by Demi Harper
Hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, I thought as the nurse herded the babies indoors. I wanted to follow them inside, but again, some instinct held me back. This was a private place; it didn’t feel right to intrude.
The children’s presence was a distraction and a joy, but it was also a burden. They were so vulnerable! Though they were walking already – which I certainly hadn’t expected – they were still very far away from being able to defend themselves.
Both Ket and the Augmentary had mentioned the creche ‘accelerating’ the natural development process. It had clearly impacted their gestation and early growth; hopefully it would also be enough to mature them to adulthood before Grimrock’s deadline arrived.
However, even if that was the case, it was more than likely that Grimrock’s kobolds experienced the same accelerated growth. Moreover, they would have been producing young since before the battle, unlike my gnomes, who’d been at it for less than a week.
Grimrock’s population growth was far superior to ours; he could easily win any fight by simple attrition. My joy at seeing the baby gnomes dissipated as I acknowledged with certainty that our only hope was to comply with his demands – at least for now.
If sending some of the grown gnomes for sacrifice gives the baby ones chance to grow up, it has to be worth something.
Right?
The gnomelings’ accelerated growth was nothing short of miraculous. Within a couple of days, they were out of their toddling phase and already exploring the Grotto under the supervision of the nurses. A couple more days after that, and they were big and strong enough to be permitted to go unsupervised.
During this time, a handful more baby gnomes were born, bringing our total number of juveniles to eleven.
These six oldest were already three-quarters the size of an adult gnome, though their limbs were gangly and awkward with adolescence. So far, their favorite activity was throwing rocks at targets they’d marked against the barracks’ outer wall. They were clearly just copying the slingers they’d seen practising in the yard, but they were becoming surprisingly good at it. I checked their information in the Augmentary several times a day to see whether they were yet mature enough to be assigned a vocation, but it looked like I’d have to wait a little longer.
In the meantime, Swift and Cheer continued to return to the Grotto at least once per day with more possums for the tanner. I had no idea where they kept finding them, or how they were even managing to bring the creatures down, but I wasn’t about to complain. The more armor for my fighters, the better.
The fighters themselves were showing distinctive improvement, the forty-one Faithful warriors in particular. The slingers, led by Bullet, were hitting their targets on nearly every throw, and had moved on to practising with moving targets. These exercises mostly involved the slingers situating themselves on the roof of the barracks, and attempting to land their attacks on the shield-bearing melee warriors in the yard below. This had the dual benefit of increasing my ranged fighters’ effectiveness against real-life opponents – after all, kobolds would not stand still and wait for the bullets to hit them – and sharpening my melee warriors’ reflexes against attacks from afar. Thankfully, my drill officers had the foresight to use clay bullets for these activities, so none of my fighters were maimed by the attacks that did get through their guard.
When they weren’t training with the slingers, the melee warriors spent almost all their hours perfecting their technique with the shield and spear. Hammer and Graywall had drilled them for days in the art of the shield wall formation; the melee warriors had spent a few painful-looking sessions at the start just taking it turns to throw themselves at their opponents’ shields, until they no longer buckled under the weight of a sustained assault.
I also had Jack and Elwood, my two remaining lumberjacks, working on a ‘surprise’ for any potential enemy invaders, assisted by the two sawyers. They had spent many days in the shroomtree field, tirelessly hacking away at – but not felling – the massive mana-infused trunks. Suffice to say any enemy attempting to cross the field would not do so unscathed.
With this in mind, I assigned the warrior vocation to my sole remaining shroomtree farmer. Since the builders already had the materials they needed for the palisades, and my lumberjacks were otherwise engaged, I no longer needed a farmer at this moment. Once our situation was resolved, I could always maintain the shroomtrees’ growth myself until another farmer or two could be assigned.
With the addition of the former farmer to the ranks, we now had forty-four warriors. That left half a dozen available spaces in the barracks – just enough to accommodate the six oldest juvenile gnomes. Assuming they reached maturity in time, that was.
Through a stroke of pure luck, our chances of successfully defending against an attacking force were further increased by an accidental discovery. The six older juveniles were playing a game of what I’d creatively named ‘clayball’. They’d formed two teams, and were attempting to hit the members of the opposite team with wet clay balls, no doubt copying the warriors’ battle practice techniques.
So far, so harmless.
As the teenaged gnomes ran and dodged and laughed, all of them coated with smears and splatters of reddish clay, one of the younger gnomes toddled over, clutching a projectile of its own. It watched the older kids playing for a while, looking forlorn, then stumped closer. It stopped, then spun around on the spot clumsily a couple of times before releasing the unusually large clay ball it was carrying.
No, not a clay ball.
A puffball mushroom.
The puffball soared a couple of feet before it hit the ground and exploded with a soft poof! A cloud of gray powdery spores burst forth from the fungus’s fragile body.
Two of the older juveniles who’d been heading over to greet the child, as well as the child itself, were caught in the cloud, and immediately fell to the ground, coughing and wheezing.
I panicked a little then, but before I could even think to use Divine Inspiration to alert my acolytes, the fallen gnomes’ friends were dragging them out of the affected area. Once they’d moved away, their breathing became easier, and within minutes they were on their feet again, the two older juveniles clearly scolding the smaller one. They relented when its bottom lip began to wobble, and all seven of them escorted the young gnome back to the creche.
After they’d gone, the puffball spores hung in the air like dust motes, twinkling sinisterly.
Fifty-Three
No Choice at All
It didn’t take long for me to convince the gnomes – via Gneil and Divine Inspiration – that the puffballs would be excellent weapons to use in combat. The warriors began to gather as many of them as they could find, and the armorer immediately set about making extra-large slings that would safely catapult the puffballs far out of the wielder’s range.
With just five days to go until Grimrock’s deadline, I noticed a joyous change in my six oldest juvenile gnomes. Green auras surrounded their bodies with the unmistakable glow of Faith. That meant they’d matured enough – both physically and mentally – that the Augmentary now officially classed them as adult denizens.
Hang on… I don’t recall feeling the thrill of Ascension recently, and that’s not something easily missed.
A glance at my Faith triangle confirmed: I was a hair’s breadth from tier eight.
Seriously?
How had I not reached it yet? I’d known Ascending would become progressively more difficult the higher I got, but come on.
On the positive side, I could finally assign these gnomes vocations!
When it came to it, though, I hesitated. I’d been responsible for bringing these gnomes into the world; could I really be so callous as to fling them into such a dangerous profession mere days after their birth?
If I don’t, they might die anyway.
It was true. If Grimrock betrayed me, these gnomes would undoubtedly be killed in the resulting battle, regardless of whether they were w
arriors or not. Even if Grimrock kept his side of the bargain, these gnomes might be among those he selected for sacrifice. In the latter situation, their vocation was irrelevant.
But if it comes to a fight… they’ll have a greater chance of survival with some training under their belts.
It took mere moments for me to allocate all six of the new adults as warriors, bringing us up to the barracks’ full capacity of fifty.
Given the time that still remained to us, I’d have at least a handful more fully-grown gnomes before the deadline, which would hopefully push me into the next tier – and give me a few more fighters with which to defend the Grotto.
We might actually stand a chance after all.
Even as I thought this, though, a chillingly familiar voice intruded upon my thoughts.
Good morning, little god, sneered Grimrock. I hope you have made your decision, because your time is up.
The treacherous jerk!
I may not have been a mathematician, but I knew for sure my time wasn’t up. Not yet. We had a week until the deadline!
I seethed silently, but attempted to appear outwardly calm. ‘I understand measuring the passage of time must be difficult, what with you being so far underground,’ I said evenly. ‘But you’re wrong. It’s not time yet.’
It is time when Grimrock says it is time, he said. And mind your tone, little god. I’d be a little more accommodating were I in your position.
‘But… that’s not fair,’ I whispered.
I knew it sounded pathetic, but it was true. We still needed time; time for Tiri to rally the Guild and return; time to prepare our own defensive force in the event that the worst happened and Grimrock turned on us.
But the worst had happened. Grimrock had turned on us; just not in the way I’d anticipated. And now I had to face up to a decision I’d somehow convinced myself I could avoid having to make.
Grimrock is offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. The opportunity for a lifetime. Without me, you are nothing, he said smugly. So what is it to be, little god? Capitulate? Or die?
For some reason, a part of me still expected – or rather, wished fervently for – the human adventurers to come charging into Grimrock’s base right now, wiping his evil from the face of the world and leaving me and my gnomes to go about our lives unmolested. I realized now that was a dream, a best-case scenario that should have had no place in my plans for the near future.
I still hadn’t replied, and my enemy was growing impatient.
I’d hurry if I were you, little god. Before Grimrock changes his mind and decides to simply squash you like the cockroach you are.
Frozen in an agony of indecision, I gazed around the Grotto, desperately seeking a solution out of this hellish predicament.
In the barracks yard, my warriors were training diligently, oblivious to the threat on their doorstep. On the ceiling, Binky was contentedly cleaning his mouth-parts after his latest meal, while down near the stream my tanner and armorer were engaged in an animated discussion about the merits of a particular piece of leather.
Across the stream, in front of the creche, one of the baby gnomes was hugging Bruce’s leg. The badger was snuffling at the head of his unlikely passenger, sending the gnome’s fine red hair blowing in all directions and making the child giggle so much it lost its grip and slithered to the floor, where Bruce began to lick its face to squeals of delight.
I knew I could not risk all this for the sake of futile defiance. Resisting Grimrock would be symbolic at best, with my grand total of fifty warriors and eighteen militia fighters against what I presumed would be an army even larger than the hundred he’d sent last time – not to mention his deadly avatar, Snagga. We hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving, let alone prevailing.
Which meant I had no choice at all but to accept his deal. It was the only way I could see us surviving this as a tribe. A small sacrifice now would buy us time until the humans returned; or, if they had forsaken us, or died, then a series of sacrifices until my remaining gnomes had built up a force large enough to finally resist. Provided Grimrock’s Sphere of Influence did not expand enough to absorb ours before that happened.
Decision time, little god.
It might have been the only choice, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The words choked me, and it took three attempts before I was able to say, ‘I accept your offer of alliance.’
Excellent. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. It made me want to vomit, but not as much as his next words did. Your first tithe is due immediately. Let us say… ten denizens? As promised, I shall send a small delegation of kobolds to collect it. You will not resist.
The last sentence was more of a statement than a threat. As though he knew his choice had finally broken me.
As his vile presence vanished from my mind, my thoughts began to race. Perhaps the Guild will show up before Grimrock’s ‘delegation’ arrives, I thought desperately. But I knew deep down that no one was coming to save us.
The decision was made. The best I could hope for now was that we’d live long enough to regret it.
Fifty-Four
Stand and Deliver
The kobold delegation arrived within the hour.
They came via the Lake. Throughout their journey, I had to send mental commands to every one of my god-born to prevent them from attacking. Apparently, my creatures still recognized the kobolds’ intent as hostile – a fact I found far from reassuring.
I was actually surprised to see Grimrock hold up his end of the bargain, sending only a dozen of his minions rather than the army I’d expected. The kobolds eyed our new palisades suspiciously as they crept from the tunnel and into the Grotto proper.
I’d already used Divine Inspiration to convey to my denizens that bad things would happen if any gnome tried to intervene. My warriors remained hidden inside the barracks. I’d also ensured my acolytes herded all the juvenile gnomes – of which there were now seven in total – back inside the creche.
I prayed they’d remain there for the duration of the kobolds’ visit. Though I wasn’t sure who I was praying to; I was the only god around, and I felt pretty powerless right then.
Tensions were high as the kobolds prowled among the buildings, their crimson scales a stark contrast to the Grotto’s green walls and the gray-and-brown hues of the gnomes’ clothing. My denizens cowered in terror or simply stood, frozen, doubtless reliving memories of past raids that had cost them countless friends and lovers and family members.
How many times had kobolds visited the tribe before, taking innocent gnomes on a regular basis for months or even years? It didn’t bear thinking about. Nor did the fact that I was the one responsible for their presence here, and worse, that I’d enabled what was about to happen next.
After a thorough examination of the few cringing gnomes in open sight, one of the kobolds – presumably the leader – drew itself up to its full height and prepared to issue commands to the others.
To my horror, one of the baby gnomes chose that moment to toddle down the steps from the creche. It tripped on the bottom one and went tumbling to the ground with a shriek and a giggle. It righted itself and then began happily playing around in the dirt, heedless of the red-scaled predators who’d now fixed their yellow eyes upon it.
The entire Grotto held its breath as everyone waited to see what would happen next.
The kobold leader tilted its head and eyed the toddler curiously, then blinked its nictitating eyelids. Then it raised its head, flicked its forked tongue out, and barked twice.
The nearest kobold took three strides forward and grabbed the child, which squealed as it was lifted into the air. The rest of the kobolds began to converge on the Creche as their leader pointed at the doorway and barked again.
From the very beginning, I’d railed against my responsibility to these gnomes. I’d outright despised them at first. Over time I’d come to tolerate them, and eventually something more than that. The result of the last few weeks was
that I now possessed a variety of complicated feelings, some of which I refused to call by name or admit even to myself.
But as I watched the kobolds stalk toward the creche with their fangs bared, all those feelings boiled down to just one word.
‘No.’
The gnomes were my denizens. They were under my protection. I’d watched them live, and laugh, and work, and love, and there was no way I would willingly send them to be sacrificed for Grimrock’s evil while it was still within my power to prevent it.
No matter how futile the alternative, I couldn’t give up on them. And I certainly couldn’t betray them with this ‘alliance’. What had I been thinking?
Down in the Grotto, the kobold’s clawed fingers gripped the baby gnome by the back of its neck, while the other enemies crept ever closer to the creche.
Oh, no, you don’t.
Waves of fury and protectiveness boiled out of me, tumbling and merging to form a maelstrom of rage and fierce intent. Below, atop the shrine, my gem turned a red so deep it was almost black. I prepared to summon my god-born from the tunnels, envisioning them pouring into the Grotto to cut through the kobolds like a saber through spiderwebs.
But before I had a chance to call them, gnomes from all around the Grotto were suddenly charging forward, converging on the kobolds with screams of outrage. Whether they’d sensed my intent or whether they’d simply had enough, I didn’t know, but their ferocity left me stunned.
The three builders hurtled together toward the nearest kobold; they wielded a deadly assortment of hammers, bricks and trowels. The kobold – though it was at least head and shoulders taller than the gnomes, and bulky with muscle – fell to its knees beneath the sudden onslaught, barking in distress and confusion. Black blood flew, and the barking soon ceased. Elwood and Jack dived on another kobold, swinging their woodcutting axes as though hacking at a shroomtree as the enemy flailed and yelped and bled and died.