by Drew Hayes
The blow was true, jamming her weapon in precisely the spot Eric had requested. This time, there was nothing subtle about the shift. The gold darkened to the color of steel, the hue radiating out in a circle from where her axe had landed. When it finally stopped, the area was perhaps two feet across, more than wide enough to encompass the knob and the keyhole beneath it.
“Thistle, I might need some patching up.” Gabrielle’s voice was strained, and Eric realized she hadn’t released the axe. Her hands were wrapped around its shaft, blood dripping down from them. As he watched, a new wound appeared on her right forearm, and understanding clicked into place: so long as she kept the magic at bay, her body would continue to be injured.
Eric started working before Thistle had even made it over to heal her, slender metal tools appearing in his hand so fast it may as well have been magic of his own. There was no time to fear for his safety; either the wards were off or he’d be hurt, but he wasn’t going to let Gabrielle suffer any longer than necessary. His fingers flew, faster than Eric had ever seen them go before. The process was so instinctual, so fueled by fear and adrenaline, it was like he was watching himself do the work as an outsider. It was an oddly impressive display to witness, but nothing was more glorious than the moment when a loud clunk came from the door, signifying Eric’s victory over Rathgan’s lock.
He pulled back instantly, pausing only to give the knob a test twist. He was about to urge Gabrielle to do the same, but before he could, the doors swung open. No real surprise, since a barbarian had jammed an axe between the seam where they met and a rogue had just turned the knob. The doors moved like they had no weight at all, the golden glow returning to the gray parts as they lost contact with Gabrielle’s axe. Despite the healing Thistle had administered, Gabrielle still dug into her bag and pulled out a vial of red liquid, popping the top off and downing it quickly.
Now that he could see her, Eric was all the more horrified. At this point, there was little distinction between Gabrielle’s skin and her armor: enough blood had dried on her limbs to leave them almost the same color as the demon hide. She caught his gaze as she tossed the now empty potion to the ground.
“It looks worse than it is. Lots of shallow cuts that bled freely. Thistle was able to patch them nearly as quick as they formed.”
“Hopefully, that’s the last ward we’ve got to get past,” Eric said, unable to keep the doubt from his voice. “I’m not sure how much blood you’ve got left to spare.”
“Did you not see me drink a potion? I feel better than when the day started,” Gabrielle replied. “Just wish the damn things weren’t so expensive.”
“I’m going to take a wager that you’ll be able to afford a new one,” Thistle said. He tapped both of their arms and pointed them to where the doors had finally finished swinging open.
Beyond them was a room that seemed to be glowing with golden light. For a moment, Eric thought they’d wandered into a temple or the home of some divine entity. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized that it wasn’t the light itself that was golden. No, the light merely came from torches—presumably enchanted, since they seemed to be igniting themselves. What caused the illusion was the light reflecting off piles and piles of gold: small mountains of it, gleaming and lovely and ready for the taking.
What was far more interesting to him, however, was the small pedestal set at the far end of the vast room. Eric’s eyes were drawn there so strongly he couldn’t have pulled away if he tried. Now that the door was open, he could almost feel the presence. It was familiar, yet different, like a sibling to the first.
There, atop the pedestal, across the treasury, was what they’d come all this way for: another piece of the Bridge, gleaming in the torchlight and ripe for the taking.
“Everyone go slowly,” Eric warned, even as his body screamed at him to run forward. “Something tells me Rathgan wouldn’t go to all this trouble and not put a few pieces of protection around his prized possession.”
They crept forward, Eric and Gabrielle at the front, the occasional jingle of another’s armor reaching his ears from behind. Their group was still ahead by some margin, but every moment lost decreased their lead. Something in Eric’s mind whispered that if they could just reach the Bridge, it would all be okay. Once that was in his hands, he’d be invincible. Unstoppable. Eric didn’t trust that voice; he’d already seen what happened to those who got drunk on the Bridge’s power. All the same, his steps quickened slightly, the power in his boots moving him faster than everyone else.
That was why he was a few feet ahead of Gabrielle when the first shift came. It was small and quick, easy to miss or dismiss, but Eric held up his hand for everyone to stop all the same. He watched, focused on the mountain of gold where he knew he’d seen something move. Then it came again, a few of the coins sliding down their mound. Just the gold settling... except that there was nothing in the room to disturb the treasure. It should have settled long ago. This was more like something adjusting.
“Good news: I think I know what the last defense against someone stealing Rathgan’s treasure is,” Eric said, carefully backing slightly away.
“Aye, you noticed that as well?” Thistle’s daggers were already in his hands. Around them, the others followed suit, settling into defensive positions one by one.
“What do you see?” Timuscor asked, shield held up and longsword drawn. “Is there something hiding amidst the treasure?”
“Not exactly.” Eric unsheathed his own blade, eyes still trained on the Bridge piece, wondering just how fast these boots would make him. “Unless I miss my guess—”
Thunderous jingling filled the room, drowning out Eric’s words. All around them, piles of gold coins formed into massive, humanoid shapes, with gemstones for eyes and hundreds of coins serving as the bodies. An army sprang into being in the span of seconds, each and every individual staring at the intruders who’d dared to enter their domain.
“The treasure is the enemy,” Eric finished, speaking more to himself than the others. “Rathgan wove some sort of spell to turn it all into golems.”
Gabrielle darted forward to join Eric, blood-soaked hands holding her axe high. “Treasure golems, huh? Well, this will be a new one.”
Chapter 53
“What the whatkedy-fuck?” Chalara stared in disbelief at the giant, shining creatures pulling themselves out from the mounds of treasure and slowly closing in on the party that had led the way down this hidden passage. “The loot is the monster. Someone put an arrow in my head; I’ve now officially seen it all.”
“Efficient, when you think about it,” Wimberly said. “Why justify a random monster having treasure, when you can just kill it and then have it be the treasure?”
“I’m glad you’re all impressed, but am I the only one who realizes those people are about to die?” Timanuel pointed at the party, much smaller and fewer than the golems closing in on them. “We have to do something. How do we stop these things?”
All eyes turned to Chalara, whose mind was momentarily blank. Elsewhere, in another world, a dice bounced around a table, and when it finally stopped, it was showing a surprisingly high number. Suddenly, information came flooding in, the small brain hiccup forgotten as she remembered all she knew about golems.
“Rathgan is way too busy to have cast this mid-battle, so he probably left it as a trap,” Chalara said. “Even a dragon doesn’t have the time to enchant every coin like this, which means somewhere in there is a totem that’s the source of the spell. If we can find and break that, we can stop them all at once.”
“Great thinking,” Gelthorn said. “How do we find it?”
“No clue. It might be in one of the golems; it might be hidden in a pile of non-moving gold. Just look for anything glowy or magical, and then see if it breaks.” Chalara noted the disappointment in her friends’ faces and gave a small shrug. “It’s not supposed to be easy to stop, otherwise Rathgan wouldn’t have used it as a defense in the first place.”
�
�I suppose you have us there,” Timanuel said, drawing his blade. “You all search the piles. I’m going to try and help those five survive.”
“It’s six, if you count the pig,” Gelthorn pointed out, even as she drew her bow.
“Six it is, then.” Timanuel didn’t wait around any longer, bolting forward as fast as his heavy feet would carry him, right into the thick of battle.
Chalara watched him go, still a bit impressed at the headstrong nature that allowed him to race into danger when a sensible mind would have demanded he flee from it. That was their paladin, always courting death. If they wanted to save him from it, they’d have to find a way to stop these damn loot golems.
“Gelthorn, take the gold piles to the right. Wimberly, to the left. Help Timanuel and the others if you can, but the main priority is to hunt for that totem,” Chalara instructed.
“What will you do?” Wimberly asked.
“There’s some sort of object on a pedestal at the other end of the room,” she said. “Seems a little too obvious to be our totem and it’s almost certainly booby-trapped, but we’re going to kick ourselves if that turns out to be the solution and we ignored it. I’m going to try and make a run for it.”
“You do realize that requires crossing the main part of the battlefield, right?” Gelthorn pointed out.
“That’s why I’m not going just yet.” Chalara’s hands began to glow as she wound her fingers through the air, the first magic of a spell dancing around them. “I’ve got some mana to burn, and this seems like as good a time as any to use it.”
* * *
Treasure golems were slow, which was probably the only thing keeping Timuscor and his friends alive. Their giant limbs ponderously wound back to administer blows, giving ample time to move out of the way before the golden fists came crashing down and cracked the stone floor where they landed. If they’d been facing a lone golem, they would have certainly triumphed, as they could have dodged the slow strikes while wearing it down a bit at a time. The trouble was that they were facing at least two dozen of the things, and the number was only growing as more pulled themselves up from the mounds of gold.
As more circled them, dodging became harder and harder. A pair of the golems penned Timuscor in, and while he could have easily sidestepped one punch, Timuscor realized that to dodge the other would leave Grumph exposed. Instead, he dropped to a knee, raised his shield, and took the blow straight on. It was powerful enough to leave his arm sore and shaking, but Timuscor was far from beaten as he slashed at the shining legs only inches away. A few coins were swept away from the feet; however, the golem seemed far less bothered by his attack than Timuscor had been by its.
Then, from back near the entrance, a new body came flying forward. This man also held a shield and a blade, though his were emblazoned with the symbol of the god Longinus. He slammed that shield directly into the golem’s side, sending coins flying and knocking it momentarily off balance. It was far from beaten, but the attack bought Timuscor the chance to push himself back up and readjust his position, as well as make sure Mr. Peppers was okay.
A dagger flew from behind Timuscor, slicing directly into one of the gemstone eyes of the golem and sending it reeling. Thistle appeared at Timuscor’s side, chucking a few more blades and allowing the stranger time to recover from his charge.
“We appreciate the help,” Thistle said. Something in his eyes seemed to spark as he and the stranger looked upon one another—an expression that was mirrored in the other man’s face. “Especially that of a fellow paladin.”
“You can tell just by looking at him?” Timuscor asked.
“All of those who serve the just gods know one another on sight,” the stranger said. “Friends should always be able to recognize each other.”
“I am Thistle, paladin of Grumble.” Thistle threw another pair of daggers at the advancing golem with one eye, though they barely seemed to slow it.
“And I am Timanuel, paladin of Longinus.” He backed a few feet away, angling his shield ahead. “Good sir knight, if you would lend me aid, perhaps together our shields will be enough to scatter this one.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Timuscor set his own next to Timanuel’s shield, and the two readied to charge simultaneously. “But please, call me by my given name—”
* * *
“…Timuscor.”
All eyes were on Russell, which was not uncommon during moments where he was doing the dialogue of the NPCs they met along their journeys. That was why they all saw the blood drain from his face as he turned the page and muttered that name. Slowly, his eyes rose from the module until they locked on Tim, who suddenly looked as though he’d swallowed a hot chili.
“Does that mean something?” Bert was already digging through his notes, the detailed ones he kept on hand during every session. “I don’t remember us hearing anything about a knight named Timuscor.”
“No, we wouldn’t have. He wasn’t in this game. Timuscor was the name of my old character, from the last time we played. Russell, did you decide to name the knight that?” Tim was almost begging for that to be the case, which made it all the harder for Russell to shake his head and pick up the book.
Normally, he would never allow a player to see any part of a module they were playing. However, these were very much extraordinary circumstances, so he held the book out to Tim, thumb resting just above the name. It was unmissable, written there in printed ink: Timuscor.
“That is sort of funny. What are the odds they’d name a random NPC the same as a character you once played? Actually, given how many NPCs are in this module, it might not be that much of a stretch.” Bert wasn’t particularly trying to hide his efforts to dispel the serious mood, and Russell didn’t blame him for it. It did seem like just a coincidence. That’s what Russell would have dismissed it as, too, if Timuscor hadn’t been the character from that game.
“Yeah, I guess it was so strange it just caught me off guard.” Russell took the module back and set it back down on the table, behind his screen. This was weird, and he had a strong feeling in his gut that it was only going to get weirder, but he refused to turn away just yet. If they pressed on, if they were able to keep at it, they might find something. Another spectacle—this time, with more witnesses—that would confirm Russell wasn’t crazy. Or maybe—dare he even hope it—some sort of answer as to what the hell was going on. There was no telling what lay ahead, but if he wanted to find out, then they had to keep going.
“Cheri, it’s your turn next,” Russell said. “Chalara has spent three rounds casting buffs. Going to take another, or are you heading out?”
“Heading out. I think I’d like to keep some mana in reserve, just in case.” Cheri was watching him, clearly waiting for any signs of nerves breaking or a fractured mind. She might even try to stop the game if she thought he would lose it. Russell had to hold it together. They were too close to let anything turn them from this path.
“Okay, you know your move speed, so start heading across the map, and I’ll tell you how the trip goes,” Russell said, looking back down into the module.
* * *
The tip of his blade crackled as it thrust into the torso of tightly-packed gold coins, momentarily stalling the golem as Grumph pushed his staff to the side. The thrust sent a spray of coins clattering to the ground. He didn’t understand exactly why the residual magic of his demon-bone short sword was reacting this way, but it was just one in a long series of mysteries rooted in his lack of formal training. Grumph didn’t have to understand it to appreciate it, however, as he whipped about and lanced the staff’s tip into yet another golem.
He and Gabrielle were the only ones making real progress—her axe sent a shower of coins into the air with every blow she landed—although Timuscor and the stranger in armor who’d run in to help had managed to bring a golem down with a coordinated shield bashing. Out of the corner of his eyes, Grumph tracked the movements of the other adventurers. They seemed to be ignoring the fight, yet they wer
e digging about frantically, clearly searching for something. Perhaps they were looting while their friend assuaged their guilt by pitching in, but it didn’t feel that way. There was something frantic in their actions, and their eyes seemed to shine with hope, then disappointment, whenever they found something other than gems or gold.
Grumph considered the possibility that they too were looking for the piece of Bridge, but quickly dismissed it since the artifact was on full display at the other end of the room. They’d hardly need to search for that; the damn thing was more or less impossible to miss. He’d just finished putting the idea away when he caught sight of another member of the group, this one clad in mage robes, racing toward the center of the fight.
She moved quickly, much too quickly for a normal person, and as a treasure golem stepped in her way, she bounded upward, easily clearing it in an impossible leap. It didn’t take much of a mind to realize that while the others had come running in, she had hung back to enchant herself. It was a welcome sight, and Grumph had to resist the urge to grin for fear of scaring away their new ally. With a fellow mage, perhaps one with a greater spell repertoire than he, they might actually have a shot at stopping these golems. A powerful enough mage could turn the tide of any battle.
Grumph’s optimism lasted exactly as long as it took for her to go barreling past him and the others without so much as a moment’s pause. His eyes followed her path, and Grumph realized with a start that she was running right toward the pedestal holding a piece of the Bridge. It seemed like a double-cross, but none of the others were breaking rank to join her. The one in armor was still fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with Timuscor and Thistle while the two on the sides continued their frantic hunt.
So, either this woman wasn’t with them, or her charge was part of the plan. It was possible she had no idea what she was running toward—perhaps she merely thought it was some sort of magical implement that could be used to help slay Rathgan or stop the treasure golems. That, unfortunately, held the potential of being an even worse scenario. If she got a hold of the Bridge without knowing what she was doing, they could very well end up with another Aldron on their hands.