Split the Party

by Drew Hayes

  Eric pushed his legs for all they were worth, sailing past Timuscor and closing the gap between himself and Grumph. They wouldn’t arrive in time—that was impossible—but they might be able to make a difference.

  If they hurried.

  * * *

  The pain in Gabrielle’s hand seemed almost nonexistent as she leaned down on the axe, hair whipping past her face as she built up speed. Whether she hit or she didn’t, it almost didn’t matter at this point. Whatever the outcome, she was guaranteed to break this asshole’s concentration, and that was all that really mattered. Of course, given that he’d killed an entire town and was likely trying to do the same to her friends, Gabrielle very much still wanted to hit him, so she shifted her angle slightly as she drew near. In a moment, she’d be on him; how true her strike would be was in the hands of fate.

  Gabrielle expected the next thing she hit to be either the priest’s flesh or the hard rocky ground, so she was taken by surprise when, only a few feet above his head, Gabrielle’s axe was suddenly stopped by an opaque black shield that flickered into view. It sparked as the blade pressed against it, slowing her down without pushing her back. The priest started visibly, looking up at her in shock even as his lips continued mouthing the important words of the spell. She’d taken him by surprise, but the wily little fuck had been protected from the start. For an instant, their eyes locked, and his arrogant smile turned into a disdainful sneer.

  The edges of Gabrielle’s vision began to blur, and she became dimly aware of the taste of blood in her mouth. He was mocking her, laughing at her for not being strong enough. The kindled rage inside of her roared, building upon itself until it was a burning inferno. Gabrielle could barely think straight with how angry she was. Her fury wasn’t even at the priest—though, given the chance, she’d gladly make him a recipient of it. No, Gabrielle was angry at herself. Everyone was counting on her, and she was going to fail them. She needed to be stronger. She would do anything to be stronger.

  A sound like a champagne bottle being uncorked popped in her ears, and suddenly she was falling again. Her axe had torn through the opaque shield as though it were a piece of silk; it was already unraveling around her as she passed through the hole. It was hard to say for certain who was more shocked, the priest or Gabrielle, as the blonde in blood-red armor came bursting through the shield, axe first. Both were certainly caught off guard, but one was more experienced in dealing with the unexpected. As the priest allowed his purely instinctual reactions to take over, lifting his arm to block the falling woman, Gabrielle acted with intent, swinging her blade down with all the force her muscles and falling momentum could impart.

  Gabrielle slammed into the ground first, knocking the air out of her lungs and at least bruising several of her ribs. She was followed immediately by the priest’s arm, the rune-covered black skull still clutched firmly in its grip. From nearby, she could hear the thunderous stomps of a half-orc running, meaning that her friends were almost there. She smiled through the pain, of which there was a significant amount, and muttered softly to herself:

  “Step Three: complete.”

  Chapter 30

  There is nothing in the world quite like seeing a limb lopped off. In his years of traveling with adventurers and the time spent afterward working as a minion for various would-be evil masterminds, Thistle had been fortunate enough only to witness such an event a handful of times. As Gabrielle smashed into the ground with a worrying thud, followed by the priest’s left arm, Thistle was struck with both the sadness of seeing it happen once more and at the poetic irony that their enemy now lacked the necessary fingers to tick off Thistle’s dismemberment count.

  The priest stared at Gabrielle and his arm for a moment, dumbstruck by what had just happened. Thistle was a bit curious about that as well, since, last he checked, Gabrielle didn’t have any items that could cut through magical shields. Pain seemed to finally beat out shock, and the priest let out a furious howl that sent a chill down the gnome’s short spine. Quickly touching his wand to the stump, the priest stopped the bleeding and turned to face the charging half-orc with a savage look in his eye. That savage look turned immediately frantic as he realized he was trying to stare down a gods-damned charging half-orc with a blade in one hand and an armored gnome in the other, all while the remains of his magical barrier crumbled around him.

  Grumph released Thistle with little warning, sending the diminutive paladin tumbling across the ground. Thistle used the momentum to propel himself back to his feet, pulling both daggers free from their sheaths and quickly reorienting himself through the slight dizziness of being chucked about. He’d landed only a few feet from a cluster of undead villagers who were illuminated by a glowing green light that seemed to have pinned them to the ground. Spinning on his heel, Thistle quickly spotted the priest, just as the one-armed man ducked Grumph’s blade, muttering a spell as fast as he could.

  “I think we’ll have none of that.” Thistle let fly with a dagger, scoring a glancing blow across the priest’s torso. It certainly wouldn’t bring him down, but it was enough to make him lose focus. Against an opponent like Grumph, such mistakes were costly, as became clear when the half-orc managed to slice a chunk of flesh from the priest’s hip.

  Thistle heard the others coming before he saw them sprint past, Eric several paces ahead of Timuscor, short sword already drawn, the armored knight bringing up the rear and ready to deal damage. He chanced a look at Gabrielle, who was stirring but didn’t seem to be in any hurry to rise from the ground. Eric and Timuscor rushed to Grumph’s aid, and in seconds, they had the priest surrounded, his back pressed to the same sheer rock wall that Gabrielle had scaled and leapt from. Thistle started to move forward so he could join them, but thought better of it. Aside from Gabrielle’s painful fall, things were going almost perfectly to plan. Tempting as it was to join the others for what seemed like an easy victory, Thistle had seen too much to grow arrogant. When a battle seemed won, that was often the point when things went completely to Hell.

  Almost as if the priest had been reading Thistle’s mind, he dropped the wand, which vanished as soon as it left his hand, reached into the bag at his side, and hurled out what appeared to be folded pieces of parchment, screaming some gibberish word as he did. The air around the pages contracted and grew dark, then burst outward with such force that it knocked Eric backward.

  Standing there, blocking the priest from Eric, Grumph, and Timuscor, were a pair of ten-foot-tall paper wolves, whose folded teeth and claws still looked plenty sharp. While the others’ stares were locked on the parchment guardians, Thistle looked back at the priest, who seemed to have regained his smile in spite of being one arm short. His hand was once again clutching a wand, though it still hovered close to the bag from which he’d plucked his helpers. Thistle couldn’t help but notice that the bag seemed exceptionally full.

  He muttered a command word to summon back the dagger he’d already thrown. It seemed a good wager that he was going to need every weapon he could get. Before Thistle could choose between his targets, the priest struck first. The spell that emanated from his wand wasn’t one of destruction or shadow, nor was it a hex. Instead, he struck with the most potent weapon available in a cavern of complete darkness.

  The priest’s wand lit up like the sun, flooding the room in light and utterly blinding almost everyone.

  * * *

  By virtue of busted ribs and slowly refilling lungs, Gabrielle was one of the few people staring at the ground when the blast of white light tore through the cavern. All she saw was a slight flash in the side of her vision, enough to let her guess what had happened without filling her dark-adjusted eyes with spots and tears. The priest was going to make a run for it; otherwise, he’d have used the chance to cast an offensive spell. Gabrielle didn’t know exactly what his plan was, whether he was going to break for the door or try for an all-out escape, but she was certain of one thing: he was damned sure going to do it without his arm.

  Ignorin
g the protests of her aching body, Gabrielle reached forward and gripped the limp elbow of the priest’s severed arm. She pulled it closer to her, noticing that the skull was still firmly clutched in his lifeless fingers. Evidently, he’d really been holding on to the thing; even being parted from its body hadn’t been enough to halt the hand’s efforts. She’d only managed to drag the arm a few inches closer when another hand wrapped around it, this one pulling upward. Gabrielle was jerked partway up, bringing her gaze directly into that of the priest’s. He didn’t seem quite so cheerful or cocky now, as he tugged at the bloody appendage, staring down at Gabrielle with utter contempt. For a moment, she feared he was going to cast a spell, but then she realized he couldn’t. Everything he’d thrown thus far had required hand motions or the use of a wand. With one arm chopped off and the other holding on to it, he was temporarily helpless.

  Gabrielle, however, was under no such limitation. Pained as she was, it took almost no effort to lift the axe still clutched in her right hand. The priest’s eyes darted back and forth between his limb and the blade that had done the severing, quickly doing the math. A barbarian’s grip was no small obstacle, and while he might have been able to tug the arm free with enough time, every second he spent trying to wrest it from her clutches increased the risk of being hacked by her axe, and left him vulnerable to the others regaining their sight. With one last yank on his arm, the priest sneered at Gabrielle and released his grip. The sudden loss of his force sent her tumbling back toward the ground, but not before she was able to make out where he was heading.

  It seemed the priest wasn’t quite ready to call it quits, even after losing an arm and a skull, albeit the latter far less painfully. Rather than casting some sort of spell to teleport away or break out through the mountain to the outside world, he was darting past the bound undead, even leaping over them in some cases.

  The last Gabrielle saw of him, the priest slipped through the break in the door and vanished.

  * * *

  Paper wolves, as it turned out, weren’t as strong as their real-world counterparts. Nor did they hold up to being sliced nearly as well. The claws and teeth, however, were for far more than mere show, as Timuscor learned when they sliced across a piece of his leg not guarded by armor. His flesh instantly parted, sending blood streaming down his silver leg-piece, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he stepped to the side, taking one of the wolf’s strikes on his shield and blocking Gabrielle from an attack she wasn’t even able to see coming. This was his role, what he could do that none of the others could.

  Timuscor pushed back on the wolf’s leg, swinging down with his sword in the moment it lost balance. A large scrap of paper fell to the ground, followed by a few splatters of ink, and suddenly his opponent was down to three legs. It loped away from Timuscor, allowing its twin to take up the fight. Before it had a chance, Eric appeared, seemingly stepping out of nowhere and taking out the lower halves of the second wolf’s hind legs with a single sweep of his short sword. It teetered backward, desperately trying to regain balance, but Timuscor seized the opportunity, rushing forward and driving his sword through its paper throat. He and Eric hacked the rest of its body to pieces, just to be on the safe side, and then turned to dispatch the remaining three-legged enemy.

  They found Grumph standing next to a wrinkled, soggy mass of wet paper, holding a bucket that both were certain he hadn’t brought with him. He’d taken his boots to the congealed mass and there was little left of it but ink and water running away from the remains in diluted rivers. Timuscor quickly spun about, searching for the priest so that they could finish their work, but the slippery son of a bitch had vanished in the commotion. All Timuscor spotted was Talcia, making his way slowly down the slope, Fritz a few feet behind, and Thistle bent over Gabrielle, hands resting on her back. As the gnome muttered a prayer under his breath, a soft light, unlike the fierce blast the priest had unleashed, began to glow across her. Moments later it stopped, and Gabrielle rose to her feet, axe in one hand and severed arm in the other.

  “He went through the door.” Even after the healing, Gabrielle’s words seemed half-choked as she struggled to get air moving in her lungs. “Fucker tried to take the skull back, too.”

  “The skull . . . you mean the one that makes everyone around it sick and flat-out kills anyone who touches it?” Eric asked.

  Everyone but Thistle took an involuntary step back as they remembered just what the artifact only a few feet away from them was fabled to do. Gabrielle stared down at it, a fleeting look of panic dashing through her eyes, but then calmed down and gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “Technically, the priest is still the one touching it. That’s got to count for something.”

  “Perhaps, but the proximity effects aren’t likely to be so easily skirted,” Thistle reminded her. He turned slowly, taking stock of his party as they recovered. Spotting the wound on Timuscor’s leg, Thistle quickly marched over and laid a hand on it.

  Timuscor felt a surge of warmth, almost like a hug for his soul, and the pain was suddenly gone, like it had never been there at all. He’d seen the gnome heal others before, but this was the first time he’d ever experienced such power firsthand. It was nothing like he’d expected and only hardened his resolve to one day wield it for himself.

  “We have a hard choice to make,” Thistle said, turning back to the others. “Right now, there’s a chance that if we ditch the skull and run, we might not have been around it long enough to fall sick. But if we do that, then the asshole that used it to kill a town is going to get his hands on whatever lays through that door, uncontested. We can chase him, but it means a higher chance of the skull’s curse hitting us, to say nothing of what other horrible magic was walled off behind that door. I have to go—you all know that—but you each have a choice. Make it quick, though; every moment we spend out here gives him more time to find whatever he’s looking for.”

  “I already got one arm; kind of feel like going for a matched set.” Despite her words, Gabrielle lowered the appendage to the ground, clearly eager to put some distance between the skull and herself.

  “We fight together.” Grumph’s voice echoed off the stone walls around them, making him seem all the more imposing.

  “I’m with Grumph,” Eric said. “Since the beginning, we’ve been in this together. May as well fight magical diseases with one another.”

  “I will always follow.” Timuscor meant every letter of his few words, for he truly would walk with these crazy people to the ends of the earth if needed. There were no words for why; he couldn’t put such a complex sentiment into something conveyable. All he knew was that ever since he had met them, it was the first time he’d truly felt alive. Everything before was murky and unreal, as though someone else had been guiding him around. Being with these four made him feel free, and that was something Timuscor would gladly die for if the need demanded it.

  “Though I doubt you were really talking to me, there is no way I’m letting such a historical find pass by without exploring it,” Talcia said.

  “And I’m here to loot everything that’s not nailed down,” Fritz declared. “Looks like there’s a lot of non-nailed stuff in there.”

  “Then we go now,” Thistle told them. “Can Ferdy keep up the undead binding?”

  “He had it well in hand when I left. Plus, it might not be bad to have him come down and stand guard over that.” Talcia nodded to the skull, which somehow seemed to be smiling more than a fleshless face normally did.

  “Call him down, then.” With that, Thistle began walking briskly between the undead, making a beeline right for the entrance.

  Timuscor was about to call out for him to stop, in case the priest was waiting inside to ambush them, but he realized Thistle already knew that was a possibility. The gnome was purposely putting himself in danger to make sure the others would have forewarning. Moving quickly, his once-cut leg now bearing weight effortlessly, Timuscor hurried to catch up. He couldn’t very well stop a paladin from st
anding in harm’s way, but he could stand beside him. Perhaps, if the gods were kind, Timuscor might be able to shield or help him, even a little bit.

  Behind them, the others followed suit, plunging into the unknown as they carefully squeezed through the broken door.

  * * *

  Russell carefully laid out the figurines on the dry erase map, keeping to the diagram in his module perfectly. The fights so far had been wonderful ballets of constructed combat, and he’d found a healthy degree of respect for whatever author had planned them out so perfectly. In every encounter, there was a very real chance of death, yet a party with enough tactical sense, and perhaps a touch of luck, could emerge unscathed. Of course, things were getting tougher now that they’d reached the tower; the myriad of monsters defending the front door was a testament to that. Still, he’d skimmed the pages, and if his players kept up the level of fighting they had so far, they stood a good chance of pulling off a victory.

  “We’re finally here,” Tim muttered, watching from his seat as what lay before Timanuel and the others was placed into existence. “Just have to break in, and we’ll be set.”