Split the Party

by Drew Hayes

  “I’ll take it. But throw in a good sheath. I don’t want to hold this more than I have to.”

  “Really?” Gustav seemed taken aback, but he quickly recovered. “I mean, of course; how could you resist such a fine, rare treasure? Now, let us simply arrive at a fair price for such a magical, one-of-a-kind item as what you are holding there.”

  “No, Gustav, let us arrive at a fair price for the item you’d rightfully have to turn over to the guild free of charge,” Fritz interjected. She looked at Gabrielle and gave a wry grin. “I’ll handle things from here. You might want to wait outside, though. It’s going to be bloody.”

  * * *

  As soon as Gabrielle was out the door, axe resting once more on the counter, all the tension drained from Gustav’s face. He calmly took out a pair of dark leather gloves and lifted the weapon from his display, dropping it back into the box.

  “The stammering was a bit much,” Fritz said, watching her friend work.

  “Do not make demands of an actor and then critique his performance. Besides, she seemed to buy it just fine.”

  “Only because she’s gotten used to seeing people afraid of her, so it didn’t faze her to see it in others. You happened to hit her blind spot, that’s all.” Fritz reached into the bag at her side and produced a swollen pouch, the tip of a gold coin poking slightly out the top. “You did your job, though, and I appreciate that.”

  “Seems like a lot of work to unload an axe on some adventurer,” Gustav noted, though he accepted the coins without protest. “Bribing all the other traders to hide the cheap stuff, getting her desperate enough to accept a cursed axe, why not just hand it to her straight out?”

  “Would you use a cursed weapon if you knew there were other options out there?” Fritz countered. “It needed to be her only real option if she was going to accept it, and that axe can only be taken willingly.”

  Gustav carefully placed the lid back over the box, and then pulled off his gloves. “What’s the deal with this girl, anyway? You got a grudge against her?”

  “Quite the opposite. I’m growing more fond of Gabrielle by the day,” Fritz said. “That’s why I don’t want to see her meet an early end at the tip of some bandit’s blade or beast’s jaws.”

  “Rather see some cursed weapon do her in?”

  Fritz chuckled, resting her hand lightly on the box that contained Gabrielle’s new killing tool. “Not at all. This axe might bear a cost for wielding it, but it will also do far more to keep her safe than some silly enchantment of sharpness. If she can master this weapon, that woman will truly become a force to be reckoned with.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Well, then I suppose she wasn’t as interesting as I thought,” Fritz replied. “Now, go get her sheath. This transaction is officially complete.”

  Chapter 23

  The morning sun was just beginning to approach the middle of the sky (marking the sixth day since their friends had ridden out of Briarwillow and into a danger they could only imagine), when Eric, Timuscor, and Thistle reached the opening in the mountain. They’d left after breakfast, making their way straight toward their destination without stopping, save for only a brief respite so that Thistle could make their tools glow once more before crossing into the darkness. It was a tense, worried ride, as each of them wrestled with the fear that they would come across an opened door and an army of undead wielding incredible dark magic. Few words were said as they took the plunge into the lightless void of the tunnel, and silence became their only tongue as the last vestiges of daylight slipped from their view.

  Even moving slowly, making as little noise as possible given that two members of the party were covered in clanging metal armor, they still reached the junction point in only a few minutes. Once they knew where they were going, it was easy to navigate the general area. Though primed to be attacked once they drew closer to the actual site, they were struck with shock when Timuscor entered the cavern and cast the light from his shield on a pale, clearly undead figure who let out yelp of surprise and then put its own hands over its mouth.

  “They’ve spread.” Timuscor drew his sword without another word, stepping aside so that Thistle could have a clear shot at the monster before them. The small paladin had a dagger pulled back, ready to let fly at the thing’s chest, when he realized something was wrong. Their undead foe wasn’t attacking them, or screeching at the others for help, or even trying to run. It was just standing there, looking as scared as they felt, unsure of what to do. And the longer Thistle watched it, the more he began to think it looked a touch familiar.

  “Kendal?” At Thistle’s words, the undead man’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he slowly lowered the hands that were in front of his mouth.

  “You’re that gnome who came around bothering us with all the questions.” His voice was roughly, almost gravelly, but the surly tone was exactly how Thistle remembered it from nearly a week prior, when he’d chatted with Kendal and Gurt to learn what was happening in town.

  “Aye, that I am. And you were the only one in the village not ready to dance a jig about suddenly seeming to be cured,” Thistle replied. He reached over and carefully tugged on Timuscor’s arm, lowering the sword so it wasn’t quite as threatening. “Suppose you were right in that regard.”

  “Never been much for doing things just ‘cause they seemed like what I ought to,” Kendal admitted. “Guess that’s why I’m the only one of them trying to fight this.”

  “Only one to fight . . . ? Wait, Kendal, are you saying the others still have their minds?” Thistle’s heart hammered in his chest as he absorbed the information. Dispatching mindless undead was one thing—it was more mercy than murder—but to kill those who were under another’s control was a dark act, even if it was in self-defense.

  “Some of them, I think,” Kendal replied. “Hard to tell. Hard to think with this voice whispering in my head all the time, telling me to go work with them, telling me to pound on that damned door.” He pressed his fingers against the side of his head, accidently scraping away a fat piece of skin and exposing his skull. “Obeyed it for a long while, but finally got strong enough to duck out when that ass went to the bathroom.”

  “That ass?” Eric asked. “The voice in your head?”

  “Don’t be stupid, boy,” Kendal snapped. “The voice is from the skull. I can never get away from it. I was talking about the man who’s been watching us, using the skull to control us all. Same lyin’ bastard that claimed he was curing us.”

  “The false priest,” Thistle whispered. His mind whirled, adding this new information to what they knew. If a servant of Kalzidar, especially a nameless one, was down there, then he was dangerous. With enough power to control an entire platoon of undead minions, that danger increased exponentially. If those undead still had minds and were innocent victims . . . well, that was a situation that might truly be unwinnable.

  “Kendal, we’ve come to try and help,” Thistle said, speaking slowly, as if he were just realizing this himself. “But if we’re going to set you all free, I have to know as much as possible about the priest: what he does, and what he’s after.”

  “What are you going to do?” Kendal didn’t bother masking the doubt on his face, just as he wouldn’t have if he’d still been alive.

  “I don’t know yet,” Thistle admitted. “But we’re edging closer to a solution, and we’ve got friends who should be rejoining us soon with help.”

  Kendal sneered. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re sort of beyond helping at this point.”

  “Maybe so,” Thistle agreed. “I won’t promise that there’s even a way for us to aid you, given the situation. But we can at least try to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else and take some vengeance for you on the man who did this. Vengeance is a paltry substitute for salvation, but at least that much we can accomplish.”

  “Vengeance, huh? Should have said so first. Spite’s one thing I’ve never had trouble getting behind.” Kendal took a few steps
closer and began to tell them everything he’d seen since they first left Briarwillow.

  * * *

  Many of the people in robes stared at the red-armored woman as she made her way through the coliseum, too awestruck by her surroundings to take note of their curious gazes. She only moved forward when the elven woman behind her jabbed her lightly in the back to get her plodding along once more. At least a few hundred of the guild’s mages were in attendance, though, by Gabrielle’s estimates, the massive stadium they were in could easily seat thousands. Yet coming had required nothing more than Fritz waving that key of hers at another door. The longer she spent around the mages and their guild, the more disconnect Gabrielle felt from the harsh reality of life on the road. She was glad it was ending soon; already, she sensed her body trying to grow soft and complacent from the constant comfort.

  Though the coliseum itself seemed mundane—if a touch ornate with all the decorative gold and velvet cushions—what lay in its center was another story. Where ordinarily Gabrielle would see horses and knights preparing for jousts, or perhaps a few warriors readying to spar, she instead could perceive only fog. It was like a massive cloud had descended from the sky, formed a perfect orb, and settled itself into the coliseum’s ground like an opaque marble in a socket. Of course, the four mages standing equidistant from one another along the fog’s edge, visibly muttering and making frequent hand motions, explained away the curiosity while also doing little to help Gabrielle understand it.

  “It’s to keep the test a mystery,” Fritz said, nudging Gabrielle forward yet again while nodding to the fog. “Otherwise, some of the older mages might see the setup and instantly know which of the trials the applicant was going to face.”

  “Why do they need to keep it a mystery from us? Only Grumph should worry about being surprised. The other apprentices will get different trials, and all the full mages have already passed theirs. Do they think you’ll try to help him somehow?”

  Fritz snickered under her breath. “Oh, it’s not about integrity on our part. At least, not that kind of integrity. It’s just that we love betting on these things, and knowing what the test will be ahead of time tends to swing odds in the old-timers’ favor. This way, people can only bet on what they know about the mage. Keeps things a bit more even.”

  “I should have expected that.” Gabrielle finally began moving again, heading toward a section in the middle that Fritz seemed hell-bent on reaching. “Any word on how the bets are going today?”

  “It’s an interesting split,” Fritz replied. “Most of the gold is going down that Grumph will fail, which is hardly something he should take personally since he is trying to undertake this after only a few days of training. But of those that are betting on him to succeed, a lot of them are the older, wiser mages in our guild. Sort of makes you wonder what the smartest bet really is.”

  “Wish I’d known; I still have a few gold left. I’d have put them on Grumph to succeed.” Fritz had gotten Gabrielle a better deal than she’d ever expected, allowing her to leave the shop with her new axe strapped to her back and a healthy amount of gold still in her purse. Fritz certainly lived up to her bragging, though Gabrielle was beginning to grow uncomfortable with how much she and Grumph owed the elven trader.

  “Much as he’d have appreciated it, I think you’ve already got enough riding on this,” Fritz told her. “Besides, I dropped a thousand gold on him to pull it off.”

  “A thousand?” Gabrielle nearly leapt out of her armor and whirled to meet Fritz’s surprisingly calm, placid face staring back at her.

  “Didn’t I tell you? The smartest mages are betting on Grumph to win. Why wouldn’t that include me?”

  “But . . . a thousand gold.”

  “Is mine to do with as I see fit,” Fritz assured her. “I like a good gamble, and after seeing you two fight those bandits, I know better than most how capable our half-orc friend is. Now, hurry up and quit gawking, otherwise we’re going to miss the start of this thing.”

  Gabrielle complied, finally hustling at a pace to Fritz’s liking. They eventually reached a section of seating in the middle, filled with gold cushions rather than crimson ones. This was the most sparsely populated area in a coliseum that was already woefully under-filled, with only a few other robed men and women scattered about. Some of them started to rise when they saw Gabrielle entering the area, but a single glance at Fritz and they lowered themselves back into their seats.

  There was, however, one man who did not slump back down. Instead, he hurried down the steps, taking them two at a time to arrive quickly at Fritz’s side. Rather than chastising her as Gabrielle feared he might, the man leaned down and spoke to Fritz in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

  “It’s about time. I thought you would be late.”

  “I always arrive at exactly the right moment, you know that.” Fritz didn’t bother whispering back; instead, she took the man’s arm and turned him so he was facing Gabrielle. “Now, Dejy, don’t be so excited you forget your manners. Be a dear and introduce yourself to my friend, Gabrielle.”

  “Ah, so you’re the fearsome barbarian with the heart of a dragon,” Dejy said, a surprisingly handsome smile lighting up his face. He bowed slightly, then rose and met Gabrielle’s uncertain gaze with a cheerful wink. “I’m the one who has been training Grumph for the past few days. He’s told me all about you and your friends back in Briarwillow.”

  “How many days did it take to get all that out of him?” Gabrielle found it hard to imagine Grumph having long, in-depth discussions with anyone. His stoic tongue was one of the most constant and endearing features about her friend.

  “You’d be surprised how much comes out when people are sleep-deprived and suffering from mana drain,” Dejy replied. “Ours was not an easy training program, and we were both pushed to the very edges of our limits in undertaking it.”

  “Is he going to be okay for the trials?” Fritz asked.

  “Nothing to worry about; I saved our last few hours for potions and rest,” Dejy assured her. “Though I can’t guarantee how he’ll do, of course, he’s at least going in with a clear head and full pool of mana.”

  “A what of what?” Gabrielle looked at Dejy like he’d begun speaking another language halfway through his sentence.

  “If you think of food as energy to use with your muscles, mana is energy to use with your magic,” Fritz explained. “Dejy just means he has the magic equivalent of a well-fed stomach.”

  “Oh. He should just say that, then.”

  “He should, shouldn’t he?” Fritz turned slightly to face the fog, staring at it for a long moment before resuming the conversation. “Anyway, can you tell us how things went? Were you able to teach him any more spells?”

  “Grumph gained a good handle on two and has come close to figuring out a third,” Dejy told them, a bit of pride at his teaching skills creeping into his voice. “Whether or not he can pull those out in the heat of battle instead of a classroom is something we can only see in the doing.”

  “Going to tell us what those spells he learned are?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Not planning on it.” Dejy smirked, a mischievous glint dancing in his eye. “Far be it from me to steal my student’s thunder. He should be the one to show you what he’s learned.”

  Gabrielle began to protest, but before she could, a voice bounded through the coliseum, reaching every ear without overpowering a single one. Though the voice was utterly foreign to her, Fritz and Dejy both perked up as though they recognized it—and had in fact been waiting—for it to appear.

  “My fellow mages, today we have gathered to bear witness to the testing of one who wishes to join our prestigious ranks. He casts spells through the style of a wizard, and his skill was great enough that he was judged to be capable of undertaking the trials. After only a few days of study, he has exercised this right, and before you all, today he will attempt to prove his worth.”

  “Talcia sure does love to hear himself talk,” Fritz muttered.
Gabrielle nodded, despite not having the slightest idea who Talcia was. Assuming it was the man speaking to them currently, she was inclined to agree. She wanted to see Grumph, to know what he was facing, far more than she felt like tolerating this pretentious preamble.

  “Should our ambitious wizard be successful, he will become a member of the Guild of Illustrious Mages, with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto. Should he fail . . . well, wielding magic is a dangerous endeavor, as we all know too well. Without further ado, I present to you Grumph the wizard, undertaking today’s trial: Shattering the Tempest Crystal.”

  Fritz sucked in a breath through her teeth, and Dejy spat out a word that Gabrielle didn’t understand but could infer was some sort of swear simply by his tone. The fog began to clear, revealing what looked like a set of half-crumbled runes, a dark stone tower, and shapes slipping about in the shadows. She couldn’t yet see Grumph, though that didn’t worry Gabrielle half as much as her fellow spectators’ reactions.

  “This is bad,” Fritz said. She and Dejy shared a look that needed no translation. A glance meant to convey “We’re in deep shit” pretty much looks the same no matter one’s language, gender, or race.

  “Tell me what this means,” Gabrielle demanded. She almost reached for the axe that Fritz had made her leave behind in their quarters, now knowing why the elf had been so adamant about not bringing a weapon.

  “Shattering the Tempest Crystal is regarded as one of the most difficult trials a mage can be given,” Dejy explained. “Grumph will have to try and make his way past magical traps and barriers, climb the tower in the center of the field, and destroy the tempest crystal before it can create a magical storm that will destroy everything else. Oh, and there are also worshippers of the crystal trying to stop him at every turn.”

  Gabrielle stared at both of them for a few brief seconds, and then did something neither expected. She visibly relaxed, turning back toward the field, where the last traces of fog were dying away. There, she could finally make out her friend, standing stalwart in the mid-afternoon sun’s blazing light.