers of light dart across his fingers. He’d have dismissed it as pure imagination, except for the fact that the dragon’s breathing became slightly less ragged. “May I ask your name, dragon?”

  It stared at him for a long moment, its yellow eyes boring into the gnome’s soul. “Bulek. Named for... my father’s... father.”

  “I am Thistle, named for none,” Thistle replied. “So, Bulek, you wish to defend your nest. Would you consider it treason to take an unusual method of doing that? My friends and I can steal the Bridge from Rathgan, and put it somewhere safe. I don’t know if taking it away will fix what he’s seen, but it will keep things from getting worse. If Rathgan finds reason once more, perhaps peace can be restored. No one from the kingdom or your nest needs to die.”

  “My life... ebbs. Do you... plan... to heal me?”

  “If the terms I’ve proposed are agreeable, then yes, we would. I happen to be a paladin, and since nothing about you triggers my evil sense, I see no qualms with it.” Thistle’s hand was still present, ready to dole out the magic as soon as the dragon agreed. Instead, it shut its eyes and let out a soft, half-hacked laughing noise.

  “What sort... of adventurer... would trust a... dragon?” Bulek asked, eyes still pinched closed.

  “The sort that knows that just because things are often a certain way doesn’t make them right.” Timuscor limped forward, crouching down to a knee. “If Thistle says he trusts you, then the rest of us will as well.”

  “I tried... to kill you... all.” Bulek slowly pulled his eyelids apart, taking in Timuscor and Thistle.

  “I tried to kill them, too,” Timuscor replied. “It’s not the easiest thing to get past, but they somehow manage.”

  Bulek’s eyes darted between the two men, and then tried to swivel back to Gabrielle and Eric, who were still armed and ready in the event the conversation took a less peaceful turn.

  “Very well... strange adventurers. Save me... and we... will save... my nest. Together.”

  Eric took a firm grip and yanked his sword free mere seconds ahead of the healing light that radiated out from Thistle. The last thing Bulek needed was for his neck to mend with a sword stuck in it. He and Gabrielle walked away from the dragon, whose flesh was already knitting back together.

  “Think he’ll attack as soon as he’s healed?” Gabrielle whispered.

  “I really hope not.” Eric wiped from the blood from his blade and glanced at the gem, which seemed dull and lifeless with the magic momentarily used up. Then he went to work making sure his crossbow was fully loaded and ready.

  If the dragon did come up fighting, he wanted to be sure he was prepared to strike back.

  Chapter 47

  “Holy crap. This was a hell of a fight.” Glenn gazed in wonder as Jamie finished drawing out the final section of the map, sprinkling a few last tokens into place to represent fallen warriors. “If we’d kept pace with everyone else, would we have been part of it?”

  “No way,” Mitch said, answering before Jamie had even the barest of chances. “This is just flavor, meant to intimidate us. Do you know how much work the creators would have had to put in to make all the NPCs for a battle this big? They’d have never done all that just for one small section of the journey up the mountain.”

  Jamie carefully slid the last token in place and returned to her seat. “There’s no way to know what would have happened here. You took the path that you took, and what might have been is forever lost. All your characters know is that whatever happened here, it came with a heavy toll of life.”

  “I think you mean left a huge amount of corpses for looting.” Terry’s eyes were shining with excitement as he reached for his dice, visions of magical items and stacks of gold no doubt already dancing in his mind. The joy was short-lived as Mitch delivered a quick, potent punch to his friend’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be an idiot. You really think it’s going to be that easy? I guarantee everyone we search is going to have nothing but junk on them. Jamie will say the survivors already looted the corpses for everything worth taking.”

  “Is that not what you would do, if one of your own fell in battle?” Jamie asked, neither confirming nor denying Mitch’s assumption.

  “Yeah, yeah, we get it, the module strives to be realistic. Fucking hell.” Mitch shoved his chair roughly back along the cheap carpet and rose to his feet. “I’m going to take a piss. You two get all the pointless searching out of your system before I’m done, and then we move on. The good thing about these corpses all being looted is that when we do find some wiped parties farther up the mountain, they’ll have all the great shit on them.”

  Mitch made his way through the empty stor
e—something he now took entirely for granted—and walked into the restroom. Rather than go for the toilet, however, he turned on the sink, running cold water over his hands and splashing it gently against his face.

  There was no real reason for the discomfort, nothing he could specifically point to. It was just a hunch, a feeling, a sense of familiarity. Even though it took place in different kingdoms, with different quests and variables, aspects of this module were reminding Mitch of the last game he’d played in. The one where things had gotten... weird at the end. Maybe it was the level of detail, or the dedication to keeping things as real as possible in the game world. Maybe it was the way Jamie just sat there, unbothered by everything they tried and constantly smiling. All Mitch knew was that this felt off in an uncomfortably familiar way.

  He shoved the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the biological task at hand. It was just a game, after all. They’d been playing the module for weeks, and nothing remotely strange had happened. The final challenge was bound to stir up some feelings similar to what had come before, but that didn’t mean it would lead to the same ending.

  Mitch was a veteran player, damn it. He made GMs cry and NPCs shit their pants in fear. There was no way he was going to back down now. His party was making it up this mountain, and they were going to loot everything down to the last copper on their way.

  * * *

  Bulek’s tale was a simple one, yet it rang far too familiar for most of the group. Rathgan had indeed begun stealing the caravans of merchants, just as they’d been told; however, it was not quite the opening salvo of war they’d been led to believe it was. Evidently, this happened from time to time during the span of the treaty; the kingdom had grown a bit slack with their tributes, and he wanted to remind them what life would be like without their truce. It was in one of these first caravans that they’d discovered the artifact. Although Bulek hadn’t been there in person, the other dragons still whispered of the way Rathgan’s eyes were drawn to the strangely-shaped crystal. He’d taken it to his private chamber and then refused to leave for several days.