Siege Tactics (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 4)

by Drew Hayes

  “The closer we get, the more dangerous this is.” When not around outsiders, Grumph felt comfortable using full sentences. The broken language he defaulted to in public was merely an affectation meant to conceal his intelligence. In their time together, Grumph and Thistle had each discovered that playing the roles expected of them allowed both to seem unremarkable, which was an essential skill in the game of survival.

  “Trust me, old friend, I am keenly aware. The more we discover about Gabrielle’s condition, the more I question my choice to lead us toward Lumal. Yet I dare not turn us back. If there’s anywhere we might find answers or a cure, it is within that city. Untangling the magical effect active upon her will require a true expert, the likes of which even your guild might not be able to offer. Of course, if Lumal fails, then the Mage Guild will have to be our next recourse, assuming we can make it to an outpost.”

  Absentmindedly, Thistle reached down and scratched one of the few exposed parts of Mr. Peppers’ flank, earning a snort of approval from the boar. “No path before us seems perfect, so I’m doing the best I can with what we have. If anyone out there would like to offer up some manner of divine guidance, I certainly wouldn’t object to a little direction.”

  Nothing happened, which was exactly what Thistle had expected. As far as gods went, Grumble was a reasonable and accommodating one, but not even he was a fan of dropping signposts in the middle of the road telling his paladins where to go next. And that assumed there was no divine protocol in effect—another god having a stake in what came next, most notably—that would bar anything other than cryptic visions from being delivered to a god’s followers. It never hurt to ask, though, so Thistle dropped these opportunities every now and then, just in case Grumble had been waiting for a theatrically sound moment to intervene.

  “I suppose no direction means we stay on route to Lumal and pray for the best.”

  “At least Lumal is safe,” Grumph pointed out. “Be nice to get a good night’s rest.”

  “Aye. My weary bones wouldn’t object to a soft mattress and four solid walls. But I don’t think I’ll sleep well while we’re in Lumal. That city unnerves me, it did even before we had a newly-made undead in tow. That much knowledge and power, in the hands of so few… While it’s true that Lumal is in no danger of being sacked by bandits or invaded by ogres, I fear that when something does go wrong in that town, it will be an utter catastrophe.”

  “Think we’ll be there when it happens?” Grumph looked as though he already knew the answer and hoped to be proven wrong. On that account, Thistle was going to have to disappoint his old friend.

  “Honest, paladin’s truth?” Thistle threw a glance over his shoulder, in the direction the others had wandered off in. “I’d say there’s at least a fifty-percent chance we’ll end up causing it.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, the only noise Mr. Peppers’ heavy breathing, before Grumph hauled himself to his feet. “Only fifty percent? Didn’t expect getting old to turn you into an optimist.”

  3.

  “One last time, because this is important. Is everyone okay with what we’re about to do here? Any objections? Anyone want out at the last minute? If so, that’s fine, just say so now. Once we start… I don’t know the rules. I don’t know if you’ll be able to quit. Make sure this is really what you want.”

  Russell had never started a game like this, because, for him, there had never been a game like this. With the other modules, he’d only suspected something was up, and at the time the far more likely theory was that he was simply going nuts. Now, things were different. He knew, they all knew, that magic was truly in play. What came next for them was a mystery, which made the idea of a new game terrifying and irresistible all at once. Safety was far from guaranteed, and Russell refused to drag anyone into danger. If they took the plunge with him, it would be of their own volition or not at all.

  He looked to the nearest player at the table on his left: Tim. Player of Timanuel the paladin, Tim had been with Russell since the first Broken Bridge module, when his D20 glowed, spun around, and then dissolved into dust. At the time, they’d thought it the most insane outcome possible from a Spells, Swords, and Stealth game. Part of Russell wished he could still think that way. It was no surprise to find Tim nodding enthusiastic agreement to his terms. Like the paladin he played, Tim saw things through, especially where his friends were involved. Danger or not, he was going to be at Russell’s side.

  “I’m in. Timanuel is in. Whatever comes next, we face it together, as a party.”

  A paladin’s response, if ever there had been one.

  Russell’s gaze moved farther up the left of the table, to where Cheri was sitting. He didn’t even manage to squeeze a word out before she piped up.

  “Let’s just skip the part where you bother asking me. We’re family. Your insane magical bullshit is my insane magical bullshit. Chalara has her spells ready to rock. Let’s see what this fucking game can throw at her.”

  Although Russell might have preferred if his sister hadn’t issued a challenge to whatever magical entity was acting through these modules, he did appreciate the support. Shifting his gaze to the far right side of the table, he met eyes with Bert. Unlike the others, Bert didn’t have an answer locked and ready. His thick, muscular form was hunched over the table, eyes darting among Russell, the new module book resting in the center of the table, and the sheet for his character. Wimberly was a gnome gadgeteer who’d been vital in battle many times over. Losing her would be a true blow to the party, yet Russell wouldn’t say so much as a word to stop him if Bert walked out the door.

  “I’m an engineering major. I like systems, and rules, and finding out ways to maximize efficiency. But all of that comes from knowing and understanding the fundamental laws of the world I’m working in. Part of me wants to run out that door and never play another tabletop game again. Much as I would love to pretend I never saw what I did, I can’t. It’s not in me to deny something I know is true. So if I leave, I’m going to spend the rest of my life never sure of anything. Maybe Santa is real. Maybe astrology works. Maybe there is something under my bed or hidden in the shadows. I’ll never be able to dismiss anything, because I am now keenly aware that I don’t actually know the rules of our world. If magic is real, then anything else is fair game. My only way through this is forward. Learning more about what’s happening, understanding what we experienced, it’s the sole option I see that offers me a chance at some sense of normalcy down the line. I’m in, because I have to be in.”

  Not quite the upbeat enthusiasm of the first two, but Russell appreciated having at least one player who seemed to be going into this with eyes wide open. They’d come through the last incident all right; however, there was no guarantee that this module would turn out the same. Either way, Bert was set on his choice, so Russell glanced over to the final player, this one seated to his immediate right.

  Alexis was the quietest of the lot, except when role-playing her forest warrior, Gelthorn. Instinctively, Russell leaned in, prepared for her usual half-whispered tone. To everyone’s surprise, she lifted her head and met his eyes, speaking so clearly she was almost doing Gelthorn’s voice. Perhaps she was channeling her character a touch, for courage if not speaking skills.

  “This scares me. It really, really does. But a lot of things scare me. The world is so big, and so loud, and most of the time, it doesn’t seem as though there’s a place for someone like me in it. Role-playing games are the only time I get to feel what it’s like to be brave, courageous… fearless. I’m honestly terrified of what comes after you open that book, but I still want to be here. I love these games, and I really like playing with you all. Just once, I want to stand my ground, not Gelthorn’s. I’m here to the end, with the rest of you. So please get this going already, Russell, because the anticipation is nearly the worst part.”

  With the entire group opting to continue, Russell could see no reason to delay any longer. He lifted the module book from the table, cradl
ing it carefully, as one would a priceless antique. Taking one last look at the scared, excited faces of his players, Russell pulled open the cover to reveal the first page.

  “When last you left off, your party was in Camnarael, having survived the Grand Quest—”

  * * *

  Urthos was not, strictly speaking, a kingdom. The ruling system of the region was divided among nomadic tribes throughout the plains. This meant that, in a technical sense, Urthos was quite easy to conquer, since it lacked a standing army to oppose another kingdom’s forces. However, the simple fact that there were no cities to sack and overtake also meant that any would-be invaders could do little more than set up camp in the wilderness and declare that this was their land now. Several kings had attempted just this, in fact.

  It was only after declaring their intentions that some of the logistical hurdles came into play. No cities meant no walls to protect them, and a lack of farms to steal from meant all food had to be brought in via magic or supply line, the former of which was limiting and costly. Still, these means might have been tenable, if not for the Urthos tribes. Unlike the invaders, they knew how to live off this land. Harrying the supply lines usually came first, cutting off the army’s food. Then they would strike in the night. Never a full assault that committed the entirety of their forces: just a flaming arrow into the tents here or a guard suddenly dead there. Enough to ensure that no one slept well.

  Sometimes, in the face of this uncertainty, the army would add reinforcements, a move that only stretched limited food supplies further. By the time the tribes finally attacked in full, they were facing exhausted, half-starved invaders, many of whom were likely to surrender and desert before the first blood of true war was shed. No one ever tried to invade Urthos twice, especially once they realized there wasn’t enough gain to justify the effort. Urthos held no great industry to take over, no mineral deposits that had been discovered, and no ancient magics to pilfer. It was simply the tribes and the plains, both of whom seemed to want little more than simply being left alone.

  What this meant for Eric’s role as a scout was that there was little chance of being ambushed by bandits. Unlike the roads of other kingdoms, few merchants made this trek, and those who did usually attempted it with the blessings of the local tribes. That meant bandits would have slim pickings, and those they did steal from could bring untold repercussions down upon their heads. There was no jail in Urthos; matters of justice were handled more swiftly and permanently. Of course, that also meant any thieves they did encounter would be desperate and willing to fight to the death.

  Monsters, on the other hand, were a larger concern than normal. With no kingdom guards to regularly sweep the roads clear of beasts, they could be attacked at any time. Worse, on the plains, there was nowhere to escape. Wherever they ran, they would be in full view until they could clear the horizon. That was why the party had decided to skirt the edges of Urthos, hugging the side of a huge forest that sometimes butted up against its border. While it put them at greater risk of ambush, it also provided a feasible escape route. Given that the King of Solium’s bounty was still on their heads, it made the most sense to prioritize keeping a place to hide within reach. It was far from ideal, but then, there really wasn’t an ideal way to be pursued across kingdom borders by a vengeful tyrant chasing a similar artifact to that contained in Eric’s pack.

  The potential for monster attacks had Eric even more vigilant than normal. Every rustle of leaves from the forest, each shivering blade of grass on the nearby plains, all of them instantly drew Eric’s attention. His eyes were keen, and mad as it seemed, Eric would swear his vision had gotten better after working with Elora. Eric thought Thistle had noticed, too, though he was polite enough not to say anything. The best theory Eric had was that working in the dark of Elora’s training area for so long had simply sharpened his focus. Not the most adept or complete hypothesis out there, but part of being an adventurer was learning to roll with the unexpected as it occurred. On that front, at least, Eric had received ample practice.

  And as his eyes swept right, back toward the forest, he realized that he might just be getting a tad more. “Hold.” Eric held up his hand, in case anyone had missed the word. Instantly, the others slowed their horses, eventually bringing them to a stop near him. They were close enough to hear, but spread out, so that if they had to flee in a hurry, they wouldn’t collide with one another.

  “What do you see?” Thistle asked. His hands were already on his belt, inches away from the throwing daggers with which he’d had countless occasion to prove his prowess. These were not a traditional paladin weapon by any means; then again, Thistle was hardly a traditional paladin.

  Slowly, Eric pointed up ahead to a small, nearly imperceptible break in the tree line. “A path. Rough, and hidden, but there.”

  His announcement was met by silence. That was to be expected. It would take the others a moment to search the area and spot the trail. It stretched longer than Eric was expecting, however. Eventually, he turned to face the party, finding squinting eyes and confused expressions looking back at him. “Come on, it’s not that well-hidden.”

  “Must be decent, because I can’t see a damn thing.” Gabrielle was leaning so far forward she threatened to tumble out of her saddle.

  At her side, Timuscor nodded agreement. “I too am unable to find your path, although I have full confidence that it is there.”

  Strange, neither were renowned for their attention to detail, but it was so close. Was the path really that well-concealed? Based on the still-searching gazes of Thistle and Grumph, it sure seemed that way. Or… maybe something else was at work.

  Carefully checking the plains once more for potential threats, Eric dismounted his horse and walked up to the path’s entrance. He didn’t hear or see movement, yet his hand remained on his short sword. A glowing gem on the hilt meant the weapon’s daily enchantment hadn’t been spent; the power would allow him to deliver a single, incredibly powerful strike. Not enough to win a battle against multiple foes, but a display that would at least buy him enough breathing room to get back to the others. Eric didn’t bother to shift his armor’s color. While the ability was fantastic for camouflage, his whole point in doing this was so the others could see him. Blending in would be counterproductive.

  Eric easily reached the path, and from this angle could confirm it indeed went much deeper into the woods. He took a few steps onto it, then backed out of the forest and waved to the others. “Can you see it now?”

  “From our perspective, all we can see is you wandering into a thick grove of trees,” Thistle called back. “We must be dealing with some manner of illusion.”

  That certainly made the most sense; it would explain why, no matter how Eric pointed, the others couldn’t spot the trail. What it didn’t explain, on the other hand, was how Eric was able to see through the enchantment in the first place. Much as he might not have liked to, Eric did have a guess at what might be causing that.

  Reaching into his pack, Eric brushed ever so slightly against their piece of the Bridge. The world tried to spin away from him, flooding his mind with visions and knowledge beyond what mere mortals were meant to know, but he’d learned that touching the Bridge lightly kept him from being fully engulfed. More importantly, doing this altered his senses. Not for long, and certainly not to the extent that actually gripping the artifact would, but the effect was definitely tangible.

  For a moment, a split-second, Eric could see beyond the world around him. He could see the planes brushing against theirs, the unnatural shadows just past those borders, and the flow of magic coursing through their world. A substantial amount of that mystical energy was knotted together directly in front of him, formed into a spell far more powerful than he’d anticipated. This was no fly-by-night illusion. This was art, masterful craftsmanship to create a ward that fooled all but the most skilled of adventurers. Or, in Eric’s case, those who were in possession of an artifact containing a nigh-limitless power that was
slightly altering their senses. He’d known that just being near the Bridge had an effect on the others—it was part of why they’d ditched the first piece they’d found. This was an unexpected complication, though.

  “As near as I can tell, it’s an illusion formed by a master magician. Don’t ask me how I know. When I’m not touching the Bridge, I lose the specifics. I just remember being awed by the talent required to make something of this caliber. Whoever constructed this illusion is powerful, definitely not the kind of person we want to cross.”

  “I guess that means this was a nice detour, but it’s time to get back on the road,” Gabrielle surmised.

  Thistle’s horse trotted closer to Eric, obeying its rider’s silent commands. Even from a few scant feet away, the gnome squinted, still trying and failing to make out any manner of trail hidden among the trees. “There is a possibility that warrants discussing before we pass this by. Perhaps the Bridge opened Eric’s eyes to a hidden path, or maybe the source is a divine one. If it’s the former, then we can write it off as random chance. However, if it’s the latter, then we must consider the possibility that we are meant to take this fork in the road. Gods lead us where we are needed, not where we expect to go.”

  “Forgive me, I do not mean disrespect with this question, but if this were truly the work of a god, then wouldn’t Grumble send the vision to you, his paladin?” Timuscor looked wildly uncomfortable about proposing the idea that perhaps Grumble was playing favorites with someone else. Thistle, however, merely tilted his head forward in agreement.

  “Aye. Were this a boon from Grumble, or at least solely from Grumble, then I would be the most likely recipient. But there are other gods, and we know at least one of them has an interest in Eric.”

  It was no secret from the others that Tristan, god of the rogues, was currently having a dispute with Grumble about who held claim to Eric’s soul. At this point, Eric himself barely mattered: it was more about the pride of the two gods who’d pitted themselves against each other. Both wanted to win, and Tristan hadn’t been shy about plying Eric with divine gifts. The ability to sense immediate danger, setting up proper rogue training from Elora, even their influx of treasure from a hidden base, could all be partially laid at Tristan’s feet. Did that mean one god, possibly two, could be urging them to take this unexpected detour?